Journeying Together - The Rev. Brian Petersen
Sometimes when you read Scripture, there are certain details that stick out. For example, in today’s Gospel reading, Luke takes the time to point out specifically that it’s “about seven miles” from Jerusalem to Emmaus. A seven-mile walk. So that got me thinking – what would a seven-mile walk look like in our neighborhood?
I did a little research and found that it’s almost exactly a seven-mile walk from my office at St. Andrew’s to the Poinsettia train station in Carlsbad. So this week, I set out with the intention to make that walk and see what God might be trying to tell me.
I discovered a few things on the walk. First, walking seven miles takes a while. I walk really fast, and it still took me about two and a half hours (with a few short breaks). And I found that on such a long walk, I really could have used some company along the way. So if anyone wants to come and take a long walk sometime, let me know!
One thing about walking, or any kind of physical activity really, is that it’s a great way to get out of your head and into your body. Whenever something is troubling me, I find that going for a walk is a great way to get through the surge of emotions and re-ground myself.
And I don’t know about you, but I’m finding that nowadays I need to go for a walk to clear my head quite often. Because, let’s face it, there is much to be troubled about in the world today. It’s especially difficult as someone who is sincerely trying to follow in the way of Jesus to cope in a time when the name of Jesus is continually used to justify unconscionable things – violence, imperial ambition, unbridled nationalism, exclusion and oppression – the list goes on. We may find ourselves frustrated, even disappointed that God does not seem to intervene as brutality and blasphemy become commonplace in our culture. And in the Easter season, the so-called season of resurrection, it might be hard to find any physical signs of said resurrection anywhere we look.
The two disciples in the gospel story know this feeling as well – and so they go for a walk. They are carrying a similar sense of frustration and disappointment – so much so that when they encounter the very risen Lord, Luke tells us “their eyes were kept from recognizing him.” Have our eyes been similarly clouded, jaded by how we’ve been forced to see the world?
But notice what Jesus does here – he meets them in their doubt and despair, and he keeps walking with them. And on that walk, in his patient presence he hears them, but also leads them, gently and clearly, toward a new way of seeing things.
Perhaps if we are feeling overwhelmed with the burden of uncertainty and fear at this moment in history, we might take that invitation from Jesus – come and take a walk with me.
Of course, I don’t want to be ableist and suggest that the physical act of walking grants some spiritual superiority. I recognize that being able to walk seven miles, or any distance at all, is a blessing and a privilege to be grateful for. But Christ’s invitation is not so much to go for a physical walk as it is to get out of the clamor of our minds, where we try in vain to predict and plan and prepare for what we cannot possibly imagine – and into the real world, into the air and the light, to “touch grass” as young people like to say.
There’s a sense of enchantment to the Emmaus Road story – two friends on a twilight journey, encountering a mystical stranger who imparts wisdom, breaks bread, and the disappears – that would fit well into a Tolkien story (a few elves and hobbits wouldn’t seem out of place!) And I wonder if that might be some of what we are missing: a sense of enchantment. Not of magic and fantastic creatures, but of God’s life-giving and loving presence the permeates all things, working to bring redemption in ways that we might not always recognize right away.
That’s the very story that Jesus gives to the disciples as they walk – that God isn’t just working in the present moment, but all through history back to the beginning of time. God, who was present at the beginning of creation, is present in and through creation calling light out of darkness and life out of death.
What if we could see resurrection everywhere, if we changed the way that we see things? If we could move from jaded cynicism to trust, to belief that when we hope we do not hope in vain? What if we could see God’s presence everywhere, in beauty and in truth and in acts of love and compassion both big and small? What if we could see God’s abundance everywhere, so there would be no need to hoard and protect what we have, where we could share with our neighbors instead of fearing them?
What if we could see that a simple piece of broken bread and cup of wine could be the real presence of Christ among us, drawing us together as a community and empowering us to go and live out a message of love and hope that the powers of darkness cannot hope to defeat?
Before worship every Sunday, we always pray that Christ will be “known to us in the breaking of the bread.” This is a presence that we only experience in community – where two or three are gathered, as Jesus told us. And this is where going for a walk is much better when we do it together – because this is not a solo journey for any of us. Just as I found on my own seven-mile walk, the journey is a lot better when we have others to share it with, to help each other to see the signs of resurrection along the way.
As we now gather at the table to bless and break and share the bread of life and the cup of salvation, may our eyes and our hearts be open to the patient presence of the resurrected Christ among us, calling us out into the world to share that presence with all those we encounter along life’s road.
