Scriptures from the Revised Common Lectionary for Year A, Easter 5, May 22, 2011:
Acts 7:55-60; Psalm 31:1-5, 15-16; 1 Peter 2:2-10; John 14:1-14
Our scriptures today come from the Revised Common Lectionary, the three-year rotation of readings offered by an interchurch body once called the Consultation on Church Union (now called, Churches Uniting in Christ). The purpose of the unified sequence of readings is to give us mainline Christians something like one voice, making us seem like one people on the one day of the week when we are both the most united and the most segregated, by culture, tradition, format, and style.
So, blame the composers of the Revised Common Lectionary for coming up with this at first apparently misbegotten set of rocky references. Maybe they meant to create this stony blend in order to demonstrate the plethora of purposes to which stones may be used. And, what is more, the precise purposes for which we – individually and as a church – have been designed. But it also puts me in mind of how much throughout history, even up to the present, we have used our religion as a cruelly-aimed stone against people we dislike or who dislike us.
We should be stones...
In Psalm 31, God is lauded as our Rock and our Refuge; in Acts 7, we see the stoning of Stephen; then also John 14, in which Jesus figures himself as a masterbuilder; and finally my own subject matter for now, First Peter 2, encouraging us to think of ourselves as building materials for a new and spiritual temple dedicated to God.
I want to concentrate on our reading from First Peter and to suggest the possibility that we may be at one with God by understanding and cultivating a character for ourselves like that which Christ revealed – accepting and affirming others regardless of differences – living lives that emulate his.
Strangely enough, the author of First Peter encourages us to pursue this, emphasizing how we are like "living stones."
You would think that the impermeability and hardness of stones would make for us a metaphor for being isolated and closed off, but that is not the case! We are to be living stones, hewn and polished and fitted together into a great and brilliant temple for our God.
Sadly for the Church, this is usually an ought-to-be statement rather than a statement of reality. Throughout our history, and especially since Christianity became a major Western religion, it has been less common for us to behave as if we are stones being built into a temple, and more as if we are using our religion as a stone to smite perceived foes and competitors.
Our religion is part of ourselves, but historically Christians have used bits of our religion, to abuse others.
The Church has been notorious throughout history, even up to the present, for having exercised a cruel measure of power against others who resisted the good news we were professing because they thought that the good news wasn’t all that great.
Lately and historically, we have also seen people who are either innocent or naive who suffer because they have believed in the missiles church leaders were throwing. Whether they were misguided folk throwing themselves to the lions in ancient Rome, or Rapture-believers giving over everything they own and survive on, these unhappy few suffered because of the stupidity of others. Both of these examples were simply trying their best to do what they had heard God would have them do in order to demonstrate their faithfulness. More's the pity.
Mind you, using their religion as a weapon (and losing innocents who got caught in the crossfire) is probably grounded in the persecution Christians received at the hands of others for the first three centuries of our existence: They once stoned Stephen? Well, then, we’ll just stone them back! But, based on the knowledge of grace and peace taught to us by our Redeemer, it is indefensible, nowadays and ever since the Fourth Century when we became a world power, revenge is out of the question.
In other words, we have been justifying our bad behavior of unjustifiably stoning others, using rather selectively the language or meanings we have found in the Bible.
Take as one example our historical responses to Jesus’ words to Philip in the fourteenth chapter of the gospel according to John: “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.”
These words have been used and, let’s be blunt, abused by Christians for centuries. They have served as words of comfort in nearly every funeral service I have ever performed, but outside of funerals, the saying has been anything but comforting. Instead, we have tended to use them to create an elitist, exclusionary attitude among Christians, against people of other religions or of no religion at all. We living stones have had a common tendency to hurl this saying like a weapon, when we should not.
Some, like the scholars in the Jesus Seminar, have counter-argued that Jesus never actually said these words. In fact, according to a majority of the Jesus Seminar, Jesus himself never said anything that has been recorded in the gospel according to John. Rather, John is a voice of Christian tradition as it would have been heard in the late First and early Second Centuries. The voice of Christ here, they say, is actually the voice of the early Church.
I can neither confirm nor deny this claim, and (frankly) neither can the Jesus Seminar. It’s just their best guess. Mind you, it’s a pretty good guess, I’m sure. But I suspect that the reason for them arguing against these words coming out of Jesus’ mouth is that they want to discredit the abuses for which they’ve been used.
Unfortunately, by claiming that Jesus never said what he says in John, the Jesus Seminar pretty effectively challenges the authority of John’s gospel when, in fact, what it would be far better to do – for the sake of Christian history and tradition – would be, to make an alternative interpretation of the gospel as accurate as possible. Because even the strictest readers of the gospel have to admit, the saying, “I am the way and the truth and the life; no one comes to the Father except through me,” can have numerous meanings.
