Archives For Emmaus

St. Luke tells of Jesus encountering a woman possessed by a spirit. She has been bent over, unable to stand up straight, crippled for 18 years. At least, bent-over and crippled is how her neighbors see her and, presumably, Jesus’ disciples. But at the end of the story in Luke 13, after the exorcism slash healing, Jesus proclaims her to be a “daughter of Abraham.”

The point isn’t so much Jesus healing her as it Jesus teaching his listeners how properly to see her. She was a beautiful daughter of Abraham even before Jesus freed her of the spirit. Such is the entire Gospel.

It’s about learning to see.

Despite having been told that Christ is risen, the two disciples on the way to Emmaus speak of Jesus (to the stranger who is Jesus) in the past tense: “We had hoped he was the one to redeem Israel.” Having been crucified, Jesus now belongs to past history.

In the moment their eyes are opened to him- and the passive voice is key, Jesus is the agent of the revelation and Jesus remains ever thus- they don’t simply see that it’s Jesus there among them. They see that Jesus does not belong to the past, or rather they see that the past history of the historical Jesus has invaded their present, that the Jesus of this Gospel of Luke is the same yesterday, today, and forever.

Resurrection means that what is past now isn’t Jesus.

What is past is their lives lived apart from him.

In Luke’s Emmaus story, it’s not- as it’s so often interpreted from pulpits and altars- that the breaking of the bread opens their eyes or that the breaking of the eucharistic bread, magically or mechanistically, can open ours. It’s that Jesus, who is not dead, chooses that particular moment on the way to Emmaus to reveal his presence to them and that Jesus can freely choose still to reveal (or choose not to reveal) his presence to us.

The point of Luke’s story, which Karl Barth said was a lens through which the entire Gospel should be seen, is that these two Emmaus bound disciples do not deduce Jesus’ presence among them. They do not perceive it through their own agency. Jesus, risen and alive, is not only the head of the Church. He is its acting subject.

Disciples are not, in the evangelical parlance, those who’ve come to know Jesus.

Disciples are those to whom Jesus has made himself known.

As obvious a point as this may appear to you and as clear a takeaway as it is in Luke’s Gospel, post-cancer I’ve been convicted (I freaking NEVER use that word) by the extent to which my preaching, prayer, and pastoral ministry treats Jesus in the very manner those two Emmaus bound disciples do, as belonging to the past– distant in history and disappeared now to sit at the right hand of the Father.

Sure, every Eastertide I proclaim his resurrection and I’m even willing to posture apologetically to assert the historical plausibility of his resurrection; nonetheless, I treat his resurrection primarily as an event in the past and his ascension as his departure from earth to heaven, forgetting his Gospel-ending Easter promise: “Lo, I am with you always to the end of the age.”

I shouldn’t need to point out how such forgetting conveniently makes our Christianity no different than functional atheism, for it allows us to live in this world as if Jesus isn’t really, here and now, the Lord of it.

I’ve seen Jesus the same way the disciples see that bent-over woman such that those two Emmaus-bound disciples might as well have never sat down at table with the Risen Christ because I- we- still usually render him they way they did before supper. We study the Gospels as texts of what Jesus did, what Jesus taught, what Jesus said rather than proclaiming that Jesus, being very much not dead, still speaks and teaches and DOES.

To take one important example, we think of faith as something we do. Belief is our possession, we think. Faith is our activity of which we’re the acting subjects. We make a decision for Christ. We invite him into our hearts. But if Jesus is alive, if he reveals himself and open eyes on the way to Emmaus, if he confronts us behind our locked doors and summons out of us, despite our doubts, confessions like ‘My Lord and my God” then our faith is the act of the Risen Christ upon us. What Jesus does on the road to Emmaus is what Jesus only ever does still.

We don’t invite Jesus into our hearts.

The Risen Christ invades our hearts.

To take another important example, we think of the Church in such a way that effectively conjugates Jesus in the past tense the same way these Emmaus-bound disciples do.

