Now on that same day two of them
were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about
all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing,
Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from
recognizing him.
And he said to them, "What
are you discussing with each other while you walk along?" They stood
still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered
him,
"Are you the only stranger
in Jerusalem
who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?"
He asked them, "What things?" They replied,
"The things about Jesus of
Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people,
and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death
and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes,
and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place.
Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early
this morning, and when they did not find his body there, they came back and
told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was
alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the
women had said; but they did not see him."
Then he said to them, "Oh,
how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets
have declared! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things
and then enter into his glory?" Then beginning with Moses and all the
prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the
scriptures.
As they came near the village to
which they were going, Jesus walked ahead as if he were going on. But they
urged him strongly, saying, "Stay with us, because it is almost evening
and the day is now nearly over." So he went in to stay with them. When he
was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to
them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished
from their sight.
They said to each other,
"Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the
road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?" That same hour they got
up and returned to Jerusalem;
and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were
saying, "The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!"
Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to
them in the breaking of the bread.
***
Ocean Drive in Miami feels like a runway during fashion
week. Art Deco buildings dressed in flamboyant colors glow and beckon like neon
signs; their reflection is mirrored in the shine and wax of Rolls and
Lamborghinis cruising below at a stalking pace. Beats bounce from clubs,
waiters heckle from restaurants, and beautiful people strut like salsa, tango
and meringue. Somehow in the midst of this deliciously gluttonous vibe, I find
a rock wall on which to perch and archaically write postcards, as if I am,
‘summering,’ as a verb. Beside me, beach volleyball players compete for more
than points and in the middle of my moment of tourist-reverie, a svelte woman,
with frizzy-hair hidden under a Nike visor, asks me in Spanglish, if I want to
play. I follow her assumption, as I too remember, that waiting at the edge of a
field, is kid-code for wanting to join in but not wanting to ask. I assure her
of my non-interest and my non-ability, as strongly as she assures me of the
players’ welcome and their varying skills. The whole exchange is as if the
childhood decorum of, ‘wanna play?’ is being executed to Emily Post standards
without superficiality and only grace, this stranger’s welcoming grace, to me,
a stranger on the street.
Though, I doubt the road to
Emmaus holds Ocean Drive’s
swagger of dollars, palm trees, and bare skin, I know on that third day,
despite Emmaus’ natural setting of ochre dirt, sedimentary rock, and olive
trees, Emmaus, likewise, holds an abundance of chaos. It is a metaphysical
chaos, of death, drama, and the divine. The disciples are in trauma, where all
they can do is speak about what is happening. They are trying to process
their own personal grief and the distortion of the world they knew. To them
on that road, it is as if, they are in LaGaurdia on September 14, 2001 and
their best friend might still be caught in the tower. Moreover, this friend, is
a presidential candidate, a religious leader, and prophet, the one whom they
call, the Messiah. The disciples are hurrying toward Emmaus with the
realization that if Jerusalem
could crucify Jesus, it certainly will crucify them, Jesus’ followers. Emmaus
is the road to safety, and the disciples’ conversation was a wrestling with
grief and for clarity.
It is in this cacoughany, the
disciples hurry along in their frantic conversation, and a stranger stops them
to ask, "What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?”
Jesus Christ is in LaGaurdia on 9/14 and has no idea about 9/11. Jesus Christ,
the stranger, was asking the disciples to not only explain the geography, and
the politics of this messiah’s death, but also, to explain it all when that
dead messiah is their loved one. I remember waking up right before class
freshman year, at St. Lawrence, in Upstate New York, and all my classmates are
saying is, “one of the towers has been hit.” Now, at that point, I have been to
New York on family vacation, but I don’t know
know New York like my classmates know New York. I don’t have a
dozen people to call to see if they are okay. I don’t know what the World Trade
Center is. I don’t know
how many people are affected. I have not lived through war in our country or
terrorism from another. I don’t ask. I just sit there in our first period class
watching the news and the plane hit over and over and then then next plane hit,
and I remember the phones are tied up with students calling home to see if
everyone is okay, and I am comforted that my family has the rule, “You call if
somethings wrong, otherwise everything’s okay.” No one in that class is
explaining to me anything, and I am not asking. Jesus has the audacity to ask
and I can’t believe how much time and care Cleopas takes to explain. Perhaps
Cleopas needs to talk, to tell the story from beginning to end. Perhaps Cleopas
says it all very sarcastically, but Cleopas answers thoroughly. He says
"Jesus of Nazareth, was a
prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and our chief
priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him.
But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this,
it is now the third day since these things took place. Moreover, some women of
our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they
did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed
seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with
us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not
see him."