The first meaning you might find, is the most traditionally recognized: Jesus is the only way to heaven. I’ll admit right now, this might be what it means. It might have been what Jesus meant. Given what else we know about Jesus, however, if most of the rest of the sayings attributed to him are true, then to affirm in these words some sort of exclusive right to heaven for his followers is ridiculous. And, further, to use these words to marginalize and exclude, or even villify, others is sinful.
You see, in John and all the other gospels, Jesus has numerous encounters with non-believers, or – at least – people who do not believe in God the way that he does, and in two cases (that of the Canaanite or Syrophoenician woman whose daughter is demon-possessed, and that of the Roman centurion who appeals to Jesus on behalf of his dying slave) Jesus actually praises them for their faith... a faith or a religion which is not the same as his.
Furthermore, no Gentile whom Jesus helps is ever reported to change stripes. But all are deemed worthy at least of recognition and honor by God’s very own Son. This appears to me to indicate that the idea of faith or belief in Jesus as the only way to heaven is at least somewhat questionable.
Jesus lived in a pluralistic society much like ours. And nowhere other than here in John, chapter 14, in this moment at the table of the last supper, has it been alleged that Jesus himself claimed for his followers exclusive access to God. Heaven would appear, instead, to be attainable by people who – perhaps unbeknownst to themselves or even despite themselves, or (even more!) despite the efforts of Christian believers – happen to act as if they trusted in God. As if is close enough, it is clear: so stop worrying about what other people think or believe, and work on yourself!
One more way of interpreting the saying,“I am the Way and the Truth and the Life,” is to hear in those words first of all the words “I am.” For Jesus, a Jew, to be speaking these words is in a very important sense for him to be acknowledging and revering the Holy Name, "I AM THAT I AM" – אֶהְיֶה אֲשֶׁר אֶהְיֶה – pronounced Ehyeh asher ehyeh. (Exodus 3:14)
Thus, “I AM: the Way and the Truth and the Life” (or “Yahweh [is] the Way and the Truth and the Life”) could be viewed as a statement of reverence for the Creator – Jesus’ own personal creed, you might say. (see The New Interpreter's Bible, Vol. IX, p. 568: note for John 4:26)
With these words in John 14, Jesus might not be referring to himself (or, at least, not himself alone), and neither would he be doing so in the five other “I am” statements and discourses in John (“I AM” – the Bread of Life; the Light of the World; the Good Shepherd; the Resurrection and the Life; the True Vine).
Throughout John, Jesus by these statements affirms and extols the presence, the power, and the faithfulness of God.
Read in this way, for him to say “No one comes to the Father except through me” is his faith-filled exclamation. The Messiah here proclaims his cosmic role for the persecuted and long-suffering people of God.
Maybe it’s time-bound affirmation of protection as salvation, a word for a particular empire. Maybe it was as much as for him to say to Rome, “If you want to claim the lordship of the earth for yourselves, to usurp the one true God, you’ll have me to deal with me.”
But maybe it’s less time-bound, and as I consider many of us to believe. Maybe anyone who wants to get to heaven will eventually have to go walk in the ways and teachings of the Christ. “No one gets to the Father except through me,” could be the crowning affirmation that there is something timeless, something religiously boundless, something that everyone in the end must face. The only way to know God is to practice compassion. The only sure measure of whether you save yourself and others will be in whether your life unfolded as Jesus’ did: Did you live and love and show compassion and die to yourself and find new life?
Not everyone can handle that rock of a religion.
The stone that the builders rejected is the chief cornerstone, and how shall we – living stones with our Messiah – not be joined together into a spiritual house, a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God – honoring our God, defending God’s people!
Jesus is our builder and our cornerstone, our keystone: our way, our truth, our life! We have come to this moment, this place, through the one who is our rock, our refuge, our first and only and insurmountable line of defense against Rome – the evil and the cruelty of this world – and who is shaping us living stones to be for the world as Christ is for us.
So, we must not, we may not, we shall not use Christ’s words as projectiles and blunt instruments – slinging religious stones to exclude or isolate those others who are just as beloved of our God as we are, whether they are faithful to related traditions, to other traditions or to no tradition. Goodness is goodness, in God’s eyes, and should be so in ours as well; righteousness is righteousness; and in a world so bent with misery, shame, and cruelty, in a world so broken and torn by sin, we – like Jesus – shall recognize and receive righteousness where it resides...
But we must, we may, we shall continue to express the invitation as well! God is our way, our truth, and our life, and anyone who would practice as we practice and live as we live, with the assurance of salvation (of the presence of the Holy Spirit in our trials and rejoicing), must eventually and ultimately go through Christ. The realm of heaven is at hand for everyone, everyone, and Jesus presents us an acceptable – albeit also challenging – way, truth, life. The compassionate among us invite others to travel along with us, so that we may all anticipate and endure whatever joy or hardship may come.
We are stones hewn for building a temple not made with hands, a realm not seen with the eyes... for salvation, and neither we nor the religion we profess ought to be used for the destruction of others. We are living stones fitted together for the protection of the vulnerable and the similarly compassionate, not for their abuse.
