“Road Trip: The Unfolding Presence of Christ”

Luke 24:13-35

April 26, 2020

Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

There’s nothing quite like a road trip. Spontaneous or planned. Short or long. There’s just a little thrill when we set out on an adventure. Maybe we’re flying solo or have our nearest and dearest with us. We might have our maps ready, stops planned. Or sometimes we set out and we’re not even sure where we’re headed. We just hit the open road and soar.

Cleopas and his unnamed friend are on a road trip from Jerusalem to Emmaus. We aren’t told if they’ve packed protein bars or potato chips for the journey. We know they were on foot. Together.

And then a stranger shows up and begins to walk with them. But this is….a strange stranger. We, dear reader, are told that it’s Jesus. Not just any Jesus, of course, but the Risen Christ because this story takes place on that first Easter.

But the travelers don’t know it’s Jesus. Still, they welcome the stranger and they begin to make small talk. All of Jerusalem has been watching Holy Week unfold on their screens. #HosannaJesus is trending. 

But this stranger knows nothing of it. 

And so, the disciples pass the time on their road trip not by listening to podcasts or singing with the windows down, but by telling the story. 

The story of their friend Jesus. What he meant to them. How he pointed the way to Love. How he died a brutal death at the hands of the authorities.

This isn’t the only road trip in the Gospel of Luke. 

Not even close. Biblical scholar Eric Barreto reminds us that the gospel begins with Mary and Joseph roadtripping to Bethlehem. The story of the Good Samaritan takes place on the road from Jerusalem to Jericho. The entire second half of Luke’s gospel is structured around Jesus “setting his face toward Jerusalem” and steadily traveling towards the pain and confusion awaiting him there. [1]

I guess we shouldn’t be surprised there are so many road trips surrounding the stories about Jesus. Road trips are unique spaces. Spaces between what was and what isn’t yet. Spaces of anticipation as we look forward to what might be. Spaces of boredom or exhaustion as we wonder, “are we there yet?”

You know, we’re all on a road trip together right now. Not the kind we probably like to be on. After all, many of us are looking at cancelled travel plans and itching for the feel of the open road.

But we ARE on a unplanned journey together. We’ve left behind the familiarity of the “before time.” Our routines have all been upended. We were sent packing with barely any notice. 

But we’re on the road to...where, exactly? That part is unclear. The disciples know where they’re headed. Emmaus is only a seven mile walk. They’ve made this journey before. They know where the watering holes are. They know where they’ll lay their heads at the end of the day. 

Us? We are having a hard time envisioning our destination. What is the world going to look like “when this is all over”? 

Of course, it won’t ever be over. 

The pandemic of course, will end. But it’s just one part of an unfolding that’s eternal. 

Creation continues. Humanity continues. God continues. We can trust that there IS something on the other side of all this chaos. That is at the very heart of our faith. 

Spanish poet Antonio Machado is the person we have to thank for that delicious morsel of wisdom, “we make the road by walking.” It comes from his poem Campos de Castilla (translated into English):

Wanderer, your footsteps are the road, and nothing more; wanderer, there is no road, the road is made by walking. By walking one makes the road, and upon glancing behind one sees the path that never will be trod again. Wanderer, there is no road — Only wakes upon the sea. 

The destination may be unclear. Our footsteps may make the path. But we are not alone at sea. The things that were true and real in “the before time” are still true and real. 

This is what the disciples learned on their road trip. 

When they reached Emmaus they invited the stranger to stay with them for the night. And when they sat down together to share a meal, the stranger stepped into the role of host. When they saw him take the bread, bless it, break it, share it around the table….that’s when their eyes were opened. 

That’s when they knew it was Christ with them all along. 

The road trip we’re on right now is not one we chose. We didn’t book our Airbnb, buy all our favorite snacks, and set out with a carefully curated playlist. We were thrust into this unwillingly. And it is completely normal and understandable to feel anger and grief about that. It’s normal to feel anxious because the destination isn’t in sight. 

We feel all of that….and, yet, still, we travel. 

