Sermon

The Third Sunday of Easter (Year A, RCL)
April 6, 2008

The Rev. Helen Slingluff White

“Are Not Our Hearts Burning Within Us?”
Luke 24:13-25

One of my favorite CDs right now is the latest of a popular band called The Dixie Chicks. On the album is a song called “Easy Silence.” This song was written during the band’s experience of rejection and boycott because of their expressed political views. The lyrics from the first verse are:

When the calls and conversation
Accidents and accusations
Messages and misperceptions
Paralyze my mind
Busses, cars and airplanes leaving
Burnin’ fumes of gasoline and
Everyone is running and I
Come to find a refuge in the
Easy silence that you make for me
It’s okay when there’s nothing more to
say to me
And the peaceful quiet you create for me
And the way you keep the world at bay for
me
The way you keep the world at bay.

I really like this song because it describes a human longing that I believe is shared by all of us. At difficult times in our life, don’t we want, don’t we need someone to hold the world at bay for us? When we witness or experience rejection, discrimination and hate, don’t we desire a safe place away from all the noise and chaos?

The disciples in today’s Gospel reading had hoped Jesus would keep the world at bay. Instead, the disciples have just witnessed the crucifixion of Jesus. The murder of their leader, their prophet, and, they had dared to hope, their messiah. And the disciples are devastated.

Today’s Gospel story is a work of art. The writer of Luke is a master storyteller, and his portrayal of the journey to Emmaus outshines any Dixie Chicks lyrics! If we look closely at the Greek words used to describe the conversation of the disciples, the imagery describes an extended discussion, inquiry and examination, standing or stopping on the road, sadness, anger. I can really imagine these two as they walked along, can’t you? I think of two seminary students, discussing the controversies facing the Episcopal Church. Or I think of two St. Markans sharing perspectives on the war in Iraq. The two disciples are bound together in a web of sorrow and anxiety. They thought Jesus would save them by redeeming and restoring Israel. Now their hopes are crushed. The world is not held at bay. Instead the world comes crashing in with chaos, violence and darkness. And the disciples are held captive. Held captive by their personal ideologies, their own self-absorption. They are so captive that they fail to recognize the Risen Christ as he walks along beside them.

I will admit, I can easily identify with these disciples who are so “in their own heads” that they miss the truth right before them. And from what I know about many of you, I suspect you can also identify with these cranial types. I even find great humor in their judgey comment to Jesus, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem that does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?” Well, duh. I think Jesus knows.

But Jesus is patient and asks, “What things?” Then the disciples tell their story of grief, doubt and confusion to the Risen Christ.

Jesus listens. And then Jesus responds. He responds by challenging the disciples to look again at the narrative they have constructed. Look again at the narrative that so completely controls their minds that they have become blind. Jesus speaks to them through the stories, prophecies, signs and symbols that have been given to the disciples through Judaism. Jesus reminds the disciples of the deeper messages contained in their tradition of Moses and the prophets. Jesus asks, “Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into glory?” Jesus reminds the disciples that, according to tradition, the redemption of Israel is not to be gained through domination or separation. Instead the Messiah would redeem the world by entering into the very depths of human suffering.

Many of us are here today to practice rituals and engage traditions that give us some sense of comfort. Many of us have taken steps to learn more about the Christian tradition, through Bible Study or participation in the liturgy or its planning. We ask questions, we listen and we muddle along like the disciples on the Road to Emmaus. But I challenge us all to carefully double check the narrative that runs through our minds—the narrative that shapes our view of the world. What are we really telling ourselves about following Jesus—that Jesus should keep the world at bay for us? That things should not be so darn hard year after year? Or that something that happened 2000 years ago has no personal relevance today? Maybe we, like the disciples, need to look afresh at our own interpretations and understandings of our tradition, so that our eyes may be opened.

Luke’s story continues...

The disciples invite Jesus to dinner still unaware of his true identity. And then it happens. Tradition, newly explored, intersects with human experience in a lightning bolt of awareness. As Jesus breaks the bread the disciple’s eyes are opened. In that action they see the despair, they see the pain, they see the cross. Yet they also see the Risen Christ. In a moment of “Easter Now”^[1] the disciples’ eyes are opened—and the enormous, eternal truth of Christ’s resurrection is made known. Jesus has not kept the world at bay. He has taken the evil and injustice of the world into his very being. His body is broken and new life comes forth. The disciples run into the nighttime darkness, no longer sad and afraid. They run to share their Good News with others. They follow Jesus into the brokenness of the world and they continue to encounter the Risen Christ. We, too, can follow Jesus into the brokenness of our lives and of the world and encounter the Risen Christ.

As a child, I learned a song^[2] that contains the words the disciples said when they recognized the Risen Christ. The words and music of this song have stayed with me for thirty years, not because I sang them that often, but because of the spirit in which they were learned. I learned this song at prayer and praise services at my childhood church, where new life had broken forth in my parish, and I was cherished by a loving and vibrant community. Through the singing of scripture, I continually connect to the joy the disciples experience at that moment when their grief is shattered, their joy is born. The song has come to me at random times in life—when my knowledge of tradition has intersected with my experience of faith. When my self-consuming blindness has been transformed so that I can see the holy in my immediate presence, and I am moved to ask others—“Are not our hearts burning within us? Are not our hearts, lighted with fire?” I invite you to sing this song with me, and celebrate the Easter moments of our lives with the disciples from the road to Emmaus.

[1] “Easter Now” was the title of the Rev. Paul Abernathy’s Easter sermon, preached at St. Mark’s on March 23, 2008.

[2] “Are Not Our Hearts” by the Rev. Carey Landry