Broken-hearted But Burning
Easter 3 - May 4, 2014
The disciples were broken-hearted that first Easter day. Luke tells us the story of these two disciples, Cleopas and one left unnamed, not part of the 12, yet close enough to the story to have seen it unfold before their very eyes. That Holy Week – Jesus entering into Jerusalem to cheers and shouts of gladness. Maundy Thursday – Jesus and his friends gathering for a final meal. The time praying (or sleeping) in the garden. The betrayal. The arrest. The trial. Good Friday – Jesus hanging on a cross. Friends fleeing. Peter’s denial. Holy Saturday – a time of waiting and wondering, crying and grieving. And finally, Easter Sunday – the women going to the tomb, finding it empty, angels appearing to share the news that Jesus had risen. But the women’s words seemed to the other disciples an idle tale – especially after some others went to the tomb and found it empty – but did not see Jesus.
And after all of this, we join Cleopas and his friend on the road home, returning to Emmaus, walking and talking, trying to make sense of it all. They are dejected, disappointed. Jesus has died, leaving in his wake all of their unfulfilled dreams for what might have been. While they go, Jesus himself comes near, Luke says – but their eyes are kept from recognizing him. “What are you discussing?” Jesus asks, and they stop dead in their tracks, sad, but in disbelief that there is anyone who doesn’t know what’s been going on. “The things about Jesus of Nazareth,” they explain; “But we had hoped that he was the one…”
“We had hoped…”
Such sad words, encompassing such longing, such a sense of loss over what might have been. So many times we are stumbling through life, awash in grief or regret or longing. We had hoped… that our marriage would last forever, and now here we are going through a messy divorce, with disputes over shared custody and attempting to remain civil for the sake of the kids and yet hurting each other nonetheless. We had hoped… that the doctor would be able to prescribe an antibiotic to take care of that lingering sinus infection, only to have them run some tests and before we can catch our breath, starting chemotherapy for the leukemia we didn’t even suspect we had. We had hoped… to spend our golden years, retired and traveling, exploring, and enjoying an unhurried life with our beloved spouse of many years, only to have their life cut short by a heart attack. We had hoped… that the years of sobriety from addiction meant that the years of struggle were behind us, only to have the urge to use come sweeping back in with overwhelming power. We had hoped. We had hoped. We had hoped.
This is where the disciples found themselves that first Easter day, hoping for things that might have been, and now will never be, and now just seeking a way forward, a way to put the past behind them and move on with life into an unknown future.
And then Jesus shows up. (I told you last week that he has a way of doing that, right?) He comes to them in their journey of grief, walking along with them, even though they don’t know it. Jesus comes and listens to them pouring out their sad story – and then he tells them a story of his own. He calls them back to God’s word, walking with them through those sacred stories of God’s history with God’s people, one by one, interpreting these things about himself in the scriptures.
Now, not all of us would be too willing to listen to someone tell us how the Bible has all the answers to our questions, especially in the middle of the worst days of our lives. But there’s something about this stranger and the way he explains things that make the disciples want to keep him around. At the end of this 7-mile walk, they are anxious to hear more of what this man has to say, and they invite him in to stay with them. It’s classic ancient world hospitality, to open your home to a stranger with no place to stay, to share a meal with them – and so they urge Jesus to stay, and give him the place of honor. The meal is prepared, and Jesus takes his place at the table, offering the blessing over their meal, as he has done so many times before. He took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them – and just like that, their eyes are opened and they see this man for who he really is: Jesus – risen from the dead!
And just like that, their hearts go from broken to burning! Hindsight is 20/20, they say – and now, having realized who was walking and talking with them all that way, they realize their hearts were burning the whole time. Something special, something strange, was going on as they were on the way, but it’s only in retrospect that they are able to see it for what it is. But now that they know, there’s no way they can keep it to themselves. Up they get, racing the whole seven miles back to Jerusalem to see the other disciples – people they had left just as broken-hearted as themselves that morning – wanting them to know what they know, to see what they have seen, to experience what they experienced. Their hearts are burning with this great unexpected amazing good news that Jesus has been raised, and they need to share it with their friends.
I suspect that there are many of us who sit in this place this morning with broken hearts. We come into this place, dejected or despairing, just looking for a way to move on, no longer hoping for what might have been, but not sure of what will be. We may have no expectation to meet Jesus in this place, maybe we wouldn't recognize him if we passed him in the street, or even if he dropped in to walk alongside us for a while as we try to make sense of the events that have taken place.
But that doesn't mean he isn't here! Even if we can’t see him or feel his presence, that doesn't mean that he has abandoned us to walk this road alone. He walks with us through the love and support of friends and family, doctors and therapists and 12-step sponsors. He comes to us in this place, shining forth from the word of God. He makes himself known in the blessing and breaking and giving of the bread and in the pouring of the wine that we share in communion. And though it may not happen as quickly as with these two disciples, Jesus keeps walking with us, reaching out to us over and over again, until our broken hearts catch fire, burning with his promise and love and resurrection hope that life can begin again, and sending us running to share the good news with our broken-hearted brothers and sisters – telling the story of what happened on our road, and how Jesus has been made known to us in the breaking of the bread.
Amen.
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