May God bless us, to not only possess Christlike faith but to express it and live it, as well. Amen.
Monday, May 23, 2011
Monday, May 16, 2011
Hey, FAMILYRADIO.ORG! See you, next week!
Sunday, May 15, 2011, was Good Shepherd Sunday in the course of the Revised Common Lectionary. We opened the service with a presentation of this video, a set of images prepared by Walter Trachim to accompany the gorgeous "23rd Psalm (dedicated to my mother)" by Bobby McFerrin.
(LISTEN TO THE AUDIO VERSION OF THIS SERMON AT http://tinyurl.com/3ea49eg)
Now, working on a ranch as a youth, I have used horses and dogs to “cut” sheep and horses, which is to say “separate a herd into one or more groups”. Cutting can be a maddening exercise even the most experienced herder and dogs. It’s nigh unto impossible unless you can exercise the utmost patience and calm.
In Babe’s routine, there are six ewes — three with collars and three without — inside a circle, and he says, and I quote, “Now, ladies, if those of you with the red collars would kindly step outside of the circle and into the pen, I would be most grateful.” And, docilely, with true determination to make their porcine brother look good in the face of a thoroughly doubting crowd of humans, the three do exactly that!
Then, the three last are penned, Hoggett says, “To me, pig,” Babe comes to heel, and the crowd goes insane with applause and cheers. Beneath the cheering, the farmer gazes admiringly down at his well-heeled porker and says, “That’ll do, pig,” which is of course about as thrilling a bit of praise as one is ever going to hear from an Anglo-Saxon farmer. It translates roughly to "Well done, thou good and faithful servant!"
Now, I assure you, that there is plenty more to watch and lots more conflict than I have presented to you in this digest of the movie, but this much is what I thought might help to illustrate the text of the gospel:
I mean, if you think about it, being a follower of the Christ puts us in this curious reality, in which a bridge has been formed between us and the One who knows what we need. In response, we do the will of the One. Or at least so goes the scripture.
Look, it goes this way: The gospels all demonstrate how when Jesus would speak to the disciples, they tried their level best to understand, but did not, no matter how hard they tried... I mean, they caught much of the ethical meaning of Jesus’ teachings. But most of the morals Jesus taught about were pretty obvious anyway, and all of them had been said before by other prophets.
It was not until that third day of Jesus’ death that, it is said, the disciples actually understood the impact of what he had been saying. It took that key event — Jesus’ destruction and restoration, his death and resurrection — for it finally to occur to anyone exactly Who Jesus Was or Had been... or Is!
They had thought he was just another man, but he was not. He was the shepherd and the gate of the sheep; by Christ we find our direction, through Christ we go to safety. The word of God is spoken and we know the voice of the One who is our defender, our protector; that word we heed. And when another voice comes on the air, or a thief comes over the fence, we know the voice of our shepherd; we will not be called away, lured away, or carried away. Christ is there for us, inviting us politely, assuredly.
It matters that we hear the Shepherd’s voice, it matters that we live as our Shepherd lived, take upon ourselves the word of God the way Jesus lived the word. It matters what we do, how we are perceived, where we lead and where we follow. It matters.
There is so much to do in this life, for the sake of saving the world! There is so much abuse and cruelty that deserves to be confronted and prevented...
There is too much wrong-hearted religion passing itself off as Christianity nowadays, which only perpetuates those same cycles of cruelty, abuse, and violence..!
How about a polite invitation, rather than a threat!
This sermon then followed:
“The Polite Invitation”(LISTEN TO THE AUDIO VERSION OF THIS SERMON AT http://tinyurl.com/3ea49eg)
Signs up everywhere lately proclaim a false gospel, threatening people with the end of the world – with hell and destruction – unless they repent by this Saturday.
I am inclined to post a response in our signboard, tomorrow. A tweet, which I will also post on our Twitter page and Facebook page:
HEY, FAMILYRADIO.ORG! C U NEXT WEEK! :-D @FIRSTCHURCHWG
I find it beyond tiresome to still have to address mistaken Christianity in this way, this late in the history of our religion. But some people continue to remain unenlightened, continue to propagate a message of salvation which is only focused on the afterlife, persist in representing a false gospel.
There is so much to do in this life! So much abuse and cruelty that deserves to be confronted and prevented...
There is too much wrong-hearted religion passing itself off as Christianity nowadays.
How about a polite invitation, rather than a threat!
I will acknowledge that this may seem a little goofy, but I think I shall never be able to read the gospel text we read today in the same way again, now that I have seen the movie, Babe.
Now, maybe some of you haven’t seen it yet, or don’t know about it. It’s not new; it came out in 1995, based on the 1983 novel, The Sheep Pig, by Dick King-Smith (which was retitled, Babe – The Gallant Pig, for U.S. publication).
