Sermons

April 6th Sermon Father Brian Taylor

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The Third Sunday of Easter April 6, 2008
The Rev. Brian C. Taylor
Luke 24:13-35

You can imagine how dispirited Jesus’ disciples must have felt after Good Friday. A couple of days later, two of them, walking along towards the village of Emmaus, were talking it over. A stranger approached and asked them what they were discussing.

The description is poignant: it says that the two stood still, looking sad. An awkward silence, staring at the ground. Finally, one of them replied “are you the only one in the city of Jerusalem who doesn’t know?” And here comes the deep sadness: “We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.” We had hoped. We had hoped, but now all is lost.

We all know this terrible feeling of disappointment and regret. We know what it is like to be walking along the road, dispirited, with nothing to say in the awkward silence. Some of you have had to deal with some hard things: the loss of a child, a life-changing illness, a marriage that is falling apart, or the many losses that come with aging. You had so hoped that things would have turned out differently.

Even if you are fortunate, like me, not to have had to go through some of these things, you know disappointment and regret, because you are human. The other night, while watching a video shot by a platoon of young soldiers in Iraq, I became overwhelmed by sadness about the world. I am so tired of violence and the threat of violence; indifference to disease, hunger, and global warming; pointless consumerism; everyday petty cruelty; simple-minded politicians and preachers; and endless asphalt and cars, everywhere.
I had so hoped that things would be different than they are.

But regret can be paralyzing. On Holy Tuesday at the liturgy of Tenebrae, one of our readings spoke to this. It was written by Brother Roger, the founder of the Taize Community in France, who was recently mourned with great loss and regret by his own community when, at the age of 90, he was senselessly murdered during a worship service.

In our Tenebrae service, it was as if Brother Roger was speaking from the dead to the regret and loss of his own community, as well as to our own personal disappointments: “In regret the inner self disintegrates…A person’s spirit becomes sterile when it keeps on reconstructing a situation that is past and gone, giving itself over to fruitless brooding.”

When we get stuck in brooding disappointment, the inner self disintegrates. Our spirit becomes sterile and we keep reconstructing what happened or should have happened. This, in a very condensed version, was the disciples’ situation on the road to Emmaus.
It is occasionally where we find ourselves. We think over and over about what happened, what might have happened, what should happen. This brooding makes our spirit sterile, lifeless.

On the other hand, it doesn’t do any good to try to make ourselves feel better, to look on the bright side. This usually doesn’t work. Instead, what seems to help is an active acceptance of our grief, opening our heart to what is, and waiting.

This is not so easy, because the sense of loss is fearful. Part of us believes that standing in this fear will destroy us. But in fact, standing in the reality of what is, consciously, with an open heart, is sometimes the only thing that will bring us new life.

Parker Palmer, a well-known educator, philosopher, and activist, wrote about standing in what he called “the tragic gap,” the space between what is and what we wish were possible. Our tendency is to resist, or to escape: fight or flight. We try to force an unnatural change, or we muffle our feelings with drink, drugs, or stupid activity.

Palmer suggests that instead we stay in that tragic gap, living with the tension, being open and receptive, waiting for the unknown future. I like to think of this as being like a cat in front of a mouse-hole: alert and attentive to what might come next.

Palmer says that in this act of waiting, as we live with the tension, the heart eventually breaks open to a new possibility. We can’t make this happen; it is a gift of God’s grace.
What comes is never what we had expected. On the road to Emmaus, the disciples did not recognize Jesus as he spoke to them. But they felt something towards him.

Later they said “didn’t our hearts burn within us in that conversation on the road?” And because they intuited something about him, they invited him to dinner, imploring him to stay a little longer. Then at supper, in a eucharistic moment, in the moment of prayer and breaking bread, their hearts and their eyes were opened. They could finally see.

Their whole perspective changed. Their regret had them busy reconstructing a situation that was past and gone, over and over again in their minds - that Jesus would march into Jerusalem and redeem Israel. It didn’t happen. Instead, he came to them later as a stranger on the road, showing them that God’s resurrection power is unlike worldly power.

This power brings God’s light into everything, even into the darkest places, and it awakens spirits to wonder and beauty, to love and delight, no matter what the circumstances have been.

God’s resurrection power will not be stopped by loss, regret, or death; it has the ability to make all things new. Resurrection power sneaks up within the soul, breaks open our heart, and then ripples out into the world, changing everything around us.

What Jesus did that day was to take the disciples’ experience and reinterpret it. He didn’t deny their loss; he simply reframed it. He helped them see that while suffering is real and very hard, it is not the end of the story; the scriptures have always told us that God is more powerful than that.

There is always life beyond the grave. Jesus broke open the scriptures and the bread, and in doing so, broke open their hardened, regretful hearts to a new possibility. They were reborn.

Perhaps you are living in some kind of tragic gap between Good Friday and Easter. Perhaps you are walking along some lonely road between places, mourning a loss, regretting what could have been, what should be, or, like me sometimes, just feeling a deep disappointment in the world.

Stand in the tragic gap; live in the tension. Be prayerful and attentive, like a cat in front of a mouse hole. And all the while, keep your heart open and receptive, trusting, like a child.
Let go of your expectations of what might come next. Allow yourself to be surprised by grace, to have your whole way of seeing things reinterpreted. Allow your heart to be broken open to new possibilities. I know this to be true: resurrection will happen, Easter will come again, for God is faithful.