Sermons

Friends, Emmaus lies ahead. It may be seven miles, or seven years, or seven sentences to form a paragraph.  As we travel that road, I’ll hope we will remember to share the story.  And when we get there, I hope we won’t forget to sit, and rest, and enjoy a table.  For it’s a table that our future – God’s future, God’s bright future – will be revealed.  The bread that God provides may not be able to erase our pain, or our grief, or our disappointment over present circumstances.  But the bread is a reminder that our present circumstances are NOT, are NOT, are NOT, are NOT, are NOT the final word.  God is the final word.  And God is working, always working, to resurrect our own Emmaus: our possibilities, our goodness, our humanity, our tomorrow, our future.  So…let’s grab a seat at the table, and perhaps we may finally understand that our SHOULD HAVE BEENs will one day BE.

Thomas is the first of the disciples to proclaim Jesus’ identity with conviction. Upon seeing Jesus, Thomas expresses his belief. The text tells us that Jesus invites Thomas to touch, but it doesn’t say Thomas actually touches Jesus. We’re left to interpret that sight alone is enough for Thomas to believe.

On that very first Easter morning, Mary knew her name, and she heard it spoken aloud as well. Mary reminded others that they, too had a name God is eager to speak aloud. And Mary must have been persuasive, because two thousand years later, she’s telling us the same. Because of Mary, I witness resurrection in countless things: animated movies; daffodils in March; the kindness and exuberance of my children; the healing powers of broken bread and shared wine; needed rhythms restored by Sabbath; a bright morning sun, that somehow tells me of an Easter hope in the newest of ways. Yes, Miss Mary’s weaving together all sorts of resurrection tales!

This Friday, we wrestle with the ending of Christ’s life and ministry here on earth. For we are still held captive to the limits of this world’s thinking. Caesar has condemned Christ to death on a cross, a fate that cannot be reversed. And another earthly system, our grammatical system, tells us we must punctuate Christ’s last phrase with emphatic finality: “It is finished.” PERIOD. But how soon we forget. Christ declared bankruptcy on the systems of this world, even its grammar. And with the boldness of grace, he tells us to rethink our punctuation: “It is finished…”(ELIPSIS). It’s mysterious. And it’s a mark that bids us to stay tuned.

On Palm Sunday, the world needs someone who can understand a vision much bigger than any of ours: God’s possibilities extend beyond the farthest reaches of our imagination. High on that hill, Jesus has his mind set on such possibilities. It will be an unlikely coronation: a common donkey; a carpet of palms and peasant coats, and eventually a crown of thorns with mocking jesters, and a cruel ending. But Jesus knows it’s just the coronation we need. For this is a coronation that ends not in dominance, but in love. Who is Jesus? He is Messiah? And what sort of man is he? He’s the kind of man we need him to be. He’s the kind of man who knows how to properly translate our cries of loud hosannas. Save us! And save us, he shall – with love, with love, with love, with love – love that never ends!!!

But they do not stand alone. The processors, the tire-kickers, the more anxious decision-makers, the disciplined disciples, the timid seekers, are also, slowly-but-surely coming to see and believe, and their belief will also be lasting and profound. Resurrection has plenty of room for Nicodemus, and Peter, and Thomas, and Martha, and all the others, whose faith expressions aren’t always normative, don’t always fit neatly into compartmentalized boxes, don’t always take shape in an instant.