By now, you can guess the concept of the film. Those of you who are now looking forward to seeing the film without knowing it’s ending need to know now that I am about to tell it to you. But this film is not exactly what one could call plot-driven. It is predictable and espouses the customary democratic ideals of independence and self-determination over against heavy-handed authoritarianism. You will watch it and say to yourself, “I’ve seen this story before.” What is unique is not the plot, but the puppetry, trained animals, and special effects... which were some of the first really successful computer animation seeming to make real live animals talk.
So, those of you unable to forgive me beforehand for revealing the ending of a movie you haven’t seen, I will do something I rarely do. I will encourage to tune out of the sermon now (work on your grocery list, whatever...), and join the rest of us somewhere around the words: “Now I assure you there is plenty more to watch...” which I promise I will say loudly enough so that they jar you back into listening.
OK, so... First of all, Babe is about this pig, who since he is a pig is slated for the block, but who along the way discovers a certain gift he has for herding sheep. His owner is a farmer named (of all things) Hoggett, who at first unknowingly encourages Babe’s herding behavior by bedding Babe with his border collies, but who later intentionally cultivates the gift.
Notable for the sake of the plot, Babe approaches herding from a different means than the border collies. They nip and chase the sheep. As a result, the sheep do not distinguish these protector dogs from any other long-toothed predators and therefore call them, “wolves.” They hate the growling, snapping beasts, and act stupid simply to annoy them.
The pig in his touring about the farm meets an elderly ewe who befriends him and becomes something of a grandmotherly mentor figure, who gives him the clue that politeness and hospitable-ness are the ways to win friends and influence sheep. He follows her advice.
One day, straying away from the barnyard into the sheepfold, Babe discovers that he has as much capacity for rounding up the livestock as any dog has, and with greater consistency and success than chasing and biting produce.
Eventually, and here’s where the scripture connects, Hoggett enrolls the pig in a sheepdog competition (how he does this I will leave to your viewing pleasure). When Babe and the collies learn that the contest sheep only respond to dog-style herding techniques and treat Babe’s greetings as if they are deaf, one of the dogs runs back to their own sheepfold and (believe it or not!) speaks with the sheep there. Then, swearing him to secrecy, the sheep tell him the muttonesque equivalent of a password which will get the contest sheep to do exactly what Babe asks.
The dog returns just in time to get the secret code to the pig, and Babe wins the day, directing the six sheep around various barriers and into a circle drawn on the grass. The last, and brilliant, coup which had me laughing until I cried, the first time I saw the film, was Babe’s cutting technique.
There is so much to do in this life! So much abuse and cruelty that deserves to be confronted and prevented...
There is too much wrong-hearted religion passing itself off as Christianity nowadays.
How about a polite invitation, rather than a threat!
I will acknowledge that this may seem a little goofy, but I think I shall never be able to read the gospel text we read today in the same way again, now that I have seen the movie, Babe.
Now, maybe some of you haven’t seen it yet, or don’t know about it. It’s not new; it came out in 1995, based on the 1983 novel, The Sheep Pig, by Dick King-Smith (which was retitled, Babe – The Gallant Pig, for U.S. publication).
By now, you can guess the concept of the film. Those of you who are now looking forward to seeing the film without knowing it’s ending need to know now that I am about to tell it to you. But this film is not exactly what one could call plot-driven. It is predictable and espouses the customary democratic ideals of independence and self-determination over against heavy-handed authoritarianism. You will watch it and say to yourself, “I’ve seen this story before.” What is unique is not the plot, but the puppetry, trained animals, and special effects... which were some of the first really successful computer animation seeming to make real live animals talk.
So, those of you unable to forgive me beforehand for revealing the ending of a movie you haven’t seen, I will do something I rarely do. I will encourage to tune out of the sermon now (work on your grocery list, whatever...), and join the rest of us somewhere around the words: “Now I assure you there is plenty more to watch...” which I promise I will say loudly enough so that they jar you back into listening.
OK, so... First of all, Babe is about this pig, who since he is a pig is slated for the block, but who along the way discovers a certain gift he has for herding sheep. His owner is a farmer named (of all things) Hoggett, who at first unknowingly encourages Babe’s herding behavior by bedding Babe with his border collies, but who later intentionally cultivates the gift.
Notable for the sake of the plot, Babe approaches herding from a different means than the border collies. They nip and chase the sheep. As a result, the sheep do not distinguish these protector dogs from any other long-toothed predators and therefore call them, “wolves.” They hate the growling, snapping beasts, and act stupid simply to annoy them.
The pig in his touring about the farm meets an elderly ewe who befriends him and becomes something of a grandmotherly mentor figure, who gives him the clue that politeness and hospitable-ness are the ways to win friends and influence sheep. He follows her advice.
One day, straying away from the barnyard into the sheepfold, Babe discovers that he has as much capacity for rounding up the livestock as any dog has, and with greater consistency and success than chasing and biting produce.
Eventually, and here’s where the scripture connects, Hoggett enrolls the pig in a sheepdog competition (how he does this I will leave to your viewing pleasure). When Babe and the collies learn that the contest sheep only respond to dog-style herding techniques and treat Babe’s greetings as if they are deaf, one of the dogs runs back to their own sheepfold and (believe it or not!) speaks with the sheep there. Then, swearing him to secrecy, the sheep tell him the muttonesque equivalent of a password which will get the contest sheep to do exactly what Babe asks.