This week in my little stream of the Church, the UMC, a Judicial Council is meeting to adjudicate the election last year of a gay bishop. How the UMC is structured just like the U.S. government and we think sexuality is our primary problem is a mystery to me, but my point is:

The UMC is fraught right now with speech about the “future of the Church” that in itself betrays a lack of resurrection faith.

Books like Rod Dreher’s Benedict Option portend ominously the demise of Christianity in the West while denominations ratchet up the pressure on pastors to play hero and arrest sobering statistical trends.

As my former teacher Beverly Gaventa says:

“We act as if the Christian faith itself were on life support and it’s our job to find ways of resurrecting it.

We act as if pollsters [behind the Pew Survey on Religion] were in charge of the world rather than simply being in charge of a few questions.”

The Church isn’t our work or creation. It is the means through which the Risen Christ works and creates.

To the extent we ‘see’ him to as he is, risen and alive and acting still, the Church- in some form or another-will always have a way forward.

 

 

 

In this installment of our lectionary podcast, we talk about Lazarus’ death breath and whether Jesus needed Mentos before he rose from the dead and breathed onto his disciples. We also ponder essential questions like ‘Would Jesus have netted himself better disciples had he used Tinder?’ We also talk about the bible and how to preach it.

Our guest again is Brian Zahnd, pastor of Word of Life Church and author of Water to Wine. This week’s lections include: Acts 2:14a, 36-41, Psalm 116:1-4, 12-19, 1 Peter 1:17-23, Luke 24:13-35

All of it is introduced by the soulful tunes of my friend Clay Mottley.

You can subscribe to Strangely Warmed in iTunes.

You can find it on our website here.

Help us reach more people: 

Give us 4 Stars and a good review there in the iTunes store. 

It’s not hard and it makes all the difference. 

Emmaus @ Bass Pro Shop

Jason Micheli —  March 3, 2014 — 1 Comment

38_4495672_11I closed out Revolution of the Heart sermon series this weekend with a sermon Luke’s Emmaus story in chapter 24. You can listen to it below below or on the sidebar. You can also download it in iTunes under ‘Tamed Cynic’ or download the free mobile app and listen that way. 

 

      1. Emmaus @ Bass Pro Shop

 

It was the third month since we’d last spoken or seen each other, leaving the most recent wounds to fester and scar.

I was one the road.

Heading towards Richmond.

And as I drove with the radio low, I tried to work out- out loud- just what had happened, why things had gone the way they did, how this was neither what we’d hoped for nor ever expected.

I talked all of it out aloud.

As though there were was someone alongside next to me in the car.

I stopped on the way even though there was no need. I just sat there, still, working over every slight like something stuck in the teeth.

I’d only been given an address, no name or destination.

‘It’s just off 95,’ she’d typed, ‘so it will be convenient for us both.’

The slightly nagging voice in my GPS told me to get off at Exit 89 in 1 mile, and after announcing my obedience every few hundred yards she told me my destination would be on the left.

___________________________________________

     Maybe it’s an Italian thing, but in my familia we’re good at fighting. Our arguments aren’t just episodes; they’re full blown productions- operas- with the winner going to whomever gives the most committed, dramatic performance.

 And our arguments are never original productions.

They’re always sequels where it’s like a voice offstage says ‘Previously on Lost’ and then we rehearse all the old episodes that brought us to this most recent installment.

(I’m sure no one can relate.)

Even in the most litigious, operatic of families, there comes a point where the juice is no longer worth the squeeze and you stop arguing.

But since fighting is all you know how to do, you stop talking altogether.

That’s the place my mom and I were at.

It was going on the third month when she sent me a message: ‘Let’s meet for dinner somewhere.’

I know I’m the ‘reverend.’ I’m the professional Christian. I’m the one with the bible knowledge in my head and the Holy Spirit in my heart.

But the meal wasn’t my initiative. The invitation came from her not me. I replied back to her: ‘Sure’ and I suggested a couple dates and asked for a destination. She sent back only an address. A seemingly random place along the road. I didn’t even try to find it on a map.

I replied again ‘Okay.’  And then with much sarcasm and equal parts cynicism, I entered the date in my iPhone Calendar along with the title: ‘Reconciliation Dinner.’

