Monday, April 27, 2020

Easter 3 Sermon Online

Lord Jesus, stay with us this morning, be our companion on the way, kindle our hearts, and awaken hope, that we may know you as you are revealed in Scripture and the breaking of bread. Grant this for the sake of your love. Amen.

As we continue our journey of Easter, may we be open to seeing the resurrected Jesus.

Growing up, I was the only one in my family that didn’t have glasses. I was proud of that fact. I didn’t need them. My older brother and sister had them since they were kids. When I started seminary in California, Ellen noticed I squinted to see the chalkboard, or to read the road signs. One pleasant Saturday afternoon, when Ellen and I were dating, we went for a drive and she wouldn’t tell me where we were going.

We parked the car on a street lined with shops and she still wouldn’t tell me where we were going. She lead me to “Site for Sore Eyes” and had an appointment for my eye exam already set up. An hour after that exam I had my first pair of glasses. I still remember the difference it made. How sharp and clear everything seemed, how I didn’t need to squint to read things. It was a humbling experience but one I needed in order to see so much better, the world was made new.

In our journey of faith, there comes a time when we need to have our eyes opened to God’s work around us, like a new pair of glasses. When we walk our road to Emmaus…

…while Jesus was with them at table, he took bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to them. With that their eyes were opened and they recognized him…
A young couple receives the wonderful news: they are pregnant. But their joy soon gives way to fear. Her severe morning sickness debilitates her; her doctor discovers the fetus is in distress and plans for the worst. She is confined to bed for the duration of her pregnancy.

The dad-to-be is overwhelmed by it all and unable, in his eyes, to offer any meaningful help, he buries himself in everything but accomplishes little.

But along the way, their parents — gently and quietly — cover many of the day-to-day details; they check in regularly with encouragement and advice, allaying many of their fears. Co-workers at his office take as many things as they can off his desk. And, under the radar, members of their parish organize to provide supper a few nights a week.

And they manage. After a long, painful, terrifying few months, they welcome their little girl, healthy and whole. And, along the way, the new parents discover again how much they love each other and the beautiful little family they have created. And they realize, too, what their love means to those around them.
We all have our Emmaus-like experiences of fear, confusion, dread, worry. But along the way, Christ makes himself known in our midst in the loving support of family and friends, of our community and parish. Christ travels with us on our own road to Emmaus; Christ is present in the broken bread of compassion we offer and receive from our fellow travelers.

Our Easter faith is to recognize and run into the Risen One in our very midst.

In her book God of Love: A Guide to the Heart of Judaism, Christianity and Islam, writer Mirabai Starr reflects on the many times she unexpectedly ran into . . . God:

“Late at night, you think you hear a knocking at the door of your heart. You peer out the window into the darkness, clutch the folds of your robe. Maybe you imagined it. You begin to head back to bed when the knocking comes again, more urgent now.

“’Excuse me?’ a voice calls. “I’m a little lost. And hungry.’

“You hesitate for a moment longer, measuring habitual caution against an irrational surge of fearlessness. The scales tip and you throw open your heart-door to greet the stranger there.

“’Welcome home,’ you say.

“Only then do you recognize her face. It is God! And she looks exactly like you.

“Then there are the nights when you bolt the door of your heart, stuff wads of silicone in your ears and pop a pill so that nothing can reach you. You would like to be available, but your days are long and your cupboards are bare. You aspire to make each act an offering to the Divine, yet sometimes it is all you can do to take out the garbage without bursting into tears. You wish you could see the face of God in everyone always, but your eyes are clouded by longing and disappointment.

“Besides, the Holy One has a tendency to hide behind preposterous disguises: he is the homeless man lumbering through the park talking to himself in a loud voice, a pint of Cuervo Gold tucked into the back pocket of his jeans; she is the teenager texting her boyfriend and applying mascara at the stoplight after it has turned green; he is the young father gambling away his children’s dinner at the casino on his way home from another day at the sewage treatment plant; she is the elderly woman slowly counting out change at the convenience store when you are late for a job interview; and he is the Very Busy Man who does not give you the job.

“You understand that this is why all the sacred teachings remind us to be vigilant: God could pop up anywhere, anytime, and drop his mask. When he does, we must be sure we have treated him like God, no matter how he was behaving.”
On the roads we travel to whatever Emmaus is our destination, God appears to us in so many different guises, just like he did to those two disciples on the road to Emmaus long ago…

In all of them, God guides us, nudges us, challenges us and confronts us,

· Where are we going?

· What are we seeking on this journey?

· How do we experience meaning and purpose in our lives?

God makes himself known in the poor, the stranger, the troubled, and so calls forth from us the compassion and mercy and peace of his Easter promise. This Easter, may we become the living sign of our resurrected Jesus, in our generosity and kindness to those who travel these Emmaus roads with us; may we realize God walking with us in the peace and forgiveness extended to us by our traveling companions during Covid-19. May our Easter celebration open our hearts and spirits to recognize Christ among us in every moment of our lives, in both the bright promising mornings and the dark terrifying nights. Amen.

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