This is no shorthand answer. This
is no, ‘One of the towers has been hit.” It is instead, ‘You see, mam’, One of
the towers of the World Trade Center, which is comprised of two enormous
buildings in New York City, where hundreds of people direct much of the
financial trade around the world, has collapsed after a highjacked passenger
plane ran into the middle of it. This also means that the people on the plane
have surely died and that this is a terrorist attack, the likes of which have
never happened on US
soil. We cannot foresee the political and social ramifications that will take
place in even the few days to come, much less the months, and perhaps years, of
history this attack will change. In LaGaudaria airport, so close to the city,
many travelers have family members and close friends who could have been in
those towers. One of my own close friends may have died in those towers, and I
am in shock with much grief to come. Furthermore, sitting here in LaGuardia
airport, we also, could have easily been on that plane.’
This is the type of answer
Cleopas gives. It is an answer of someone who wants the stranger to know the
meaning of Jesus’ life and death, an answer which is trying to convey the loss
both personally, but also globally. It is answer that recognizes the world
will forever be changed. Cleopas wants the stranger to understand, to know
the story so deeply that her heart burns inside her, that she is there in
LaGuardia, at a loss for words, and perhaps in tears, and seeing anew.
Instead, Jesus Christ, the
stranger responds, "Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to
believe all that the prophets have declared! Was it not necessary that the
Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?" This
stranger has just told Cleopas that his friend is going to die anyway and that
this death brings glory. When people try to tell me these omniscient things, I
put on my fighting gloves. Just try to tell me, ‘Everything happens for a
reason.’ I try to refrain from arguing when people use this as a platitude, but
when they believe it, oh boy, they’ve got another thing coming. But what did
Cleopas do? He let the clueless stranger continue with the stranger’s own
history lesson. “Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted
to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.”
At this point, the difference
between Cleopas and I really begins to shake out something strong, and I can
tell he is a disciple of Jesus Christ because I don’t do what Cleopas does.
Cleopas listens to the stranger on the road. This stranger, who knows nothing,
is allowed to speak, to extort, to extoll, on the trauma Cleopas is
experiencing and Cleopas listens. I can’t imagine having this much grace. What
if after 9/11, I had taken the time to listen to Jesus Christ in the strangers
on the street? What if we as country listened to Jesus Christ in strangers,
rather than putting on our xenophobic fighting gloves? I am equally culpable as
the lies of weapons of mass destruction, because I can not even listen on the
playground of Ocean Drive.
Looking back, I wish I played volleyball, not because I really wanted to, or
because I am any good, because I didn’t and I’m not, but because months later,
I can picture that woman as clear as day, and I know my heart was burning
within me, Jesus Christ was speaking to me face to face, and Cleopas does
something I do not.
This stranger on the road to
Emmaus does another one of those kid-code things. “As they came near the
village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But
they urged him strongly, saying, "Stay with us, because it is almost
evening and the day is now nearly over." So he went in to stay with them.”
I imagine where the roads diverge and one goes on and one turns toward Emmaus,
and the stranger kind of shuffles and hangs back a little at that fulcrum. I
imagine it kind of like a stranger sitting on a stone wall beside a beach
volleyball court. Cleopas, like the volleyball woman, reads the kid clues, and
he, and she, know that Jesus Christ can be felt in the inviting. What Cleopas
finds out, that I missed out, is that after an invitation of grace, Jesus can
been seen in the game, and in the breaking of bread.
“When Jesus Christ was at the
table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then
their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their
sight.”
The woman on Ocean Drive explains to me that she came
by the court a few months ago when she first came to America, knowing nothing of
volleyball and little of English. She sat down simply to watch, and was invited
and after some length of convincing assurance and language transference, she
joined in. Despite her lack of skills in the beginning, she was encouraged, and
taught. I listen to her and I know it is really a witness she is telling me, a
witness of the grace given to strangers even in the bacchanal of this Ocean Drive, even
in the foreign strangeness of volleyball.
“They said to each other,
"Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the
road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?" That same hour they got
up and returned to Jerusalem;
and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were
saying, "The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!"
Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to
them in the breaking of the bread.”
I think of our youth group
playing volleyball about a year ago at the Lehmans’. We have bunch of
volleyball players in our youth group and they are good, and I, their dorky,
uncoordinated, comparatively-old, pastor showed up in jeans and a nice top,
never dreaming of joining in. Soon, I found myself in a pink Baker Bulldog
t-shirt, out in the sand court looking up from the valley to our mountains in
their splendor. With like majesty and grace score was not kept, failings held
no comments, mistakes were fine, and the rare good play was met with exuberant
encouragement. I had never had fun playing a ball sport in my life. I saw Jesus
there, and was encouraged to take a new look at this strange thing called
sports. Now, relatedly, I am taking tennis lessons from Luke. Apologies are not
allowed, and the pavlovian voice in my head that remembers, “Watch the ball,
Kate!” is being retrained to hear, “Your getting to the ball early because your
body anticipates where it will be.” Jesus was there also, because Jesus can be
felt in the welcome of strangers, and is made known in the game.
He is made known to us in the
breaking of bread, in the welcome of strangers, in the simplicity of kid-code
and challenge of long answers and deep listening. He is risen on a volleyball
court here in Baker and a similar one on Ocean Drive. May we have the grace to
find him risen not only in the beauty of our games, but in the midst of the
trauma of our world. The Lord is Risen.