___________________________________________

     The day of- I typed the address into Google Maps and 100 miles later it announced that my destination was on my left.

I slowed the car and stared to the side and concluded that my mom must be punking me.

Because there on my left was the Bass Pro Shop.

It’s a manure-colored structure that stretches as far as the eye can see.

In case you’re unfamiliar, Bass Pro Shop is a shopping mall exclusively for hunting and fishing.

Imagine if Costco sold only those blueberry muffins and you have idea of the scale and specificity that is Bass Pro Shop.

Now some of you know me better than others so let me just clarify by saying that I’m not really a Bass Pro Shop kind of guy.

Not exactly in my element at the Bass Pro Shop.

I double-checked the address my mom had sent me.

I was afraid that to call and question the choice of meeting places would only provoke another argument so I got out of the car and walked the 2 miles through the parking lot to the store, all the while feeling like a contestant in the Hunger Games headed towards the Cornucopia.

Like a lumberjack of yore, I walked through the heavy, fake-timbered front doors and then pushed my waist through a turnstile.

     If Virginia is a red-leaning state, then I think it fair to say that the Bass Pro Shop in Richmond is like that spot on the planet Jupiter.

For example, after I walked through the turnstile, to my left, where you might expect a coat check at a swankier establishment, customers were checking their concealed handguns.

“Did you bring a weapon with you, sir?” the Walmart Greeter asked me. “Weapon? Uh, just these,” I said, holding up my 2 hands.

He kinked his eyebrow as though he was thinking there’s no way you could stand your ground with hands of such unimpressive caliber.

I stood there, staring back over at the gun check.

“Are you looking for something, sir?” the Walmart Greeter asked.

“Um, I was just wondering where I can tie up my horse” I joked.

He didn’t laugh. You could tell it struck him like a good idea.

I’d gotten there early. I had time to kill, and I still had birthday shopping to do for Gabriel so I wandered the store.

After a while, another employee asked me if she could help me.

‘Yeah, do you sell fishing poles here?’ (at the Bass Pro Shop)

She looked at me with the sort of empathy one reserves for stroke patients and pointed in the direction behind her.

I walked past ladies camouflage lingerie in the women’s section, Duck Dynasty onesies in the kids’ section and ‘Gun Control Means Using Two Hands’ outdoor thermostats in the home and garden section.

Finally I happened upon not simply a fishing section but an entire forest of fishing poles. And behind it, hidden like a high stakes baccarat table, was an entire fly fishing section.

I browsed, and every now and then I would let out a manly grunt like I knew what I was looking at. Eventually I let myself get taken advantage of and I bought Gabriel a boy’s fly rod and reel and then, checking the time, I hiked back to the front of the store to meet my mom.

I stood outside next to a steel deer-hunting stand and waited for her.  We said hi and walked inside and stepped through the turnstile.

“Do you have any weapons with you?” the same Walmart Greeter asked her.

“Just these two” I said again, and he rolled his eyes at me.

     It turns out that in addition to a 2 story waterfall and a day care center for your gun dogs, the Bass Pro Shop also has a full-service restaurant and bar in it.

Because… why would it not?

And we all know nothing goes better with hunting than a few appletinis.

___________________________________________

The restaurant was decorated like Applebees’ but with a swampy alligator theme. Captain Sig Hanson from Deadliest Catch was catching something on the flat screen over the bar.

The hostess sat us awkwardly in the middle of the dining room where we were surrounded by a busload of elderly ladies and a high school cheerleading squad.

At first we tested the temperature before we tiptoed too far into conversation: nice to see you, how are you, what’s new with you, how are the boys?

That sort of thing.

We must’ve looked like we were deep in conversation.

Because when the waitress came over to take our drink order she apologized for interrupting us.

As the waitress walked away, my mom said: ‘I’m sorry…for everything.’

‘Me too’ I said.

And then we got down to the brass tacks of what each of us was sorry for.

After a while, the waitress brought us the glasses of wine we’d ordered along with a loaf of bread on a wooden cutting board.

Probably because it gave us something else to say, something safely rote and memorized, we said grace.

