Sermon: Eyes Wide Open

Luke 24:13-35

"Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?"

When Jesus was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them.  Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him.

Have you ever had an experience where you were doing something run-of-the-mill – something ordinary - only to find it suddenly infused with the grace of God? Have you ever had an experience like that? Have you ever had a moment of awakening, right in the middle of something very routine? Have you ever had your eyes opened, in an experience where everything seems to open up, right when you weren’t expecting it?

These disciples, on a simple road to Emmaus, in a simple meal, experienced something just like that, something life-altering. They were transformed right in the middle of something very ordinary. They would never be the same.

And as they started along that road, they were probably thinking something just like that: They would never be the same. . . The times weren’t ordinary or simple at all, and they had just been through utter hell. These two disciples were grieving and in pain. They were confused.  Surely they knew that they might be in danger. Jesus, the one they had followed, was unmercifully killed just days ago, murdered by the few who held the most power. And these disciple were sure to feel powerless because they couldn’t know if they or their fellow-disciples would be next. These times were not ordinary or simple at all. But what could they do? Perhaps they needed to do familiar things – things that were ordinary and simple – just to keep going. What else can you do in utter hell but just keep going, putting one foot in front of the other? Simple things: Walk down a road. Stay the night.  Eat a meal.

And an unrecognized stranger walks right into it – right into their conversation, right into their pain and their confusion. Is he the only one in Jerusalem who doesn’t know the utter hell of this week? They were honest with him. They told him what was causing them the most heartbreak. Their hopes were truly crushed. They told this unrecognized stranger how they felt: “But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.” They had placed their trust, their dreams, and their lives to this Jesus of Nazareth. And what now? Had it been for nothing – nothing but heartbreak? Had it led only to fear – had it led only to danger for themselves and the people they loved? What now?

And the disciples also told this stranger what was causing them the most confusion. They said, “Some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but they did not see him.” Of course this was confusing, and what were they supposed to think about what just happened hours ago? Do they dare hope again? Can they risk it? Can they risk believing – trusting again – that Jesus is somehow alive?

It’s interesting how transformation can begin even in the midst of pain, confusion, and doubt.  Right in the truth of their emotions, Jesus makes himself very present. “Haven’t you understood what the prophets have declared?” He turns powerfully to the scriptures. Beginning with Moses, he moves through the prophets, interprets the scriptures, and gives hope to these disciples. Their hope, trust, and service were not in vain. Jesus had redeemed them and would continue to redeem. He had suffered, but he would enter into new life and live for them. He would be alive always – alive in them and alive beyond them – alive beyond anything they could wrap their minds around. And here he was alive standing right in front of them, right in the middle of a scriptural conversation. They didn’t grasp the fullness of that truth, but they were affected. As they would say later, “Weren’t our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us? A simple, ordinary road. A transformative experience.

Who was this unrecognized stranger? Who was this one who could dramatically open their ears and their minds with the ancient words of scripture? Who was this one who could suddenly open their hopeless hearts? In an ordinary moment, what had just happened?

They didn’t know who he was, but they were eager to learn more about this stranger and to learn more from this stranger. The day was ending and it was almost evening. “Stay with us.” And he went in to dwell with them.

Hospitality. That’s an ordinary custom - a kind one, but an ordinary invitation. They were somehow able to sense that this stranger was sharing hope that was far from ordinary, and they needed him to dwell with them in their pain and confusion.

And again, in an ordinary place of lodging, everything changed. They would never be the same. They sat down for an ordinary meal, and it became a holy moment. It was suddenly infused with the grace of God. When this stranger took the bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to them, their eyes were opened and then, they recognized him.

They recognized him. They recognized him for who he was. This was Jesus made alive, right in the breaking of bread. They recognized him in and through the relationship they had experienced with him. He had poured out love toward them in this way many times before. When Jesus broke and gave this bread, he pledged to give himself. In receiving this bread, they received his love, his identity, his call, and the revelation that they could put their hope and trust in him.

They were instantly transformed. Even though they had journeyed from Jerusalem to Emmaus, they immediately got up and returned to Jerusalem that same hour. I wouldn’t be surprised if they ran! They couldn’t keep this revelation to themselves. They couldn’t keep this transformation to themselves. After an encounter with the risen Christ, they were sent forth to share it with others. The sharing of a meal.  The breaking of bread.  An ordinary moment was transformative beyond imagination.

