Road Talk

A Sermon Preached by

The Rev. Paul Debenport

June 7, 2009

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I’ve been saving this post-Easter passage for this communion Sunday.

Hear the Word of God from Luke 24:13—35:

Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all the things that had happened.  While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him.  And he said to them, “What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?”  They stood still, looking sad.  Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas answered him, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?”  He asked them, “What things?”  They replied, “The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him.  But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.  Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place.  Moreover, some women of our group astounded us.  They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find the body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive.  Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and

found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him.  Then he said to them, “Oh,

 how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared!   Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?”  Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.  As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on.  But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.”  So he went in to stay with them.  When he was at the table with

them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them.  Then their eyes were

opened and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight.  They said to

each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on

the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?”  The same hour they got

up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions

gathered together.  They were saying, “The Lord has risen indeed, and he

has appeared to Simon!”  Then they told what had happened on the road,

and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

The Word of the Lord.  Thanks be to God.

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            The “Road-talk” cemented the relationship between them and set the stage, but breaking the bread is what did it.  Not the voice.  Not the face.  Not even the scriptural teachings.  No, it was the bread in his hands.  That’s how they knew it was Jesus.  This time, anyway.

How do you know?  How do I know?  Is it a sermon, a Bible lesson, a book?  Is it in a piece of music, a walk in the mountains, a sunset?  Is it the touch of a caring hand or the warmth of a smile?  Is it an act of mercy, a shared meal, or in just being listened to?  How do you know it is Jesus walking with you?

            It happens differently with different people in different situations.  When you are crawling your way through a slough of despair, Jesus may show up as a friend who gets down on her hands and knees to crawl with you.  When you are walking through the valley of the shadow of grief, Jesus may show up as a man at the bank, who leads you through the maze of wills, insurance claims, and the like.  When you are the new kid in town, dreading that first day of middle school, Jesus may show up as the kid whose locker is next to yours, who says, “Want to eat lunch together today?”  How do you know it is Jesus?

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I wonder what those disciples on the road needed, or thought they needed, that afternoon.  They poured out their shock, disappointment, and dismay to a stranger walking with them.  Which says they were in a total fog, doing the post-tragedy rehashing and replaying every detail of their dashed hopes in Jesus, questioning themselves, I’m sure.  What could we have done?  What should we have done?  Was it our fault?  Surely this wasn’t the ending Jesus had planned? ^1.

            Seven miles of walking together provides for a long talk, when you need to have one.  So Jesus joined them, listened to their version of events.  He talked, too, as they wanted him to.  He reminded them of some scriptures, to maybe help them get their heads around the unthinkable.  It was what they at least think they needed.  So he gave them some words that might help them.  This was their grief; he let them take the lead.  He just walked the long miles with them, talking some, listening a lot.

            But in the end, it wasn’t the road-talk that did it.  It was the gesture at the table:  bread broken and offered to them.  That’s how they knew it was Jesus.  Surely this is why we always bring food to the grieving and the traumatized, where all food is comfort food.

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            The road to Emmaus is the road we all have to walk sooner or later.  When we aren’t walking it ourselves, we fall into step with someone else taking their turn.  We do this because we love them.  We do this because this is what Jesus did—and does, sometimes through even us.

            And we’ve learned some things from Him.  We’ve learned that when someone is walking that road, what they think they need is important.  “Don’t you dare try to explain this me!  And don’t do that `it’s God’s will’ thing, either,” your grief-stricken friend snaps at you before you can even open your mouth.  And you don’t.  “Talk to me about something else, anything else,” the soon to be widow pleaded to me during her hospice vigil for her dying husband.  “Just hold my hand and be quiet,” says another.  And that’s what we do, for it is their grief.  You let them take the lead.  You walk with them and join in when you can. 

            But we’ve also learned that the road-talk is just a prelude.  It still isn’t the place where you recognize Jesus.  The road-talk is where we get to exercise a tiny bit of control in our out-of-control situation.  It’s where we get to set the tone, the topic of conversation, or even the silences, where we can hear our own footsteps, and the footsteps of those brave enough to walk with us.  When we’re spiraling in grief or fear, we need people and places where the spiraling stops, at least for a little while.  We need a place to process our own grief in our own way.

            Jesus knew this.  And that’s exactly what he does, on the Road to Emmaus, for seven long miles, for as long as it takes.  Which I think is why the disciples were finally ready, when they sat down to supper, to see beyond themselves—to see Him.

            But the truth is Jesus was present with them, long before they recognized him.  As He’s here with us today, in the breaking of the bread, but He’s also with us long before and long after this sacramental blessing.  He’s here walking with those who are walking the Road to Emmaus today.  And He’s walking with those of us walking with each other.  He’s here reminding us yet again that He is Risen and walking with us, offering us yet again the bread of healing. 

Thanks be to God.

Amen.

Benediction:

When your sister or brother is walking the road to Emmaus, walk with them. 

Let them set the agenda.  Let them walk and let them talk themselves out. 

Listen patiently, even in the silences.

And then, let the gesture speak for itself.

Be the face of Christ for them,

so that they can recognize Christ themselves. 

Go in peace and courage, in the name of God the Father,

God the Son, and God the Holy Spirit.  Amen.