This morning’s Gospel begins dark and melancholy, as two brokenhearted disciples walk along despondently. “We thought he was the One who would redeem Israel, our only Hope, but we saw him mocked, scourged and crucified.” Soon Jesus walks along with them, just another Stranger on his way out of Jerusalem. They’re so dejected they cannot even recognize him. Jesus listens, interested in what’s weighing on their hearts. “Why are you so sad? What are you two discussing?” “What are we discussing?” Cleopas asks in exasperation. “Are you the only one who doesn’t know what happened in Jerusalem?” “Gee, no. What?” says Jesus. This is probably one of the most tragicomic moments in all of Scripture, as the risen Lord Jesus, his body riddled with the deep wounds and scars of his passion, plays dumb. My brothers and sisters, he knows the story alright; it’s written all over his body, even into the depths of his newly pierced heart.
Then they explain - the empty tomb, the message of angels; but no one knows where Jesus’ body is. And then this Stranger tells them frankly, that they’re fools, not thinking straight. You know your Scripture; the Christ had to suffer all these things and so enter into his glory. It’s all right there; it was supposed to be like this. And then he interprets for them “what referred to him in all the Scripture.” Imagine listening to Jesus the Word telling his life with all these sacred words and allusions; all the hopes, the inklings of ancestors, all the prophecies fulfilled in the beautiful, wounded body of a crucified Lord who is truly risen and now really right beside them though unrecognized.
Their hearts too slow to understand are suddenly quickened; now hearts on fire with faith and joy in his presence. And they don’t want this Stranger to leave them. They beg him, “Please stay with us.” And so there is a supper at a small inn. They sit at table with this shadowy Stranger, the lamps are lit, and then they see – it is Jesus their Master, the One they long for, feeding them, breaking bread with hands gashed with deep holes. He breaks the bread; he himself is the Broken Bread. Brokenness signals resurrection. Jesus the Stranger is finally recognized in this ritual gesture of a community meal. Then he disappears. But they know they have seen him. This “drastic physicality” of the wounded, risen Jesus is undeniable. They leave the inn and rush back to Jerusalem, now the place of hope beyond hope.
All through his Gospel, Luke has been tracing the history of salvation. And if, in the Garden of Eden the eyes of Eve and Adam were opened as they ate the forbidden fruit and they suddenly knew their nakedness; now here at a supper in Emmaus, Cleopas and his companion, most probably his wife, have their eyes opened with an absolutely unprecedented and “deeply welcome knowledge.” They see and recognize the risen Lord Jesus as he breaks the bread for them. Their once broken hearts have been broken open by the vision of a beautiful, broken Messiah breaking bread. It is the banquet in the Kingdom. Redemption is at hand; humanity’s long exile is over. The new creation has begun; and paradise regained.
Truth be told, the disciples never really understood what Jesus was in for, no matter how often he had tried to explain to them. And we may smugly assess their foolishness, thinking we’d know better. But how often we too are fools, too slow to understand as our lives in the cloister unfold, very often like a continuous repetition of that trek to Emmaus. Disappointed, our best hopes dashed; we plod glumly along. We feel like impostors; our best hopes for progress in love and kindness, progress in prayer and holiness cannot be achieved. Plus it seems the world is falling apart. So sad and self-absorbed, we forget that Jesus is right beside us. Then he explains, it’s supposed to be like this, and he shows us his wounded risen body.
All will be well; and all manner of things will be well, for in his own body Jesus has reversed everything, and brought us home to the Father. The “horizon of God’s reign is immeasurable,” it eliminates death and leads to eternal life. And it begins here and now, if we will open our eyes and our hearts to see. From “the very beginning, God's intention was nothing other than this world, the world in which we live now - perfected, healed and sanctified.”
Finally, my sisters and brothers let us be clear. In all the resurrection accounts we’ve been listening to these days, the Lord Jesus is not playing games, a kind of continual hide and seek: now you see me now you don’t; catch me if you can. No. The message, the sacred reality we are called to embrace is that the risen Lord Jesus is always and ever present, whether we perceive him or not. He always walks with us, speaks to us words of truth and peace and life and wants to feed us with his own wounded body and blood. This is what we gather in this church, his house, to celebrate and share over and over again.
We have been ransomed from our futile conduct, with the precious blood of the wounded Christ. But how slow we are to understand that confusion is grace, how reluctant to trust that God wants to turn things over and show us beautiful opportunities for his grace in our mess. Jesus is incessantly accompanying us, though most often hidden - in a thousand places and faces. And if we desperately want hearts on fire, at the end of each day, even better perhaps a million times a day, we must notice and reflect. Notice and reflect. Where, when have I seen you? How have you been using anything at all to get my attention? When have you spoken to me?
We are indeed foolish, O Lord, please stay with us; shows that it is OK to travel along in confusion, even sometimes to suffer, if we are with you. Give us faith. Stay with us in our foolishness. Teach us your divine foolishness, the mad folly of your love for us. Give us the broken bread that you are and help us to see you there, to consume you and so more and more be consumed with love for you.
Includes insights from:
Luke Timothy Johnson, Gerhard Lohfink and NT Wright in The Resurrection of the Son of God.