So what about you? Have you ever had an experience where you were doing something run-of-the-mill – something ordinary - only to find it suddenly infused with the grace of God? Have you ever had an experience like that? Have you ever had a moment of awakening, right in the middle of something very routine? Have you ever had your eyes opened in an experience where everything seems to open up, right when you weren’t expecting it?

The truth is, we all experience run-of-the mill events. We live in the ordinary. And we’re sometimes unable to see the grace of God right in front of us.  Our minds often vacillate between the past and the future, and we neglect the present moment right in front of us. We don’t pay attention to it, and we often remain in a state of constant partial attention. I wonder what we miss along the way.

And so what do we hope to see when we come to worship? Are we fully present here when God is so graciously present with us? Will our eyes be opened to see Jesus Christ with us, among us, in us, beyond us?  This sanctuary is not a respite from the world beyond these walls.  This sanctuary is like a womb - it's a place where we are created, formed, and fashioned together - it's a place where we are reborn - so that we are sent beyond these walls with hope and vision, so that we are sent beyond these walls to love and serve the people of this neighborhood.  I wonder, have you had a moment in your life during worship - maybe elsewhere, or maybe right here in this sanctuary - where your eyes were opened, and suddenly, something ordinary was infused with the grace of God?

In the Spring of 2007, I was at Mo Ranch, a Presbyterian camp and conference center in Hunt, Texas.  It's a beautiful place.  A friend of mine once described Mo Ranch as a "thin place," that is, a place that seems much closer to the Holy.  I would agree.

I had spent about four days with college students and fellow campus ministers at a conference called College Connection.  Relationships and bonds had been strengthened through a week of learning, rest, and play.  And on this last night of the conference, we were all gathered in a building for worship.  The setting was beautiful.  In the days before, we had gathered in this space for plenary talks, and on those days, it didn't look like a sanctuary. But on this night, a team of people had taken care to put candles all over the place.  The setting was transformed, and in this beautiful space, we began a service of Taize worship.  

Many of you are familiar with Taize worship.  We sang beautiful, restful choruses over and over as we sat in a dark room with all the light coming only from the countless candles.  It felt very intimate and holy.

I've been a part of Taize worship many times.  In fact, I used to plan a Taize service every month.  This was an intimate and holy moment, but it also would have been easy to simply go through the motions. We had experienced a jam-packed week, and I was truly exhausted.  But on this night, it wasn't possible to go through the motions, because something absolutely transformative happened during that worship service.

We were singing a song called Prayers of the People.1  It's not actually a Taize chorus, but it's a very powerful song, one I hope to do with you here sometime.  It starts out with words that can feel very shocking while you're singing them.  

We are hungry. . . Whoa. . . We are hungry. . .

We are hungry. . . Whoa. . . We are hungry. . .

We are man, woman, we are children,

Whoa, we are hungry.

We sang this, knowing that most of us had no idea what dire hunger feels like.  And yet, part of what this song is about is that we're connected to others.  We're human together.  Humanity is hungry.  Right now.  Humanity is hungry. We are hungry.

We sang other words too.  We are fighting. . . We have Aids.  Whoa. . . We have Aids. . .

And all of these words were moving and evocative, but transformation became alive in the chorus.  The words are inspired from the book of Amos.  

So let the rains go,

Let the healing river flow,

Let justice roll like waters.

Let the days begin when new life enters in,

And let your Kingdom come.

I'll tell you why transformation became alive in that service: At that very moment, during the chorus, it began pouring rain.  Pouring!  Drenching! A Downpour!  The roof had a metallic sound to it, and it was so, so loud!  And if that sensory experience of sound weren't enough, as we sang about rains, healing rivers, and justice rolling like waters, the building literally began flooding with all the rain from outside.  An ordinary moment had been suddenly infused with the grace of God.  And we didn't have to say anything.  It's like we all looked one another in the eye as if we had this holy secret: "Yes, we can change the world.  We're gonna change the world!!! God is changing the world, and we're miraculously a part of it!"

Christ was revealed.  And our identities were revealed, all in one synergistic moment of holy words and holy rains.

So about you?  What about us?  How will we be transformed in this very moment, and the moments ahead?  Keep your eyes wide open.  You never know who you'll meet on the road.  You never know how you'll be met in worship - in the opening of scripture and in the breaking of bread.  Ready to find out? Let's walk down that road together.  Thanks be to God.  Amen.

1 The Rev. Ben Johnston-Krase, pastor of First Presbyterian Church in Racine, WI,  composed the text and music for Prayers of the People.  You can see the music here at the bottom of this page: http://sayinggraces.com/pages/my-music