We didn’t hold hands or make a show of it or anything.

     We just quietly said grace.

     And having blessed the bread, I took it.

     And because the waitress forgot to leave us a knife, I broke the bread.

     Into two pieces.

     And I gave the bread to my mom.

___________________________________________

     If you read straight through Luke’s Gospel, from beginning to end, one of the things you notice is how Jesus is always eating at someone’s house.

     In fact, some of Jesus’ most critical teachings come around a dinner table.

     “I’ve come not for good, righteous, religious people but for sinners.” Jesus says that after he’s poured another round at Levi’s house. Levi the tax collector.

“If you can’t admit that you have much to be forgiven for you can’t possibly show very much love.” Jesus serves that up before the appetizers are served at Simon the Pharisee’s house.

 

“You do plenty of bible studies but seldom do you do the bible.” Jesus says that as soon as he sits down at another Pharisee’s house when they notice he hasn’t washed up for supper.

 

“Make yourself low so as to raise someone else up. Like, when you have a dinner, treat your guest as if they were host” Jesus says when he’s a guest at the leader of the Pharisees’ house. “And whenever you have a dinner don’t just invite your friends, that’s not what my Kingdom’s like. Invite the poor and the lame. Invite the stranger and the estranged.”

 

“The Kingdom of God is about actively seeking out the lost not waiting around for the lost to find their way to you” Jesus says on the way to Zaccheus’ house.

 

When you read Luke’s Gospel straight through, one of the things you notice is how Jesus practically eats his way to the Cross.

 

Luke records 6 meals Jesus shares in the course of his ministry.

 

A seventh comes the night Jesus is betrayed, when Jesus deviates from the ancient script and, taking bread and wine, says “I’m the only way for you to pass-over from despair to new life, from sorrow to celebration, from bondage to freedom.”

“And just so you don’t forget that-

Whenever you break bread or pour out wine

Do it in remembrance of me.”

Luke tells you that Jesus celebrates 7 suppers on the way to the Cross.

     7- the Hebrew number for perfection, completion, for the sum total of creation.

     7 Suppers.

     Which makes this meal at Emmaus the 8th Supper.

The Resurrection is on the 8th Day. 1024px-Caravaggio.emmaus.750pix

In a 7 day week, the 8th Day is just the 1st Day all over again.

The Old Creation began on the 1st Day.

And the New Creation begins on the 8th Day.

The first meal of the Old Creation was when Adam and Eve broke God’s only command and, scripture says, “they ate and their eyes were opened” and they were ashamed of themselves and blamed each another and hid from God.

The first meal of the New Creation is when Cleopas and another- who’s probably his wife- they break bread and, scripture says, “they ate and their eyes were opened and they recognized” and they ran back reconciled and rejoicing about resurrection.”

     The numbers aren’t accidental.

     Luke wants you to see that this 8th Meal at Emmaus is the 1st Meal of the New Creation.

It’s Luke’s way of saying that this meal at Emmaus is the summation of all the ones that came before it, that everything Jesus said and did at those 7 other supper tables can be found here in this 8th one, the first one of the New Creation.

Which is why, I think, before they sit down for this 8th Meal, Luke points out how these 2 disciples – they know their bibles. They know everything there is to know about Jesus.

     They know the Christmas story, that Jesus is from Nazareth.

They know he preached like and performed deeds like the prophets of old.

They know he was righteous in a way like no else but Moses.

They know the Apostles Creed, how Jesus ‘was crucified under Pontius Pilate.’

They know he was to be the Messiah who would save his People from Sin.

They even know that the tomb is empty.

And that women have seen him raised from the dead.

      They know everything there is to know.

     Except what any of it could possibly mean for them. In their lives.

Before this 8th Meal, when Luke shows you how much they know but how little grasp, Luke wants you to recall those other meals.

Like the one at Simon’s house where Jesus praises a sinner over a Pharisee and makes the point that it’s not how much bible you know it’s much bible you do.

Luke wants you to see in this 8th Meal the other 7 before it.

