Two men are walking along side a
road. They are going to Emmaus yet they are going nowhere. For the last three
years they had had a sense of direction, but now they are lost. Don’t
misunderstand me, they know where the road leads, they just have no idea where
their hearts will take them.
Sometimes we are left completely
helpless by events that crash into our lives.
Sometimes the faith that sustained us as children crumbles in an adult
world. Sometimes the answers that come
to us so easily on Sunday morning seem almost foreign, even useless, the rest
of the week. We have this deeply entrenched
belief that if God is for us nothing horrible will ever happen to us. We believe God will always care for us. God will
keep us from harm’s way. We were taught
as children “Jesus loves me”, and through the years we have accepted a number
of preconceived convictions concerning exactly what that means. Unfortunately, as we are now experiencing,
life is not always scripted the way we would have written it. Death is only a county away. When we lose control of our lives, we
question our faith. What do we really
believe when nothing around us makes sense?
In our moments of confusion, we want to believe Jesus is with us, but bewilderment blinds us from
recognizing this most blessed of assurances.
The
story I share this morning pales in comparison with the tragedies we hear about
daily. It is not a recent story. My Aunt Evelyn died over forty years ago. But
when word of the death of a loved one disrupts our life, it is a moment we
never quite forget. My Aunt was a
brilliant woman. She taught English at
Waynesboro High School and was seldom seen without a book in her hand. I was privileged to spend a great deal of
time in her basement when I was growing up.
The walls were filled with her precious books. When I visited Aunt Evelyn, I had permission
to take any book off the shelf, and go anywhere my imagination might take
me. Historical novels, stories about
spies, intrigue and murder, the classics and some not so classic stories were
at my fingertips. Her collection was
better than any public library. I would
stay up way past my bedtime, too frightened to sleep until the last page had
been turned.
My Aunt developed Alzheimer’s in her
early sixties. The books she loved no
longer had meaning. Her life was lived
in confusion. One day, lost on a path she had traveled for years, she tripped,
fell into the South River, and drowned.
I was in my thirties and mistakenly thought I was old enough to deal
with tragedy. After all I was an
ordained Presbyterian minister, fully prepared to handle issues of life and
death. I weekly stood in the pulpit and
proclaimed the good news of the gospel.
I had conducted many funerals and ended each with the proclamation that
nothing, not even death, could separate us from the love of God. My head believed everything I said, but now
my heart was broken, unable to call on all the resourses of my faith to offer
the comfort I so desperately needed.
I quickly made plans to drive to
Waynesboro. David had just been born,
making it impractical for all of us to make the trip. Out of the blue, the phone rang and a member
of my church asked if he could travel with me.
I was too confused and desperate to refuse his offer. An hour later, Phil and I headed north into a
blinding sunset. My friend and I were on
our road to Emmaus.
For the next six hours my friend
listened to my stories, offered words of comfort, then he asked a question
which left me silent. “So, is the God you are always talking about on Sunday
making this trip with us?”
I hated him for challenging me with
that question. I had been raised with a clear understanding of the power and majesty
of God. I could see God in the miracle of creation. My creedal statements and
theological training stressed the omnipotence of the Holy One. Yet this so
called friend, in the midst of my grief, dared to question if the God I
preached took a rain check when tragedy interrupted perfection? You all know the questions that creep into
our minds once the keeper of unquestioned truth removes his finger from the
dike. If God is all-powerful, why doesn’t God intervene? If God is all-knowing, why doesn’t God give
us a warning? If God is omnipotent, why
are we so vulnerable? It was on that trip I began to discover if I only
understood God as all-knowing, all-powerful, omnipotent and omnipresent, then
perhaps I don’t know Jesus at all.
What blinded the two men on the road
to Emmaus? Why couldn’t they recognize
the man walking beside them? Why were
their eyes closed? Why were their hearts empty? Perhaps they never knew Jesus.
Less than a week before he died,
Jesus took bread and said, “This is my body broken for you.” His last sermon was not about the power of
God. His last words were not about the
knowledge of God. His last breath was
not about the creating genius of God. It
was about brokenness, something all of us have experienced.
I
have no idea what the two men on the road to Emmaus expected. They heard rumors Jesus had been raised from
the grave but they seemed to have discredited the unconfirmed gossip. I guess
they believed if Jesus had risen he would return with a band of angels
descending from heaven. That is what any
of us might anticipate from the God of power and might. But what is it that we really need most when
our lives have been shattered? I am not
sure any words are adequate. Phil’s question was not particularly helpful as we
traveled toward Waynesboro, but in years following, Phil’s question continues
to haunt me. I sometimes wonder if the resurrected body of Christ heals an
aching heart. I sometimes wonder if God
even desires to understand our pain. I guess I wonder if an omnipotent God is
even capable of experiencing agony.
In
the story of the road to Emmaus, before revealing himself, Jesus walked the two
men through the Old Testament. I don’t know which scriptures he highlighted but
the men were impressed by Jesus’ knowledge. But even this comprehensive journey
through the sacred text failed to reveal his identity. Only when Jesus broke
bread were their eyes opened.
When
broken, how many of us have questioned God’s power? When broken, how often do
we reconsider who God is? When broken, how often have we discovered a presence
that never quite fits our traditional perception of the Almighty?
We
like to brag that we are created in the image of God. Have you ever considered
this image might have nothing to do with ultimate power? Have you asked if
power is godly at all? If God is primarily powerful and mighty then God must be
self-righteous, violent, even hateful. Isn’t power the vehicle we most often
use to enslave or divide folks different from us?
Rabbi
Abraham Heschel writes, “Sin is the refusal of humanity to become merciful,
gracious, and steadfast in love. When we are anything else, we not only fail,
we blame God for our failure.”
To
rephrase the question asked by my friend Phil, “Which God will travel with us
in the coming months, the Omnipotent God, the All-powerful God, the God of
Creation, or the God who chooses to embrace our brokenness?
Imagine
believing only a broken God can understand the pathos of our condition. Imagine
emerging ourselves into the brokenness of this world as a condition for
restoration. If we can do this, we will be surprised in discovering God is
already there.
Amen.
