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Luke 24:36-48
The author Madeleine L'Engle remembers the time her young daughter cried out terrified in the night. Going to comfort her, L'Engle tried theological assurities. "Don't worry, dear, God will be with you."
Her daughter knew some theology too. " I know that Mommy, but I want somebody with some skin on."
God in truth is spirit, but we human beings usually need someone we can feel, smell, hear and see. We distrust someone without any skin on because that is playing around with the boundaries of what is real. That's what a ghost is - a being who is not real physically real, but who has pretensions of intruding upon our planes of reality.
That's exactly what Jesus does not want to be known as: a ghost. He is not only risen; he is real. And his presence among us is still real and tangible.
It is now two weeks past the startling surprise of Easter. The Good News that assaulted us on that day is now news and excitement which seems distant. We are not "just like the disciples"; we are the disciples who struggle to find a place in our reality for what happened on Easter. There are seven Sundays in the season of Easter in the church year: are we able to say throughout, "Easter is real"? Is it back to business as usual, or has everything changed?
Luke's final chapter narrates first the events of that early morning of the Third Day. There were two angels in Luke's account and they told the women that "He is not here." He then proceeded to tell just where Jesus was, and that was encoun tering a number of unsuspecting disciples.
The first encounter is with Cleopas, apparently not one of the twelve, and his anonymous companion. They were walking that Sunday to a village called Emmaus, about 11 kilometers from Jerusalem. Jesus happened to be walking the same road and the three of them became immersed in conversation about all that had happened. However, the two disciples' "eyes were kept from recognizing him" even though he explained in detail all about himself from the Scriptures. When they arrived Jesus was invited to stay and eat with them, and it was only when he broke bread with them that they recognized who he really was. And then he was gone. They knew him by the way he ate.
This was news that couldn't wait. So even though it was after dark by then, Cleopas and friend got up and walked back to Jerusalem. My bet as a track coach is that they made the distance in less than two hours. There they found the eleven disciples and their companions - there were always more than 11 or 12 people following Jesus - and told them all that had taken place.
And then, just as Jesus had disappeared in Emmaus, he was there in Jerusalem.
It is amazing that, after all the violence, brutality, betrayal and murder that had taken place, Jesus' words were to them, "Peace be with you!" No bitterness, no "Jesus has come back from the dead and boy is he mad!" In a room whose air was so stale with the aroma of death and fear, Jesus declared what we need to say to the grieving family at a funeral, "Peace be with you!"
But there could be no easy peace. The disciples were startled and terrified, thinking they had seen a ghost. Perhaps you have seen the "Ghostbusters" movies where virtually all the ghosts are terrifying and powerful. The appearance of a ghost is a clash of the real and the unreal, and the result is chaos in your perception of reality. Your grip on reality is threatened when you see a ghost.
So when Jesus showed them the scars on his hands and feet, he actually increased their terror and disbelief. There was something different about Jesus - all the Gospels allude to it, for few recognized him at first. It was the mentally tough ones who refused to give in completely in the midst of their joy at Jesus' resurrection.
Jesus asked for something to eat and they gave him a piece of broiled fish which he ate in their presence. He was famished, but Jesus was making a profound theological statement: I am real, you are real, and everything has really changed. It is in the breaking of the bread and the eating of fish - solid food - that we know we are real. Ghosts don't eat.
I don't want to place too heavy a burden on those who are preparing the Fellowship Hour, but this is why I have continued to claim that our worship is not over until we gather in fellowship with something to go into our mouths and stomachs. Everyone knows that the sign someone who has been very sick is finally returning to full health is when they are able to eat and enjoy solid food again. The loss of appetite is a foretaste of death - a ghostly pun, I am afraid.
Because we eat we are alive in the most humanly possible way. We are the creatures of God who find joy in pleasure in eating when we are not hungry - also one of our weaknesses! Because Jesus eats fish and bread, we know he is alive, he is real in the full sense - not in the chaotic unreality of a ghost. Because Jesus is really alive, our faith, grounded in Him, is real and can only be real.
We sing of our faith, especially here at Knox-Metropolitan, but if all we hear is beautiful music and the music does not usher us into the presence of the Living God, then our faith is not real.
We pray with poetic words and peace of mind settles upon through them. But if out of these words and quiet times, a sense of communion with God and with the joys and sufferings of others does not come forth, then our words are ghostly, on the edge of unreality.
We listen to the Scriptures being read, preach and listen to sermons, participate as a congregation of pilgrim souls in the sacrament of baptism for our children and adult seekers, hear the good, yet trying news of our efforts at mission in the world. If all of that is simply arcane "church" knowledge to be stored away and it does not ignite in our souls the compulsion 9to live differently, to think differently, to declare our faith differently, then our faith is ghostly.
How mundane can our faith be if eating some bread and faith shows what we really believe? Perhaps the most ordinary, yet most powerful, act of real faith is to sit down and visit with someone who is struggling, hurting, even dying. It is not the words we say; it is our presence that is heard. Actually, it is the powerful reality of God dwelling in your spirit which people yearn. But when you yearn for this presence, it only matters if it is real, human, touchable. We want someone with their skin on.
That's why we can say, "Christ has died. Christ is risen! Christ will come again!"
Preached by Robert Kitchen
Knox-Metropolitan United Church
Regina, Saskatchewan
May 7, 2000
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