That’s why, before this meal at Emmaus, Luke points out how even when this stranger opens up the disciples’ minds to the scriptures and their hearts are burning inside with them from the spiritual high, they still don’t recognize Jesus right there in front of them.

When Luke shows you how their spiritual high in their hearts doesn’t do anything to open their eyes, Luke wants you to remember those other meals.

Like the one at the Pharisee’s house, where Jesus says his Kingdom is not about your high. It’s about your low. It’s about humbling and lowering yourself for another.

Before this 1st Meal of the New Creation, these 2 disciples have everything there is to know about Jesus in their heads and they have spiritual fire in their hearts..

But Jesus is not made visible at this 8th Meal until they actually DO what Jesus said at those other 7 Meals.

Jesus is not made visible until they refuse to let this stranger remain a stranger.

They don’t let him slip away to the next town.

They don’t let a possible relationship go lost.

Because the Kingdom is about seeking after people.

They invite this stranger to dinner not just their friends.

And these 2 disciples- they humble themselves. They turn convention upside down and they treat this guest as though he were the host.

That’s why he’s the one who blesses and breaks the bread.

And don’t forget the biggest thing of all-

For all they know this scripture-quoting rabbi on the road, who’s playing dumb about the crucifixion, is a Pharisee.

This stranger certainly sounds like a Pharisee.

He talks like a Pharisee talks.

For all they know he’s an enemy who killed Jesus.

And so their invitation to dinner is itself a gesture of forgiveness and reconciliation.

 

These 2 disciples have everything there is to know about Jesus in their heads and they have spiritual fire in their hearts…

     But Jesus is not made visible at this 8th Meal until they actually DO

what Jesus said at those other 7 Meals.

 

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The waitress at the Bass Pro Shop brought us our glasses of wine along with a loaf of bread on a wooden cutting board.

We offered a blessing.

And then I took it, the bread.

And I broke it.

And I gave it.

     And then suddenly right before our eyes…

No.

It doesn’t work that way.

It’s not like our eyes were suddenly opened or that Jesus appeared to us in front of the paper-mache alligator on the wall.

I think that misses what Luke’s trying to show us.

It’s not that Jesus was suddenly made visible to us.

It’s that everyone around us- the elderly ladies on their bus trip and the high school cheerleaders and the bartender in front of the flat screen and the waitress with the flair on her apron- if they knew our story and heard us seeking after what had been lost, refusing to let our estrangement make us strangers…if they knew our story and heard us offering forgiveness and saw us breaking bread- in remembrance- then they just might see Jesus.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Emmaus ~ A Poem

Jason Micheli —  February 28, 2014 — Leave a comment

imagesWe conclude our Revolution of the Heart series this weekend with Luke’s 2nd story of Resurrection, the encounter on the road to Emmaus. Oddly in over 12 years of preaching this is the first time I’ve ever preached from this familiar text, which suggests I’ve done a fair job of avoiding it until now.

I recently had a conversation with poet/undertaker Thomas Lynch for a future podcast, in which we talked poetry, prose, preaching and taking the dead and the living where they need to be.

So I’ve had poetry on my mind.

Here’s a poem, Emmaus, by the theologian Rowan Williams, the former Archbishop of Cantebury.

First the sun, then the shadow,
so that I screw my eyes to see
my friend’s face, and its lines seem
different, and the voice shakes in the hot air.
Out of the rising white dust, feet
tread a shape, and, out of step,
another flat sound, stamped between voice
and ears, dancing in the gaps, and dodging
where words and feet do not fall.

When our eyes meet, I see bewilderment
(like mine); we cannot learn
this rhythm we are asked to walk,
and what we hear is not each other.
Between us is filled up, the silence
is filled up, lines of our hands
and faces pushed into shape
by the solid stranger, and the static
breaks up our waves like dropped stones.

So it is necessary to carry him with us,
cupped between hands and profiles,
so that the table is filled up, and as
the food is set and the first wine splashes,
a solid thumb and finger tear the thunderous
grey bread. Now it is cold, even indoors;
and the light falls sharply on our bones;
the rain breathes out hard, dust blackens,
and our released voices shine with water.

