It makes such a
difference when we feel part of something bigger than ourselves that’s alive
and full of hope.
I can only imagine
how good it feels to belong to Leafs Nation right now, because even with the
first-round loss to the Capitals there’s a lot of new life and hope. I’ve long believed this also is one of the
reasons people line up in their cars every morning at the Tim Horton’s window –
that it’s not just the coffee, but also the feeling of belonging to something
bigger, to a community and a family that as long as you’re faithful to it, will
take care of you.
And I wonder if we
still feel the same way about the church – about being part of the body of
Christ here in Winona and in the world. Do
we feel part of something bigger than ourselves that’s alive and full of hope
and takes care of people, or are we, like the two disciples of Jesus in our
story this morning, questioning what we used to believe, and on our way from
the holy city of Jerusalem to the lesser village of Emmaus?
I tried finding out about
Emmaus this week -- where it was and what it was like, and found there is no
record of a village matching the one the story describes. There are
several candidates, but none really fits the story as it's been told.
So it’s either disappeared, or the story is metaphoric rather than literal – and the meaning is not hard to see.
So it’s either disappeared, or the story is metaphoric rather than literal – and the meaning is not hard to see.
Jerusalem is the
holy city. Remember Palm Sunday? The disciples come there with Jesus, with
deep faith in God and God’s Christ to be able to heal and save the world. They are part of something good, bigger than
themselves, to which they make promises of undying commitment. They expect God’s good will to be done in the
world through Christ and through them as his disciples.
Then, after the
defeat, death and interment of Jesus on Good Friday, Emmaus becomes their Plan
B – a place of doubt and disillusionment, of shaken faith and weakened
commitment, of a more limited view of what Earth is to be and of their role in
it.
Perhaps Emmaus is
their home town, and they’re going back to pick up and put back together the
pieces of the life that Jesus’ message and their belief in the kingdom of God
encouraged them to leave behind.
Probably they will never forget Jesus and what he taught them. Probably they will still try to put into
practice what they learned from Jesus about being kind and loving, and being
nice people and good neighbours. But when
they get home and find shelter in their own little space, never again will they
give themselves as fully as he asked to the life, the truth, the hope and the community
of the kingdom of God on Earth.
Fortunately for them
they are touched, they are changed inside and in what they understand, before
they make it all the way home – all the way back from the eternal city of Jerusalem
to the lost village of Emmaus.
They are met by a
stranger on the way and to their credit they share with this other, the deep
and hard feelings they carry. They share
their discouragement and disillusionment.
Instead of keeping their hurt and loss locked up inside and turning it
into their secret treasure, they let it out and let it be known and looked at.
Then they listen as
the stranger puts what they feel into perspective. He patiently and lovingly relates the
powerlessness of Jesus and what his kingdom suffers at the hands of the world,
to what has always happened to God’s servants and God’s kingdom of God. It’s just part of the story. And they listen. What he says sounds true. It warms their hearts to know they’re not
alone in what they have suffered and what they feel.
When they reach a
stopping-place for the night, they invite the stranger to stay with them. Even in their moral and spiritual exhaustion
they practice the most basic rule of spirituality and faith, which is hospitality
to a stranger. And as they share a meal
as equals, allowing the stranger to break the bread for them, they suddenly see
who he really is, the way things really are, and what they are capable of still
being – of being again.
Then the stranger
vanishes and despite the lateness of the hour and all they have suffered, they
pack up and make their way back as fast as they can to Jerusalem, to tell the
others Jesus is not dead but alive, not defeated but raised, that he has healed
their hurt and brokenness, and that all they believed and gave themselves to,
is still true, still meaningful, still alive and healing and full of hope.
The story of retreat
to Emmaus when Jerusalem seems to let us down, and of our need for help in
turning the journey around, is as old as the Gospels and as current as our own
lives. It’s always part of the life of
faith, and it’s part of our life today.
Did you notice, for
instance, the little shock of electricity, the little jolt of excitement and
maybe a warming of our hearts, when in the announcements last week before our
worship Joan shared with us the news that the family we are helping sponsor
from Syria is expected to arrive in Canada sometime in the next few weeks? It was noticeable how we suddenly felt a
little surge of excitement, a renewal of hope, and an immediate feeling of
recommitment to the call we heard a year-and-a-half ago to be part of this work
of God, to do our little part in the global vision of saving as many as
possible from the hell that is Syria. It
was like we were waiting for it, hoping it would be there, and when it was I
honestly think we wanted to applaud; it felt that good to feel again that we’re
part of something bigger than ourselves that’s alive and good for the world.
And why do we doubt
it? This week I was at the CityKidz
Thank-You Breakfast for pastors and members of churches that are part of
Miracle Sunday. And maybe we get a
little blasé about our involvement and support.
We’ve been doing it for nine years, when it first started. We start to take it for granted. Maybe even start to see it as just one more
drain on our own resources.
But at that
breakfast I heard Todd talk movingly about the struggles that he and CityKidz
face, and also about the profound and miraculous effect that they see in the
lives of the kids they have contact with.
Their slogan of transforming lives, one child at a time really is true
to the power of what they do and how they do it. And we are part of that – more important and
necessary than we sometimes know.
Because I need to
tell you about a new wrinkle they have added this year. At the breakfast they always prepare information
packages for the churches to take home, and this year their staff and
volunteers took time to include in the packages a bunch of CityKidz bus symbols
with the names written on them of all the kids on the bus route that that
church prays for. It’s a new way of
inviting churches to be involved in their love for the kids. And do you know where they got the idea? From hearing about Barb this year making up
little hand-written tags and Wes making a bus-shaped billboard to hang them on,
that was part of our Miracle Sunday and our invitation to all of you to share
in praying individually for the kids on the route we support.
We’re part of CityKidz
in more ways than we can know.
And those are only
two little things from the past seven days.
I wonder how many
other little signs there are,
how
many hundreds of reminders
that we really are
part of something bigger than ourselves
that
is full of life and hope for the world –
that even with all
our own and other people’s sorrows,
we can
see again and again
the
resurrections of God’s promise
of
love for us and for all the world.
And when we see this,
when
we feel our hearts warmed,
when
we find ourselves encouraged back to Jerusalem,
are there ways we
too can share the good news
with
others who may also be struggling
with
doubt and disillusionment?
Are we willing to
proclaim as those first disciples did,
that
he is risen and still with us,
that
the kingdom of God still lives on Earth,
and
that hope, faith, love and commitment still make sense,
because we are part
of something bigger than ourselves
that is alive and
full of hope for all the world?
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