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April 06, 2008 sermon

Emerging Conversations
(Isaiah 43 (selected verses); Luke 24:13-35)

Reverend Minister Sally Harris

In the still glowing light of Easter morn, prepare within us
a place so we may be signs of new life. Amen

A four year old child desperately wanted a conversation with her newborn baby brother. She was so determined that the parents were somewhat worried to leave the little girl alone with the wee infant. But she persisted saying, “I need to talk with him, alone.” Finally after days of begging the parents let the youngster be with the newborn while they peeked through the slightly opened door – ready to run in at a moments notice. And the most amazing thing happened – the little girl gently touch the sleeping baby and said, “Wake up! Quick, tell me what you know before you forget!” Sometimes I think that in the sacred act of baptism the infant knows what we so easily forget – the presence is here… comes to us as one unknown, a breath unseen, unheard; Yet known within the heart of those fresh from birth. Those who have heard their name called: Mary! John! Terry! Christian! Isn’t that we what we remember when we baptize? Christian reminds us as we baptize him that we all share a history, a story that will take us the rest of time to unravel. We belong to a community. We are not alone. We live in God's world. We have been named as God's very own. We are precious in the Creator’s sight. We are honored; we are loved!

Yes, no matter what the water carries a promise: The creating presence will be with Christian, with you, with me, with us all till the end of the ages! Yes God is somewhere in the middle; stretched between heaven and earth… And the presence of the divine comes to us in the most ordinary of elements and places… in water, in community, in a manager, on a hillside, on a road… Sometimes in the midst of birth cries, sometimes with sobs of lament. Sometimes with songs of joy; sometimes in the rolling away of a stone. Sometimes emerging from conversations… like the one on the way to Emmaus – a seven-mile trek from Jerusalem. Here on this road we find two travelers, Cleopas and an unnamed disciple, felt little warmth as they headed to a place, which meant 'warm wells'. From the dust and dryness; from the dark and coldness of the last three days, these two were getting away from it all. They had had enough - their hearts broken, their dreams lost; their faith in humanity, in this One named Jesus was all but swept away by the tide of last week's events. Agonizingly they reminisced, unaware of anything or anyone but their sorrow. Despairing they were on the road again to a place that perhaps would give their wounded souls solace, stability, strength. Today we might diagnose these weary travelers as suffering from post traumatic stress syndrome; at the very least they were experiencing a grief reaction. They had been followers of One they had trusted; One they believed with all their hearts would lead the way to salvation, redemption, the saving and redeeming of a nation under siege. This One would deliver Israel from the humiliation of Roman occupation. It seemed an eternity since they had felt this One's presence. An eternity of three days since the earth shook, the sky darkened, the temple veil tore and the silent cry of "It is finished" ripped through their souls. With bowed heads, forlorn and weary these two left the dream, to go home. No more fantasy, no more visions of justice and peace for their world - not even the rumors of the women that morning could dispel the brokeness these two disciples carried in every cell. No, not even the sight of an empty tomb could revive the possibility of God-with-us; for they had seen no one. It was too hard to feel the possibility that what those women said was true. What if they hoped again in this savior: this kind-hearted, courageous peasant king? What if they believed again only to have those truths dashed, ship-wrecked on the shores of possibility? They could not risk anymore. They could not feel the shifting sand, the unknown-ness of this time, the uncertainty and insecurity of following a phantom leader that was here one minute, leading them into life and gone the next, taking them to death. No, they could not afford to feel anymore hope, anymore pain, anymore...anything. So, to survive, they numbed themselves from the stress of it all. They armored their hearts against the possibility of any more miracles. The One who did miracles, died and that was that. Best to pull up their sandal straps and get on with it. Better to have a stiff upper lip than live with open-mouthed-surprise and astonishment of a risen Christ. How much could one believe? How much could one risk? Hadn't they followed and failed? Hadn't they loved and lost? Hadn't they tried? No more being the fool! Everyone knew the dream had died on that cross and now someone was playing a cruel trick by hiding the body. No it was not worth the risk. And so these two, named and unnamed, disciples traveled down a lonely road again searching not for salvation but safety. Searching not for answers but safety. Leaving, to get away from the terror of not knowing, the fear of believing again the named and unnamed, were immersed in consoling conversation.

Then suddenly, the two were three. One named and now two unnamed for a stranger joined them. Amazingly they heard his question: "What on earth are you two talking about so earnestly?" Cleopas responded: "Are you the only one who does not know the things that have happened in Jerusalem?" "What things?" this stranger asked. And so the story gushed out of them, each one filling in the details the other had forgotten. How intently this stranger listened as they spoke and then this stranger broke into the conversation revealing the meaning of the Scriptures to them. Words that first seemed harsh began to ignite these two lost souls with a desire to know, to understand, to believe it was not all in vain. Their numbness began to thaw. Warmth entered again into the broken and blocked flow of faith as they heard words vital to their spirits. Only one other person ever talk like this and he was dead. This stranger had the same deep understanding of Scripture that Jesus had. This stranger talked not of winning through force and superior ability but through compassion and honesty. The remaining miles to Emmaus simply vanished while they listened. The stranger told them that love conquers because it is willing to surrender; to let go. The whole law and the prophets became luminous. Their spines tingled, as if emerging from a numbing injury. They quivered and trembled in their inner being as if here were the words of life, the fountain of blessing, the warm wells of hope and love. Here, on the road, something new was being born again – emerging from the conversation.

As the night sky overtook the travelers the named and unnamed disciples urged this stranger to come home with them and share a meal. No longer isolating themselves these two emerged from the conversation - inviting an unknown presence home. The three were next found at a table and here they saw what their hearts had known. Recognizing Jesus, the stranger vanished. Yet his very vanishing meant that this One was always present, always there. Like a storm in the desert, the streams of their joy were running full. They had encountered and been carried to the heart of love at the center of the universe. They emerged from the conversation with streams of living water coursing through their very beings.

For years, people have been looking for Emmaus. Our story tell us that it was seven miles from Jerusalem, but there are no ruins, no historical artifacts, no weathered maps, though four different villages claim to be the true location. But perhaps we’re looking in the wrong places. Perhaps the road to Emmaus is the road we have all walked at one time or another - the road of loneliness and loss; of grief and gloom? Who among us has not felt this kind of defeat, this kind of disorientation, this kind of disbelief with our own shattered dreams? Who has not felt this kind of disillusionment when the relentless tides of life and loss wear down even the most solid conviction? Perhaps Emmaus is wherever we meet the holy in our midst. When our hearts burn within us for the myriad of ways grace breaks upon the shores of our being. Here at the font Christian reminds us of a world we have forgotten: for here grace blesses us by taking our limited experience; breaking it open and reminding us that the water carries a promise: The creating presence will be with us all till the end of the ages! Amen

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