The dog returns just in time to get the secret code to the pig, and Babe wins the day, directing the six sheep around various barriers and into a circle drawn on the grass. The last, and brilliant, coup which had me laughing until I cried, the first time I saw the film, was Babe’s cutting technique.
Now, working on a ranch as a youth, I have used horses and dogs to “cut” sheep and horses, which is to say “separate a herd into one or more groups”. Cutting can be a maddening exercise even the most experienced herder and dogs. It’s nigh unto impossible unless you can exercise the utmost patience and calm.
In Babe’s routine, there are six ewes — three with collars and three without — inside a circle, and he says, and I quote, “Now, ladies, if those of you with the red collars would kindly step outside of the circle and into the pen, I would be most grateful.” And, docilely, with true determination to make their porcine brother look good in the face of a thoroughly doubting crowd of humans, the three do exactly that!
Then, the three last are penned, Hoggett says, “To me, pig,” Babe comes to heel, and the crowd goes insane with applause and cheers. Beneath the cheering, the farmer gazes admiringly down at his well-heeled porker and says, “That’ll do, pig,” which is of course about as thrilling a bit of praise as one is ever going to hear from an Anglo-Saxon farmer. It translates roughly to "Well done, thou good and faithful servant!"
Now, I assure you, that there is plenty more to watch and lots more conflict than I have presented to you in this digest of the movie, but this much is what I thought might help to illustrate the text of the gospel:
The one who enters by the gate is the shepherd of the sheep. The gatekeeper opens the gate for him, and the sheep hear his voice. He calls his own sheep by name and leads them out. When he has brought out all his own, he goes ahead of them, and the sheep follow him because they know his voice. (John 10:2-4)Do you see why I cannot help but think of that film, when I read this scripture?
I mean, if you think about it, being a follower of the Christ puts us in this curious reality, in which a bridge has been formed between us and the One who knows what we need. In response, we do the will of the One. Or at least so goes the scripture.
Look, it goes this way: The gospels all demonstrate how when Jesus would speak to the disciples, they tried their level best to understand, but did not, no matter how hard they tried... I mean, they caught much of the ethical meaning of Jesus’ teachings. But most of the morals Jesus taught about were pretty obvious anyway, and all of them had been said before by other prophets.
It was not until that third day of Jesus’ death that, it is said, the disciples actually understood the impact of what he had been saying. It took that key event — Jesus’ destruction and restoration, his death and resurrection — for it finally to occur to anyone exactly Who Jesus Was or Had been... or Is!
They had thought he was just another man, but he was not. He was the shepherd and the gate of the sheep; by Christ we find our direction, through Christ we go to safety. The word of God is spoken and we know the voice of the One who is our defender, our protector; that word we heed. And when another voice comes on the air, or a thief comes over the fence, we know the voice of our shepherd; we will not be called away, lured away, or carried away. Christ is there for us, inviting us politely, assuredly.
Mind you, for some, the invitation may not have seemed so polite. But usually, that is because we have neglected to pay attention to the invitation, and we have as a result sent ourselves careening off in wrong directions –
- of abuse and addiction,
- of self-gratification at others’ expense,
- of ignorance and disregard of the needs of others,
- of insistence that we have all the answers when in fact what we specialize in is questions..!
It matters that we hear the Shepherd’s voice, it matters that we live as our Shepherd lived, take upon ourselves the word of God the way Jesus lived the word. It matters what we do, how we are perceived, where we lead and where we follow. It matters.
There is so much to do in this life, for the sake of saving the world! There is so much abuse and cruelty that deserves to be confronted and prevented...
There is too much wrong-hearted religion passing itself off as Christianity nowadays, which only perpetuates those same cycles of cruelty, abuse, and violence..!
How about a polite invitation, rather than a threat!
Sunday, May 8, 2011
Sensational Faith (sermon, Mothers Day, May 8, 2011)
The audio version of this sermon is available at http://tinyurl.com/3d55trk
To begin, let me tell you that this past Thursday I preached in the chapel at Eden Seminary a sermon based on 1 Peter 1:17-23, which brings forward much theologically about spiritual rebirth, but which also attributes to God the Father the capacity of giving birth. Not wanting to limit the power of God, I posited that we need to be about the business of recognizing that God is also Mother, if God is giving birth to all of us.
Today, I want to address the story of the Road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13-35), which brings up some of the issues that we will have to be ready to wrestle with, if we are to find new and appropriate ways to refer to God, given our modern conditions of living in a democratic society in which people are to be recognized and respected as equals.
So, if one of the travelers is Cleopas and the other unnamed, chances are that Mediterranean modesty is prevailing in the story, and the author is choosing not to mention that the other is Cleopas' wife.
