Big finish?
Commentary
Object:
Go to a fireworks show on the Fourth of July or some other festive occasion, and you will
be treated to a multisensory experience. Colors, lights, sounds, and perhaps even music.
Different pyrotechnic operations do things differently, of course, but they all have this in
common: the big finish.
Fireworks displays, by design, are never anticlimactic. They do not end with moments of contemplative serenity. Instead, they purposely end with bombast and spectacle, with rapid-fire explosions and overwhelming sound, color, and light. The crowds "ooh" and "ah," and they erupt with applause at the grand conclusion.
Musicals, on both stage and screen, generally work the same way. The finale is usually grand. It doesn't pay for some song-and-dance in the middle of the show to outdo the one at the end. The musical, too, often ends with a big finish.
Two weeks ago, we celebrated Easter. That would appear to be God's big finish.
From the first time Jesus told his disciples what would happen to him in Jerusalem, the gospel story points toward the cross and the empty tomb. He arrives in Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, and the air is filled with expectation. Tension and drama mount throughout the week. Then, on Friday, it seems that the enemy has won the day, and by Saturday, the palms and crowds of the previous Sunday are long forgotten. The songs and hosannas have been silenced by death. The triumphant entry is eclipsed by darkness and grief.
But, no -- early Sunday morning, the triumphant entry is eclipsed, indeed, but by a triumphant exit. Christ emerges from the tomb alive!
That would appear to be God's big finish, but a closer examination reveals that it was not so.
Acts 2:14a, 36-41
This is not Pentecost Sunday, but this text comes from the Day of Pentecost. Specifically, we enter the scene after the disciples have been filled with the Spirit, have poured out into the streets, and Peter has begun to speak. Our selected verses do not include the content of his sermon, but focus instead on the response of the listening crowd.
Luke reports that "they were cut to the heart" and asked, "Brothers, what should we do?"
The Greek word that we translate "cut" does not appear anywhere else in the New Testament. It can also be translated "pricked," as in the King James, or "pierced through." While different Greek words are employed by Simeon, we are reminded of his sober caution to the new mother, Mary: "a sword will pierce your own soul too" (Luke 2:35). These are images of deep pain. It is not the stuff of stubbed toes, tummy aches, or hangnails. This is pain that hits us at our core.
Interestingly, the only apparent cause for this pain had been Peter's words. His audience had not been physically injured, nor had any tragedy befallen them. He had simply spoken the truth to them. His words were God's word, which we know is "piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow; it is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart" (Hebrews 4:12b).
That the audience addresses Peter and the disciples as "brothers" is likely a credit to Peter. It is a term of familiarity and affection; it is not at all a term that suggests an antagonistic relationship. And so, even though Peter has preached to them a demanding truth, which sounds accusatory at the end, the people do not resist or rebut. Rather, they turn to these "brothers" to learn what they need to do.
And what they need to do, according to Peter, is "repent, and be baptized ... in the name of Jesus Christ." The exhortation to repent and be baptized, of course, is what we first heard John the Baptist preaching at the beginning of the gospel story. His stated rationale was because "the kingdom of heaven has come near" (Matthew 3:2). It seems to have been a repentance in preparation for what God would do. But Peter's invitation is repentance as a response to what God has already done. The deed is accomplished; and so repent, in order that you may receive what God has for you: forgiveness of sins and the gift of the Holy Spirit.
The breadth of Peter's invitation is noteworthy, too. "The promise is for you," he assures the crowd, and "for your children, and for all who are far away." What recognition on Peter's part. In contrast to the protectionism of Joshua (see Numbers 11:25-29) or the provincialism of John (see Mark 9:38-39), Peter does not suspect that the gifts of God are for him and his select group of companions only. No, the great multitudes before him were all invited, as well as other multitudes, both absent and unborn!
Luke reports that there is more that Peter said to the multitudes than what we have recorded here -- "many other arguments." But Luke does include one final word from Peter in this episode: "Save yourselves from this corrupt generation."
The gospel of Jesus Christ is manifestly not about saving yourself. Quite the contrary. We call upon and depend upon the Lord for our salvation. He provides and offers; we respond and receive.
Yet, in this instance, there is an exhortation to save yourself. Peter had heard Jesus lament about "this generation" on several occasions (see, for example, Matthew 11:16, 12:41-45; Mark 8:12, 38; Luke 11:50). We are presented with an image of a generation that is doomed -- like a plane careening toward a mountain -- and those who would be saved are urged to jump off. If you want to be saved, you have to separate yourself from this generation, for it is destined for destruction.
It is worth asking ourselves whether Peter would say the same thing to us in our day.
1 Peter 1:17-23
The first line of this lection presents us with an interesting pairing of images. He begins with the phrase "if you invoke as Father." That starting place should make our ears perk up, for that is indeed what we do. We have learned from scripture, and especially from the New Testament, that we relate to God as his children, and that he loves, protects, corrects, and welcomes us back like a father.