This weekend we’re concluding our recent sermon series, Revolution of the Heart, with Luke’s second story of resurrection: the encounter on the way to Emmaus (Luke 24).

looking_01As I do, I’ve been spending several hours a day studying the text as well as what other saints and sinners have had to say about it.

I still haven’t discovered the sermon for Sunday, but, as I do, I’ve come across several exegetical nuggets that, while they probably won’t find their way into the sermon, shed more light on the text.

For instance:

Luke 24 parallels Luke 2.

Whereas Mark’s frenetic pace, apocalyptic tone and disarming hero reminds me of Cormac McCarthy, with his carefully arranged plot and neatly calibrated scenes, Luke is the New Testament’s Charles Dickens.

In Luke 2, Mary and Joseph are leaving Jerusalem after the Passover. They discover their little boy is not with them. They run back to Jerusalem frantic and fearful. Only on the third day do they find them where the precocious little twerp has the stones to reply: ‘It was necessary to be in my Father’s house.’

In Luke 24, another couple are leaving Jerusalem after yet another Passover pilgrimage. A man named Cleopas and a companion not named- most likely his wife. They’re despondent that Jesus is no longer with them. They meet a stranger who check mates their sorrow by showing how “it was necessary” that the Messiah should die and be raised.” It’s the third day. They recognize in the breaking of bread that this stranger is the Jesus who’d been lost.

Another nugget:

Luke 24 is where Jesus becomes the ‘Lord’ (again).

There are things you notice more easily if you read the Gospel straight through like you would a novel or short story.

From beginning to nearly the end, Luke constantly refers to Jesus as the Lord.

Pre-magnificat, Elizabeth welcomes Mary “the mother of my Lord.”

The many sick who ask Jesus for a little miracle working make their request by calling him ‘Lord.’

When the disciples go out in pairs Luke says it’s the ‘Lord’ who sends them.

Peter doesn’t simply deny Jesus, according to Luke he denies the ‘Lord.’

But in Luke when Christ’s Passion begins, his of the ‘Lordship’ ends.

Before Pilate, on trial for claiming to be King of the Jews, Luke makes no mention of him also being the ‘Lord.’

Before the Sanhedrin, Jesus is just ‘Jesus.’ So too when he’s before Herod. Before the crowd, it’s even worse. ‘Jesus’ is now just ‘this man’ while the other prisoner’s name, ‘Barabbas,’ means ‘son of the Father.’

On the way to the Cross, Luke calls him Jesus. He’s jeered and mocked and spit upon for feigning to be the Christ, the Messiah. No one calls him Lord, not even Luke.

Through the taunting of the one bandit and the petition of remembrance from the other, he is derided as “the Christ” or simply called Jesus.

It’s ‘Jesus’ who’s taunted by the thief on the cross. It’s ‘Jesus’ who gives up his spirit to breath his last. It’s ‘Jesus’ whom Mary and the Beloved watch die. It’s ‘Jesus’ whose body is taken down and buried.

rembrandt_emmaus-maaltijd_grtBut then the 3rd day later, the 8th day of the week, which is the first day, when the women come to anoint his body and discover it gone, they’re not scared that Jesus’ body is missing. They’re upset the Lord’s body is missing.

Having been killed and raised, Jesus is Lord again.

And when run back from Emmaus, they’re not screaming excitedly about ‘Jesus.’ They announce ‘The Lord has risen indeed.’

Luke does in chapter 24 what he has Peter do in his first sermon in Acts: You crucified ‘Jesus’ but God through his resurrection God has made him ‘Lord.’

This little nugget probably makes for a better Easter sermon:

Resurrection = God’s enthroning Jesus as King and Lord of the Nations.

However, that Luke has the ‘Lord’ go dark during the Passion story begs the question:

Who it is that dies on the Cross?

God (in the flesh)?

Or Jesus (just the flesh)?

So much of our theology eludes the depiction of God making someone else suffer and die on the Cross by arguing that it’s God’s own self who dies on the Cross (thank you Trinitarian theology).

Luke though seems to suggest otherwise.

It’s Jesus who dies on the Cross.

It’s God who vindicates him.