To begin, let me tell you that this past Thursday I preached in the chapel at Eden Seminary a sermon based on 1 Peter 1:17-23, which brings forward much theologically about spiritual rebirth, but which also attributes to God the Father the capacity of giving birth. Not wanting to limit the power of God, I posited that we need to be about the business of recognizing that God is also Mother, if God is giving birth to all of us.
Today, I want to address the story of the Road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13-35), which brings up some of the issues that we will have to be ready to wrestle with, if we are to find new and appropriate ways to refer to God, given our modern conditions of living in a democratic society in which people are to be recognized and respected as equals.
In this story, we meet two disciples, the name of one of whom is Cleopas (or Clopas, who is often speculated also be Alphaeus with his name spelled differently from one Greek testament to another). More precisely, these two are probably the parents of a disciple, James the Less, who in one gospel is referred to as James son of Alphaeus. The reason I speculate that they are James' parents is because in one of the gospels there is a Mary wife of Clopas standing at the foot of the cross with Mary Magdalene and Jesus' mother and aunt (John 19:25), while in the others "Mary the mother of James the younger and Joses" is identified as being there (Mark 15:40, Matthew 27:56, Luke 24:10), and in Mark 16:1 a certain "Mary mother of James" approaches the tomb with Mary Magdalene and discovers that a resurrection has taken place.
So, if one of the travelers is Cleopas and the other unnamed, chances are that Mediterranean modesty is prevailing in the story, and the author is choosing not to mention that the other is Cleopas' wife.
Anyway, here's the story... Two disciples of Jesus, at the end of one incredible, jarring weekend, are on their way home to recuperate. And as they walk back, they meet another traveller going the same way. This fellow traveller asks them what’s up, and they wonder at the fact that he hasn’t heard the news about what has happened to all those Galileans who rolled into town, last Sunday. So they tell him about it, and he says something like, “Oh, that! Well, don’t you know that that was bound to happen?”
And the first traveller says, “You mean, because the Romans are a violent police state who will not put up with rousers of the rabble?”
And the third traveller says, “No, that’s not what I mean. I — ”
And the second traveller says, “You mean, because the temple authorities are vicious, cowardly people who cannot bear that someone would challenge their monolithic power?”
And the third traveller says, “No, that’s not what I mean either. I — ”
And the first traveller pipes back in and says, “You mean, because the mob in Jerusalem is no different than the mob in Rome and, as we learned with Julius Caesar, will blow in whatever direction the popular wind seems to be blowing?”
And the third traveller says, “No, not that either. I — ”
And the second traveller interrupts once more to say, “You mean, because. . . I think we’ve run out of becauses. What do you mean?”
And the third traveller says, “I mean, if this Jesus of yours was who he said he was, that is the Messiah, then what happened to him is exactly what should have happened. . . at least, according to what the Law, the Prophets, and the Writings say. Listen. . .” And with that began a conversation which made hearts to burn in the breasts of their bearers.
Farther along their way, the three travellers come to a place in the road where the third says that he has to go another way, on to his own home. But the other two are so rapt by what he’s been saying that they insist he not go on yet but join them at home and have a meal with them. Besides, dusk is coming upon them, and it will soon be too dark to travel safely. And so, apparently convinced, the third turns aside with them.
They arrive home and prepare dinner. And the conversation continues. The stranger asks them to tell him more about Jesus of Nazareth and his teaching, and they do. And he remarks and seems to marvel at the wisdom of the carpenter of Nazareth.
When finally the meal is served, the common bowl is placed at the center of their table, wondrously aromatic. The two are famished, and they assume that their seven-mile colleague must be also. The two ask the one if he wouldn’t mind saying the blessing over the food. The first takes the loaf and blesses it saying the Hebrew grace for bread, “Baruch atto Adonai elohenu, melech ho’olom, ha-mo-tzee le-chem me’en ho-o-retz.” He breaks the bread, then, and offers each a piece. They watch in awe as he sets the bread before them.
They’ve seen and heard this before: on a plain with thousands of people but only five loaves and a couple of fish; in countless dining rooms; and just three nights before at their last supper together with...
The first of them, finding his voice, says, “Hey, wait a minute! I know you!”
And the second of them says, “Yeah, you're — ”
And the third of them vanishes.
I just have to wonder... How is it that when these two disciples see Jesus, they do not recognize him? I mean, according to John the evangelist’s telling of this story, beyond the recognizability of Jesus’ face, there were also his wounds still visible in the resurrected body that would have indicated to them who he was. Granted, this is Luke’s version of a post-Resurrection story, but surely, you cannot hide wounds like those.
Now, maybe Jesus was wearing a hood, gloves, and shoes, but even if that is the case how do we explain that Resurrection Jesus can be both walking with these two and – on this same night – be in Jerusalem consoling the Ten gathered in the Upper Room? A resurrected body is still a body, and a body cannot be in two places at once. Maybe when he disappears from Emmaus, he shows up in the Upper Room, but trying to come up with explanations misses the point.