And the open road does present opportunities to us….chances to pause and reflect. 

We find ourselves looking at the “before times” and wondering: what of that is worth keeping? Which parts should be left in the past?

As we sit in this liminal space between what was and what is yet to be, we are reminded that we are co-creators with God. 

Guided by Christ, we are empowered to make the road as we walk it together. We are called to be people of vision, people who listen for the whispers (and shouts) of the Holy Spirit as we discern what our new world will look like. 

We, as people of faith, are invited to listen for God’s version of a better world….a world more deeply rooted in compassion and justice and peace for all people and all creation. And we are called to proclaim the good news of that vision to all we meet. To Love Loudly by saying, “Here is God’s dream. Here is the Beloved Community. Come, let’s build it together.”

The future is not yet here. And it is murky. But we can see clearly what God wants it to be: 

A place where all people are valued. A place where the most vulnerable among us are cared for. It’s a place where the last are first. A place where those who would exclude finally come to understand we are all One. 

It’s a place where children have enough to eat, no one has to live in fear of violence, and where systems are set up to heal and protect rather than harm. 

God dreams of a world where humanity and creation live in harmony together. A place where we can talk to one another with respect and understand each other even when it’s very, very hard. 

A world where every single person rises in the morning with the goal of loving God and loving their neighbor as themselves. A world where we go to bed at night knowing we’ve done our best to Love Loudly…..and where we can forgive ourselves when we fall short, counting on God’s love to sustain us when we need that grace. 

This vision isn’t new….it's ancient. This vision of God’s Beloved Community is with us always….simmering below the surface, waiting for us to hush and take notice. It is there in every part of the unfolding of human history. 

It is in the liminal spaces...when we are between before and not yet...that we are most likely to pause and notice that God is always holding that vision of the Beloved Community out to us. 

And when we pause….when we take a moment and squint at the undefined destination the horizon...when we sit back and see the stranger across the table; take, bless, break, share. 

That is when we know….really know. That Christ is with us. 

That force of Love that cannot be contained. Christ is with us on this road just as Christ was with us before and Christ will be with us always. 

Christ is in the unfolding, the before times, the between times, the unseen future. 

Christ is in all of it. 

Always. 

Amen. 

NOTES: 

[1]  http://www.workingpreacher.org/preaching.aspx?commentary_id=4442

“Fear and Joy: Easter”

Matthew 28: 1-10

April 12, 2020

Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

These are heavy days, aren’t they? I’ve been talking with a lot of you over these past few weeks and I know that we are all being affected differently by COVID….but we are all being affected. 

Some are terrified about their health or the health of someone close to them. Many are worried about the financial impact of this disaster. Some have already lost jobs. Lots of folks are deeply exhausted from learning to do their jobs in new ways overnight...often while parenting young children full time. Some are lonely and others are craving more alone time. We miss our rituals, routines, hugs, just the feeling of being in a place with people….friends, strangers, just being together. 

We go to bed at night worried about doctors and nurses and those who clean the hospitals. We worry and pray for the children who don’t have enough to eat or who live in homes that aren’t safe. Our hearts break wide open when we pray for those in prison, those who struggle with their mental health in the best of times. We worry about those who are battling addiction. We pray for our friends who are giving birth, burying loved ones, finding ways to continue regular medical treatments like chemo. 

We worry...we worry….we worry. We lay down our heads to rest and our hearts are filled with concern and fear. Because there are so many unknowns right now. 

So. Many. Unknowns. 

If we’re lucky, when we wake in the morning we might get a brief moment of respite from our worry. 

When we see the daylight stream in through our window and we start to stretch and there’s that brief moment of fuzziness as our brains continue to wake up. And we’ve forgotten about the world. And we wonder: let’s see, what do I have going on today?

And then we remember. We remember it all. 

At some point (hopefully not right after waking up, but if we’re being honest sometimes it’s right after waking up) we check the news. We check the numbers. We see how many more have died. We worry some more. We pray some more. We wonder some more about where this is all headed. 

