“What Things?”
Luke 24:13-35

April 10, 2005

It is seldom that I find a starting place for a sermon in Greek verbs, but thanks to Barbara Rossing for pointing the way, I feel I have to go Greek today to get anywhere.

In the opening four verses of the Gospel of Luke, the evangelist dedicates his writing to a friend Theophilus, “Lover of God.”  Luke tells him how he has listened to eyewitnesses and others about Jesus and his ministry, and pledges to give him the whole story, so that
Theophilus may recognize the truth about Jesus out of all these reports.  Most English translations render the verb, “he will know the truth,” but the Greek verb is clearly the word for “recognize.”  A small, insignificant difference, most of us will say.

Easter evening, after dark, Jesus is in a house in Emmaus, seven miles away from Jerusalem, eating with two of his former disciples.  Jesus takes, blesses, breaks, and gives the bread to his companions, and then they recognize who he really is.

Luke has, in effect, bookended his Gospel account with the act of recognition.  At the very end, disciples recognize Jesus in the way Luke had hoped Theophilus would end up recognizing him.

The same applies to you and me: we may know a lot about Jesus, know where he came from, know what kind of things he did with people, even know the kind of ideas he taught.  Recognition, however, is more than
knowing and more than the possession of certain facts.  Recognition occurs when there is a relationship and a connection, an involvement with a person, that marks only the beginning of a commitment to live differently.

I was always suspicious.  Was someone like Jesus only able to attract 12 disciples?  Eventually, we heard of the 70 or 72 apostles sent out two by two to minister to those in need, and perhaps it was out of that larger number that two of them headed up to Emmaus late Sunday afternoon.  The story that they will tell implies that they were among the select group to hear about the resurrection of Jesus earlier that day, so they were not that peripheral to the inner circle.  Lots of disciples had made themselves scarce after Friday, but these two identified themselves still as followers of Jesus and kept coming back to be with the Eleven.

Nevertheless, now on the road towards Emmaus to the northwest of Jerusalem, they were going in the wrong direction.  Whether it was to Galilee according to Jesus’ instructions in John or to stay in Jerusalem as he will advise in Luke, the two disciples are now walking
away from the scene.

One of them has a name, Cleopas, probably an important leader in the infant church - a pastor, martyr, even a bishop.  The other guy, like so many characters in the Bible, was anonymous and unknown.  We do not
hear his voice, but we know he is there.  Maybe you and I can sit in his place.

Jesus did not seem to mind going the wrong way either as he joins the pair on the same road.  Strangers always get to know one another on the journey, whether by foot, train, plane or bus.  What Jesus noticed was the intensity of their conversation. Something mattered.

“Are you the only one who hasn’t heard?” asked Cleopas, the most ironical question in history.  “What things?” Jesus wants to know.  He wants to know how others interpret what has happened, for in the long
run how we have perceived and interpreted things are more important than the actual events themselves.

Cleopas is succinct and clearly interprets his crushed hopes into the events of Holy Week.  They had hoped Jesus would be the salvation of Israel, but now they are just plain dazed and confused.  They can’t make sense out of anything for right now.

Jesus is frustrated again with his thick-headed and slow-hearted followers, but he proceeds to go through all of Scripture to show them how this was all supposed to work with the Messiah, the Suffering Servant, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.  Jesus helps these two sad, defeated men by showing them the bigger picture.  The preference for a defeated person is to reject the big picture in favour of the personal slings and arrows of outrageous fortune and keep you gratified in your undeserved misery.  You don’t want to know that God still exists, that God does care, that goodness still runs the best of life.

The two men listened and their hearts burned, for this all made real sense, though at first they were too comfortable in their uncomfortableness to believe it.

Jesus made the pretense of continuing on the road beyond Emmaus, but they were able to dissuade him and invited him to stay with them.  It was now dark, no streetlights, maybe even a Roman curfew, a popular
tactic of oppressive regimes everywhere.  They ate together, and they recognized what tied everything together and put them on fire.  Then they ran back to Jerusalem in the dark where now everybody knew.

You and I and our children know an awful lot of things.  You can even go to university and study world religions and learn and know many things about every religion -- but never really recognize anything that
belongs to you.  There are scholars who know the entire Bible and all its facets, but recognize nothing worthwhile in it by which to live.  Recognition is not just knowing something or someone -- recognition requires imagination.

Unless you recently have had a verifiable vision of Jesus, none of us have seen Jesus to recognize his face standing before us.  Like the two disciples of Emmaus, you recognize Jesus still in reading the Scriptures and in the breaking of bread, and for both of those you need
imagination.  When you read, you have to supply the tone of voice, its emphases and accents.  The story is not about historical characters, 2000-4000 years long gone, but about you and your friend and your enemy in this less than holy world.  Imagination doesn’t allow to you simply choose the best parts for yourself.  You and I are all the people at one time or another, heroes and villains.  Only then can you recognize the dilemma of each person, because he or she is you, whether at your
worst or your usually confused and muddled self, or even the best you can imagine yourself becoming.

There was nothing special about the meal in Emmaus.  Passover had passed over, the Sabbath had ended and rest was over.  It was a meal for nourishment and maybe a little socializing.  But in it the two disciples recognized the risen Christ in the breaking of the bread.  I don’t think it has to be a communion service or the eucharist or the Last Supper of Maundy Thursday.  Any meal, anywhere, anytime, has the potential of recognizing Jesus, for Jesus in his glorious body of
resurrection sits down with all of us unannounced.  A gesture, a touch, a word, an ear that listens tangibly to our soul’s ache, and we recognize a soul that turns our sad defeat into a new life.  And then, as at Emmaus, that person disappears and all we are left with is the
love of God.

Preached by Robert Kitchen
Knox-Metropolitan United Church
Regina, Saskatchewan