Resurrection Jesus in this story of walking along the Emmaus road is like Resurrection Jesus with Mary Magdalene or Resurrection Jesus with Thomas — unrecognizable as himself until he does something familiar. I don’t know how she mistook him for the gardener; I don’t know why Cleopas and his traveling companion (probably his wife Mary) didn’t recognize Jesus on their walk. I don’t know how Thomas could have been doubtful and could have thought that that figure before him on the second Sunday could have been someone else.
What I do know is, in John Mary hears him say her name. At this sojourn on the way to Emmaus, Jesus breaks bread, the same way he had done, three nights before, when he said, “Whenever you do this, remember me.” And Thomas, though he may not have recognized the man, recognized the wounds and actually put his fingers in them.
Here, I have managed to identify (oh, I think) five different ways for us – if we cultivate for ourselves a relationship with Jesus – to recognize that we are not alone, and that we travel not only with those obviously on the journey with us, but that we have Christ as our companion.
Such a time will arise when we like Thomas are willing to look upon another’s sufferings, wounds, and scars, and to know the truth. There Jesus is.
Such a time will arise when another allows us to touch those same wounds and scars, and to comprehend the full power of recovery and restoration. That is what resurrection bears in its fullness – completeness, even despite great pain.
Such a time will arise when we like Mary are in our own misery, despair, and loss. If we will but listen and pay attention, someOne will be saying our name comfortingly, assuring us not that our woe is unwarranted but that it will not defeat us. The Resurrection is real, and Christ is risen.
Such a time will be found in more mundane times, such as when we sit down to a meal, break bread (oh, when we break bread!) and smell the richness of the moment, taste its wonders!
Oh, and one more! Such a time will arise when we are engaged in discovering, uncovering, and recovering what all This means — this faith, this hope, this love. We will be in probing conversation about our experiences in light of the Bible – the Law, the Prophets, and the Writings – and our hearts will burn.
It is when Christ offers us the obvious for recognition’s sake, that we know “that’s the One,” “Christ is here right now!”
Sight, touch, smell, taste, hearing – our senses and our sensations inform us of our relationship with the One who unites us with God. For us, the depth of believing doesn’t necessarily come from good Bible study or unquestioning obedience to God’s will or the best practices of stewardship or even regular attendance in worship; it comes from our attention to our relationship with Christ, from allowing our attention to be drawn toward Christ.
On Ash Wednesday, I smudged foreheads and the backs of hands with a blend of burnt Palm Sunday palms and olive oil (BTW, hang onto your Palm Sunday branches until next Fat Tuesday, when I’ll burn them). I did a footwashing demonstration with a few readers on Maundy Thursday, and then with Linda Smith anointed the lot of you with oil scented by frankincense and myrrh; plus, I sprinkled everybody here on Easter. I raise the elements during communion, not in order to mark the moment of transubstantiation but in order to take a moment to pause as Christ paused in blessing at the table in Emmaus.
Faith is not just in the head, not just in the heart. Christian faith is designed to be in the hands, in our noses, in our mouths, in our eyes, our ears.
Emmaus is not bound to one location, nor one time, anymore than our experience of faith is limited to what we perceive with one sense! Emmaus is here in the heart. And everywhere, we are meeting that mysterious stranger (in hood and gloves and shoes), our hearts burn as we talk about the book, our eyes are opened when we smell the meal and break the bread, and we meet the traveler again familiarly when we gather to share and gain experiences.
And the first traveller says, “You mean, because the Romans are a violent police state who will not put up with rousers of the rabble?”
And the third traveller says, “No, that’s not what I mean. I — ”
And the second traveller says, “You mean, because the temple authorities are vicious, cowardly people who cannot bear that someone would challenge their monolithic power?”
And the third traveller says, “No, that’s not what I mean either. I — ”
And the first traveller pipes back in and says, “You mean, because the mob in Jerusalem is no different than the mob in Rome and, as we learned with Julius Caesar, will blow in whatever direction the popular wind seems to be blowing?”
And the third traveller says, “No, not that either. I — ”
And the second traveller interrupts once more to say, “You mean, because. . . I think we’ve run out of becauses. What do you mean?”
And the third traveller says, “I mean, if this Jesus of yours was who he said he was, that is the Messiah, then what happened to him is exactly what should have happened. . . at least, according to what the Law, the Prophets, and the Writings say. Listen. . .” And with that began a conversation which made hearts to burn in the breasts of their bearers.
Farther along their way, the three travellers come to a place in the road where the third says that he has to go another way, on to his own home. But the other two are so rapt by what he’s been saying that they insist he not go on yet but join them at home and have a meal with them. Besides, dusk is coming upon them, and it will soon be too dark to travel safely. And so, apparently convinced, the third turns aside with them.
They arrive home and prepare dinner. And the conversation continues. The stranger asks them to tell him more about Jesus of Nazareth and his teaching, and they do. And he remarks and seems to marvel at the wisdom of the carpenter of Nazareth.