“Now, preacher,” you might say, “This right here is not the most uplifting sermon I’ve ever heard. What does any of this have to do with Easter?”

I’m glad you asked. 

Our Easter stories (and, yes, that’s plural because our sacred texts deliver multiple versions of what happened that first Easter morning) meet us right smack where we are. In the midst of worry, fear, grief, despair, shock, trauma. 

Where WE are right now? That is EXACTLY where our faith ancestors were on the first Easter. 

In fact, Mary and Mary were doing the same thing many of us are doing in the morning these days. Rolf Jacobsen says that when they went to the tomb they were going to check in on the work that Death had done. [1] They went to see their friend’s grave. They were up early, checking on the work of Death. Filled with worry, fear, grief, despair, shock, trauma. 

Just like us, they were living through some heavy days. 

When Mary and Mary arrive to check on the work of Death, they are surprised by the work of God. 

God has been up even earlier than the two women, going about the work of creating new life even in the midst of death. And that work of bringing new life has already happened by the time they arrive. The tomb is sealed up tight and the work of Death is on full display….but behind that heavy stone lies the work of God. 

The work of Resurrection. The work of new life being birthed even in the midst of heavy days.

I think this is important to notice: the Resurrection doesn’t happen BECAUSE the women come to see. 

The Resurrection has ALREADY happened before they get there. The women are able to bear witness to the goodness of Resurrection precisely because they showed up to grieve. 

They are coming to check in to see what work Death has done and find themselves surprised that God is able to bring about new life even in the midst of death. 

Our participation is this isn’t even required. We don’t make Easter happen. 

Easter doesn’t happen because we get dressed up in our Sunday best and dust off our Easter baskets and show up in crowded churches. Easter happens because God is the force in the universe that is always striving towards life, always reaching out in grace, always pursuing us relentlessly in the name of love. 

Even in the heavy times. 

Especially in the heavy times. 

The good news of Resurrection is not a magic wand. It doesn’t make the bad news go away. Instead, the good news comes alongside the bad news and somehow makes it bearable. 

After the two Marys are told that Christ is risen, they leave the tomb “quickly with fear and great joy” to spread the news. 

They left with fear AND joy. 

In this way, the author of Matthew’s gospel contrasts the faithful women with the soldiers at the tomb, who are meant to symbolize the ways of Empire. Upon learning what has happened, the Roman soldiers shake with fear and fall down as if dead. 

The women are also afraid. But they do not fall down. Instead, they leave with fear AND joy to bear witness to the work of God. 

Friends, one of the miraculous things about being human is that we can hold together so much at one time. We can be filled with fear AND joy at the same time. We can wake up each morning and check to see waht work Death has done while simultaneously savoring moments of deep and abiding joy. 

Do not feel guilty about seeking and appreciating moments of joy in the midst of heavy times. Our capacity to tap into joy even while consumed with fear and grief is a God-given and holy gift. 

The women don’t LOSE their fear when they tap into joy. Even though the angel tells them (as angels always do) “fear not!” they are still afraid (as humans usually are). 

The good news of what God is doing doesn’t take away the bad news of what Death is doing. Instead, the good news of Resurrection enables the women to dig deep and find the strength to continue on. 

The good news of what God is doing gives the women the courage they need to do what they’ve been called to do...even when they are still very much afraid. 

That’s what courage is, after all. The ability to do hard things even while your knees are shaking. 

Courage is getting out of bed in the morning even when the day seems to be too much to bear. 

Courage is breathing through one minute to the next, one hour to the next, one day to the next until all those moments are strung together into a life. 

Courage is finding a moment of joy even in the midst of the heaviest of times. 

Courage is doing the work God has called us to do even when the world feels so very heavy. 

So let us go with the women on this quiet and strange Easter morning. Let us be filled with fear and trembling and joy and...dare I say it? Hope. Even in this midst of these heavy days. 

For we wake each day to check on the work of Death. And we find ourselves surprised by what God’s wild and reckless Resurrection Love. Even now. Especially now. 

Thanks be to God. 

NOTES: 

[1] http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=5425