April 23, 2023, Faith and Hospitality, Luke 24:13-35 – Mtr. Kathryn Boswell

saintphilipsnorwood ♦ April 23, 2023 ♦ Leave a comment

To listen to this sermon, click the link above. An outline of the sermon is given below.

Easter was two weeks ago, but here in the Lectionary we are still living through that first Easter morning. Our Easter was lovely, a “day of joy and gladness” like the hymn says. We filled the sanctuary and perfumed the air with beautiful flowers, we kindled the new fire to remind us that Easter is the dawning of God’s whole new world order. We sang joyful hymns, and we read the ancient story that is always new and amazing. We feasted and we talked and we laughed. Which are all good and proper ways to celebrate that most holy day of all the year.

But our readings remind us that the first Easter morning wasn’t anything like our Easter morning. We know, of course, that there were no Easter baskets or colored eggs. We realize that there were no trumpet fanfares or festal processions or champagne toasts. But the witness of the Bible is that when the disciples woke up on that first Easter morning, and when they came to the tomb and found it empty, and even when those crazy women came to tell them Jesus was alive, even then they were not filled with glorious and abundant joy. Not yet.

Some of them had spent the night weeping. Some of them had lain awake in fear and anxiety, wondering what would happen to them now that their Lord and Master had been condemned and executed. Maybe some of them had fallen asleep exhausted, crushed by an immense feeling of disappointment and sorrow. They had given everything to follow Jesus. They had put all their eggs in one basket and now the whole thing had been smashed.

On the first Easter morning, for the disciples, their world had come to an end. As the first Easter morning dawned, the disciples were afraid, and they were really confused, and they were disappointed, and they were overwhelmingly sad.

So, since the Sabbath had come to an end, and people were permitted to travel, two of the disciples decided it was time to go back home and pick up the pieces of their lives as best they could. Luke tells us that one of these disciples was Cleopas, and we can make some educated guesses about who he is. We know from historical records that a man named Cleopas, was the brother of Joseph, Jesus’s earthly father. And John tells us that one of the women who kept watch at the foot of the cross was called Mary of Clopas, who was Mary’s sister, which can also mean sister-in-law. So, I can’t say for sure, but it is a good guess that these two disciples trudging sadly home, down the long road from Jerusalem to Emmaus, were Cleopas and his wife, Mary, grieving the loss of their hopes for their suffering nation, Israel; mourning the death of the one who was both their nephew and their Lord; and trying to come to grips with the cruelty and horror that they had seen up close and very, very personal.

And as husbands and wives do, or as good friends do, they were talking about all of these things, going over and over everything that had happened. I remember when my Dad died, I lay with my Mom in their big bed and she talked all night long, telling me over and over everything that had happened, how my Dad suddenly got worse, about calling the ambulance, about what the EMTs did and said when they came, what my Dad’s last words were. She needed to talk it all out, and that’s how it was with these two sad, confused, shell-shocked disciples. And then – a man came alongside them, and as they walked along together, he let them tell their story to him. Before he revealed himself to them, before he straightened out their theology, Jesus listened to them. He asked a couple of questions to let them know he was interested, and he let them pour their hearts out to him.

And then, I think Jesus heaved a big sigh. “Oh, you guys,” he said, “Haven’t you even been listening? How is it that you don’t understand?” And as they walk along, Jesus begins to do the talking. And he gives Cleopas and Mrs. Cleopas the most complete and authoritative survey of salvation history that anyone has ever heard. In the history of the world. A beautiful, perfect summary of the Word by the Word himself. Later on they looked at each other with shining eyes, and said, “Wasn’t your heart just burning within you while he was speaking?”

I am so jealous. Wouldn’t you love to read everything that Jesus told them? Don’t you wish you could have it on audiobook so you could listen to him over and over until you knew every word? But Luke doesn’t tell us.

But by then it’s getting late. Seven miles is a fairly long way to walk, especially on rough roads, especially when the world has just given you a beating and you are worn out. And here we learn a little bit more about these two disciples. Jesus makes like he’s going to head on down the road, but it’s getting pretty late, the sun is going down, and they invite him to come in and spend the night with them. They “urge him strongly” – “We won’t take no for an answer.” “Please, it would be our pleasure.” They don’t even know who Jesus is. But they offer him hospitality; because they have been raised in a culture that values hospitality, and also out of the kindness of their weary hearts; they open their home to him. And that act of hospitality is the turning point of this whole wonderful story. Watch – see what happens.

We can imagine Cleopas lighting a lamp to chase away the gloom of twilight. We can imagine Mrs. Cleopas bustling around like Martha, setting out the best meal she can rustle up on short notice. They gather around the warm glow of the lamplight, tired, sad – but glad to be home as we always are – and they offer their guest the honor of breaking the bread.

And as soon as Jesus takes the bread in his hands, as soon as he breaks it to be shared, it’s like a veil falls from their eyes. All of a sudden they know him. All of a sudden, it’s Jesus, there at the table with them, alive and well and solid and real and himself. All of a sudden, at twilight on that first Easter day, there is glorious and abundant joy at last. So much joy, in fact, that they go running the whole seven miles back to Jerusalem because they just have to share the good news with the other disciples.

We prayed this morning, in the Collect, “O God, whose blessed Son made himself known to his disciples in the breaking of bread: Open the eyes of our faith, that we may behold him in all his redeeming work” We are praying for the faith to invite Jesus in – especially in those moments when, for our weariness or our sadness or our discouragement – or our foolishness – we can’t really see Jesus for who he is. Because faith is a kind of hospitality.

By faith, we welcome another person into our lives or into our homes or into our hearts.

By faith, we open our minds and hearts to really listen to his Word, to “read, mark, learn and inwardly digest it” as the Collect says, even to allow it to change us – in our own private reading of the Bible, or when we hear it read on Sunday morning.

By faith, we hold out our hands to receive the bread and wine of the Eucharist, inviting those elements to become part of our very selves, physically and spiritually.

And like the disciples of Emmaus, when we open the door of our hearts, in all these different ways, we suddenly – and sometimes unexpectedly– find ourselves face to face with Jesus – in his Word, or in the sacrament, in a complete stranger, or in our spouse, or in the beauty of nature. It is like the wonderful quote from the play “Les Miserables”: “To love another person is to see the face of God.”

Jesus is calling to us: Behold, I stand at the door and knock. If anyone hears my voice and opens the door, I will come in to him and eat with him, and he with me. (Rev. 3:20)