When finally the meal is served, the common bowl is placed at the center of their table, wondrously aromatic. The two are famished, and they assume that their seven-mile colleague must be also. The two ask the one if he wouldn’t mind saying the blessing over the food. The first takes the loaf and blesses it saying the Hebrew grace for bread, “Baruch atto Adonai elohenu, melech ho’olom, ha-mo-tzee le-chem me’en ho-o-retz.” He breaks the bread, then, and offers each a piece. They watch in awe as he sets the bread before them.
They’ve seen and heard this before: on a plain with thousands of people but only five loaves and a couple of fish; in countless dining rooms; and just three nights before at their last supper together with...
The first of them, finding his voice, says, “Hey, wait a minute! I know you!”
And the second of them says, “Yeah, you're — ”
And the third of them vanishes.
I just have to wonder... How is it that when these two disciples see Jesus, they do not recognize him? I mean, according to John the evangelist’s telling of this story, beyond the recognizability of Jesus’ face, there were also his wounds still visible in the resurrected body that would have indicated to them who he was. Granted, this is Luke’s version of a post-Resurrection story, but surely, you cannot hide wounds like those.
Now, maybe Jesus was wearing a hood, gloves, and shoes, but even if that is the case how do we explain that Resurrection Jesus can be both walking with these two and – on this same night – be in Jerusalem consoling the Ten gathered in the Upper Room? A resurrected body is still a body, and a body cannot be in two places at once. Maybe when he disappears from Emmaus, he shows up in the Upper Room, but trying to come up with explanations misses the point.
Resurrection Jesus in this story of walking along the Emmaus road is like Resurrection Jesus with Mary Magdalene or Resurrection Jesus with Thomas — unrecognizable as himself until he does something familiar. I don’t know how she mistook him for the gardener; I don’t know why Cleopas and his traveling companion (probably his wife Mary) didn’t recognize Jesus on their walk. I don’t know how Thomas could have been doubtful and could have thought that that figure before him on the second Sunday could have been someone else.
What I do know is, in John Mary hears him say her name. At this sojourn on the way to Emmaus, Jesus breaks bread, the same way he had done, three nights before, when he said, “Whenever you do this, remember me.” And Thomas, though he may not have recognized the man, recognized the wounds and actually put his fingers in them.
Here, I have managed to identify (oh, I think) five different ways for us – if we cultivate for ourselves a relationship with Jesus – to recognize that we are not alone, and that we travel not only with those obviously on the journey with us, but that we have Christ as our companion.
Such a time will arise when we like Thomas are willing to look upon another’s sufferings, wounds, and scars, and to know the truth. There Jesus is.
Such a time will arise when another allows us to touch those same wounds and scars, and to comprehend the full power of recovery and restoration. That is what resurrection bears in its fullness – completeness, even despite great pain.
Such a time will arise when we like Mary are in our own misery, despair, and loss. If we will but listen and pay attention, someOne will be saying our name comfortingly, assuring us not that our woe is unwarranted but that it will not defeat us. The Resurrection is real, and Christ is risen.
Such a time will be found in more mundane times, such as when we sit down to a meal, break bread (oh, when we break bread!) and smell the richness of the moment, taste its wonders!
Oh, and one more! Such a time will arise when we are engaged in discovering, uncovering, and recovering what all This means — this faith, this hope, this love. We will be in probing conversation about our experiences in light of the Bible – the Law, the Prophets, and the Writings – and our hearts will burn.
It is when Christ offers us the obvious for recognition’s sake, that we know “that’s the One,” “Christ is here right now!”
Sight, touch, smell, taste, hearing – our senses and our sensations inform us of our relationship with the One who unites us with God. For us, the depth of believing doesn’t necessarily come from good Bible study or unquestioning obedience to God’s will or the best practices of stewardship or even regular attendance in worship; it comes from our attention to our relationship with Christ, from allowing our attention to be drawn toward Christ.
On Ash Wednesday, I smudged foreheads and the backs of hands with a blend of burnt Palm Sunday palms and olive oil (BTW, hang onto your Palm Sunday branches until next Fat Tuesday, when I’ll burn them). I did a footwashing demonstration with a few readers on Maundy Thursday, and then with Linda Smith anointed the lot of you with oil scented by frankincense and myrrh; plus, I sprinkled everybody here on Easter. I raise the elements during communion, not in order to mark the moment of transubstantiation but in order to take a moment to pause as Christ paused in blessing at the table in Emmaus.
Faith is not just in the head, not just in the heart. Christian faith is designed to be in the hands, in our noses, in our mouths, in our eyes, our ears.
Emmaus is not bound to one location, nor one time, anymore than our experience of faith is limited to what we perceive with one sense! Emmaus is here in the heart. And everywhere, we are meeting that mysterious stranger (in hood and gloves and shoes), our hearts burn as we talk about the book, our eyes are opened when we smell the meal and break the bread, and we meet the traveler again familiarly when we gather to share and gain experiences.
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