April 22, 2012

Clay Nelson

Easter 3     Luke 24:13-49

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In 1987 I lead a group from my congregation on a pilgrimage to the Holy Land. One of our many destinations was Emmaus to celebrate the Eucharist. The story of Emmaus being my favourite of the Resurrection stories, I was deeply moved to break bread in that historic location. Back on the tour bus, our Lebanese guide, who had a doctorate in theology, broke the bad news to me. Perhaps this was the Emmaus in the Gospels and perhaps not. There are three other places that claim to be Emmaus. Well, I got over my initial disappointment by reminding myself that I had a one out of four chance of being where Jesus broke bread with Cleopas and his nameless companion. But creating uncertainty for me didn’t satisfy him, he had to go on and disabuse me of my preconceptions about the story’s historicity. He told me there was another possibility as well. It is more likely Emmaus isn’t a real place at all. In the oldest text available of Luke’s Gospel the place isn’t called Emmaus but Oulammaus. Oulammaus in the Greek translation of the Old Testament was the place where God visited Jacob in a dream, while he slept on a rock. However, this was an unfortunate mistake in the Greek translation. The place name should have been Luz. Around 100 AD the Greek translation was corrected. Oulammaus became Luz. But that was after Luke wrote the story of the Road to Emmaus. If it had been written after the correction the story might have been called the Road to Luz. The theory is that Luke simply was making a parallel between Jacob being visited by God and the disciples being visited by Jesus. I think his shattering of my preconceptions that day opened my eyes and propelled me down the road of Progressive Christianity.

That day in what is purported to be Emmaus by Israel’s tourist industry allowed me to let go of a whole set of questions about what really happened that day, because nothing did. It’s a story — a lovely one. Instead I am free to engage it at a deeper level. For instance, instead of wondering who travelled with Cleopas. I can enter the story as his companion.

As his companion I can reflect on why I do not always recognize Jesus. A couple of reasons come to mind. One could be that Jesus conceals his identity for his own purposes. Perhaps he does so for the same reason parents let their child learn about life through exploration rather than just telling them how it is.

The other reason is our preconceptions as to what is or is not sacred can blind us. As a consequence we can — and do — miss it.

Appearances can be deceiving when it comes to seeing God. An old rabbinical tale illustrates the problem well. Two congregants consulted their rabbi. One man contended that the other’s cat had stolen and eaten five pounds of freshly made butter. “Bring me the cat,” ordered the rabbi, “and bring me a scale.” The order was duly carried out. “How many pounds of butter did you say the cat has eaten?” asked the rabbi. “Five pounds.” Thereupon the rabbi put the cat on the scale. It weighed exactly five pounds! “Now I have the butter,” the rabbi exclaimed, “but where is the cat?”

It’s the same with God, I would contend. We may think we know who or what or where God is, but we’re in for a surprise. The divine reality, the infinite source of our being, forever evades the theologian’s snare. “God” is not even God’s name, but rather our name for that which is greater than all yet present in each of us.

In our story this morning the two travellers are not ready to perceive Jesus. Their preconceptions about who or what a Messiah should be had not been met in him. Cleopas laments, “we had hoped he was the one to redeem Israel.” Certainly a crucified Messiah who dies and rises again did not fit their preconception of Messiahship. 

Jesus, for his part, deceives them, by pretending not to know them. He feigns ignorance of recent events and refers to himself in the third person. Why does he keep them in the dark? I suspect, first, he knows they wouldn’t believe him. Their preconceptions are too strong. Second, going undercover gives him an opportunity to teach them about his way of being the Messiah through an exposition of the Scriptures. And he does so thoroughly, beginning with Moses and proceeding through all the prophets.

I believe this account is an allusion to how Jesus’ followers actually came to make sense of their friend’s crucifixion. They scoured Hebrew Scriptures looking for anything that would explain their experience of Jesus.

However, Jesus’ efforts to transform their vision prove unsuccessful. They still don’t recognize him.

We can identify. People hang onto their preconceptions with tenacity. As an example, if you are predisposed to accepting GLBT people fully into the life of the church no amount of justification for not doing so by an Evangelical pointing out the few passages in Scripture that condemn them is going to convince you otherwise. And of course, the reverse is true as well. If someone is already viscerally opposed to homosexuality, there is little that logical argumentation can do to change that person’s mind. If a change is to occur, something more is needed. What is it?

On the road to Emmaus that something more begins with Jesus presenting himself as a stranger to the travellers. He then “came near and went with them.” He initiates a relationship with them. By doing so, he makes space for them to be transformed. Sacred space, if you will.

The idea of “creating space” in order to allow for the flourishing of new concepts describes, for me, what Progressive Christianity as practiced at St Matthew’s is all about. Our goal is to create space in which people can grapple with difficult theological concepts and world realities. We seek to create a safe space in which people can take the time they need to work out their own beliefs. A place where we can enter into dialogue – into relationship – with each other about our beliefs.

While creating space is important it isn’t all that is needed. Why did Jesus’ breaking of bread cause their eyes to be opened and their hearts to be strangely warmed? It wasn’t something magical in the bread. It wasn’t just because he invited himself to walk along with them. It wasn’t just because he taught them about the scriptures. It happened because Cleopas and his companion extended hospitality to him, a stranger. If they had not invited Jesus to eat with them no bread would have been broken and no recognition of the sacred before them would have happened. They would have remained clueless, desolate and blind. In the space made for them to form a relationship they invited the stranger into that most intimate of communal acts, breaking bread together. In doing so their eyes were opened to the sacred and to what it means to walk with Jesus.

While the Road to Emmaus may not be historical, and Emmaus may be nowhere to be found, it contains the sacred. We all want to experience what Cleopas and his companion experienced. We all want to be released from our blindness to the sacred. We all want to reveal the sacred within us to those around us. It helps to know that all is sacred and waiting to be seen.