Sermons of Rev. Timothy J. Kennedy

					A Marked Man
Third Sunday of Easter
Luke 24:13-35

Sunday, April 06, 2008
				

Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. And he said to them, "What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?" They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, "Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?" He asked them, "What things?" They replied, "The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place. Moreover, 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 that 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." Then he said to them, "Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?" Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures. As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, "Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over." So he went in to stay with them. When he 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; and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, "Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?" That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were saying, "The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!" Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

E-mail is wonderful technology. My electronic postal worker delivers, right to my mailbox, messages in great abundance: most from strangers, several from friends, even a few from family. Sometimes the message is uplifting; sometimes not. So I steeled myself a couple of weeks ago before opening a particular message. You see, the subject line read: obituary. I thought to myself, "I hope it isn't somebody I know well ... and especially somebody I'm close to." The deceased was both. At least, I like to think I know him well. I like to think I'm close to him.

My paraphrase of the death notice reads like this: "Jesus of Nazareth died Friday on Golgotha, at the age of thirty-three. The cause of death was crucifixion. He was the son of his devoted mother, Mary, and the late Joseph the carpenter. In lieu of flowers (don't you just love it?), in lieu of flowers, the family has requested that everyone try to live as Jesus did. Donations may be sent to anyone in need." Ah yes: I like to think I know him well. I like to think I'm close to him.

I'm looking at our Gospel text from this same perspective. Two people walk sadly toward Emmaus. They were going home. Sometimes, in the midst of life's most horrific moments, home is where you want to be. It's only seven miles ... but the trek seemed endless. It is the afternoon of the very first Easter, but these two people are in a Good Friday frame of mind. Chances are they had been almost holding their breath the previous week, as opposition to Jesus grew increasingly stronger. Jesus was a marked man. I like that phrase from an article in this month's Lutheran magazine: "Jesus was a marked man." Both church and state wanted him out of the picture. And they took the measures to make it happen. Two people walk sadly ... with only their memories. Well, their memories and a tattered obituary: "Jesus of Nazareth died Friday on Golgotha, at the age of thirty-three." They like to think they know him well. They like to think they were close to him.

We know little, if anything, about either person. For instance, I always thought of them as two men; the artist of our bulletin cover thinks otherwise. The Bible gives no hint. As we read through the story, we do learn that they must have been in the upper room that Sunday morning, with some of the less anonymous, more famous followers of Jesus. They even admit, "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 that 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."

Aha. So they had heard rumors he was alive; but nevertheless, they were in a Good Friday frame of mind. It is probably unfair of me to characterize them this way. After all, rumors of a dead man rising are almost impossible to believe. Nevertheless, they must have been followers of Jesus, if not quite disciples. They must have known Jesus recognized he was a marked man. After all, more than once he had predicted this was how the whole thing was going to go down - that he was destined go down in death - and three days later would rise again. With that in mind, my characterization of these two on the road to Emmaus is they seemed to have been out to lunch. Yet, not to worry - supper time is fast approaching. Let me say it again, because it is so vital to the story: they may have been out to lunch, but supper time is fast approaching. Two people, ordinary folk, walk to Emmaus. And suddenly, stride-for-stride, step-for-step, Jesus walks with them. They did not invite him. They did not even recognize him. Suddenly, he is there.

How simply amazing - this road to Emmaus! And for you and me, this is the most striking part of the story to this point: Jesus chooses to accompany ordinary people on their journey of grief. After all, Jesus could have shown up on the doorstep of Pontius Pilate that morning. "Pontius, remember me? Crucified, died, and was buried? Check me out on this, the third day." Or Jesus could have dropped by the home of the high priest, Caiaphas. He did neither. He chose to accompany two ordinary people on their way home from Good Friday. Not the high muckety-mucks of state and synagogue ... but the low muckety-mucks of every day life. Surely, and it's something to keep in mind, God shows no partiality; plays no favorites.

I look out at you and see that, in the grand scheme of things, you are relatively low muckety-mucks. Don't take it personally. As you look toward me, you also are looking at a low muckety-muck. None of us is likely to make the cover of People Magazine. And yet, God willing, all of us are likely to find ourselves, at one time or another, step-by-step and stride-for-stride with the Lord. At least we strive for that stride with the Lord. I misspoke. We don't to strive for it, because like those two on the journey from Jerusalem, it is the Lord's choosing to walk with us. And not only with us, the common folk, but with even the high and the mighty. I take comfort in the fact that God does not play favorites, shows no partiality. It was not the governor nor the high priest to whom Jesus appeared, it was to folks like you and me. You see, Jesus strides with us step-by-step through life ... all the way to eternity.

When those two people and the stranger reach Emmaus, the two urge the third to stay with them. Whoever the stranger is, he sure knows his Bible. And even if he didn't, the common courtesy of these common folk dictates they should invite the stranger for a meal and lodging. "It's almost evening; day is done, gone the sun." Even in their own grief at the loss of Jesus, they still have the wherewithal to offer hospitality to the stranger. And we know how the story ends: the guest takes upon himself the role of the host. And as Jesus lifts his arms with the bread held high in blessing - the wounds are revealed. At least some scholars explain in this way the sudden recognition of Jesus. The wounds are revealed, in the breaking of bread. How wonderful it is for the likes of you and me, that Jesus is a marked man - cruelly marked, for the likes of you and me.

Speaking of being marked: in the waters of Baptism this morning, tiny Katerina is going to be "marked with the cross of Christ forever." In addition, as she grows in years, her parents Rusty and Kim are promising that they are going to be telling a lot of Jesus stories. Pretty powerful stuff. But here is the real power: Katerina has not even entered the crawling stage - and yet this morning, stride for stride, Jesus promises to walk with her for a lifetime. And beyond.

That noted preacher, Barbara Brown Taylor, concludes from this text, "Jesus comes to the disappointed, the doubtful, the disconsolate. He comes to those (such as Katerina), who do not know their Bibles. He comes to those who do not recognize him even when they are walking beside him. He comes to those who have given up and are headed back home." May God continue to give us the grace to recognize Jesus, this marked man, in the breaking of the bread.