In the next breath, however, Peter uses the phrase "the one who judges." Taken by itself, that suggests a very different image, and it evokes a different sort of emotion. I am at ease with my father; I am rather formal and self-conscious before a judge. I know how my father feels about me; a judge, however, I hope to persuade. My father looks on me favorably because he loves me. The judge's favor is an open question.
The two images in Peter refer to the same person. God is both Father and Judge. What a relief to know that as I go to stand before the bar, the one who sits on the bench is my own Father, who loves me. Since our Father is the judge, and since the judge is our Father, we are encouraged to "live in reverent fear."
Specifically, Peter instructs his readers to "live in reverent fear during the time of your exile." The imagery of "exile" here echoes the image with which the whole epistle began: "Peter, an apostle of Jesus Christ, To the exiles of the Dispersion in Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia" (1:1). Clearly, Peter is not thinking of exiles in the traditional sense, for his audience has not been taken captive and removed from their homeland to be relocated involuntarily and permanently in the aforementioned places. These people are not like the Jewish exiles in sixth-century BC Babylon.
But Peter's audience -- and we, too, as followers of Christ -- are exiles in the sense that we live our lives in a place where we do not belong. This world is not our home, and there is an extent to which this world should always feel a bit foreign to us.
Peter's reference to "the time of your exile" is one component in a larger, sweeping view of history reflected in this passage. The apostle operates with what I'd like to call a "theo- chronology" -- that is, a paradigm in which theology is understood in terms of time and ages. And so, for example, Peter says that Jesus was "destined before the foundation of the world" but "revealed at the end of the ages." Hence, God's salvation plan in Christ was established from the beginning, but it did not come to fruition until the end. Peter understood himself and his audience to be living in the end -- if not the final seconds of the game, then certainly the fourth quarter. And at the very end, we anticipate standing before "the one who judges all people."
Superimposed on that grand sweep of history, there is also the individual's history. On the left side of the Christian's time line is "the futile ways inherited from your ancestors." That is our past. But it is not our future, for we have "come to trust in God" and "have purified (our) souls by (our) obedience to the truth." We have been "ransomed" and "born anew." Accordingly, in light of both the big picture and our own individual small picture, we "live in reverent fear" during the present time, with "faith and hope ... set on God" and "genuine mutual love" for one another.
Luke 24:13-35
This part of the Easter story, found exclusively in Luke's gospel, is a marvelous episode, full of preaching possibilities. We will explore two in some detail below. For the present consideration of the text, however, let us observe the substance of the dialogue between Jesus and these two unfamiliar disciples.
Luke's narrative presents us with an interesting and revealing juxtaposition of what the disciples said with what Jesus said. In verses 19-24, the two disciples offer a designation for Jesus, an interpretation of events, some reports about him, and their conclusion. In verses 25-27, however, Jesus offers a different designation, a different interpretation of the same events, other reports about himself, and a quite different conclusion. His response parallels the statement made by the disciples, but it stands in dramatic contrast to theirs.
Their designation for Jesus was "a prophet mighty and deed and word." For any other person, that would sound like high praise. Let someone in your congregation call you a prophet who is mighty in word and deed, and you will likely resist the bold characterization. But Jesus, in his response, makes reference to the same person they spoke of -- namely, himself, though they do not know it -- but he uses a different title: "the Messiah." See the difference: "a prophet" versus "the Messiah." Those disciples perceived him as a special man of God, to be sure, but "a prophet" is not unique. Jesus, however, replied with a title that was a category unto itself -- a one-and-only sort of designation.
The disciples' interpretation of recent events, meanwhile, was all confusion and sadness. "We had hoped," they say, speaking as people whose hopes have been dashed. For all the hopefulness and promise of their mighty prophet, you see, had been eradicated by the "chief priests and leaders" who put an end to him. But Jesus interprets those same events quite differently, asking, "Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things...?" Suddenly, the events of Thursday and Friday are no longer tragic developments that thwarted what God was doing. No, now those same events are necessary developments that actually served to accomplish what God was doing.
Finally, the disciples offer reports about Jesus -- from "some women of our group" and "some of those who were with us." It is not quite an instance of the blind leading the blind; but it is at least the bewildered leading the bewildered. The women were confused. The follow-up crew that ran to the tomb was confused. And now Cleopas and his companion are admittedly confused. Jesus, however, is not confused; and he endeavors to resolve their confusion. He appeals to different reports about himself -- "Moses and all the prophets" -- and then, in a lesson for which we don't have the transcript, he teaches those disciples all that they had not understood yet about the person and work of Christ.
We will consider further below what Jesus might have said to the disciples at this juncture. And we will also consider below the brief at-table experience that they had with him.
Application
If Easter had been God's big finish, then I suppose the New Testament would end at the resurrection. The curtain would close on the empty tomb. All three of our readings this week come from some time after that seeming grand finale. The gospel passage comes later that same day. The Acts passage comes a few weeks later, and the epistle reading comes from many years later.
If Easter had been God's big finish, then we would expect the audience to burst into applause. But much of the audience in this case seems, at least initially, bewildered and frightened.
As it turns out, our God does not seem to care for big finishes.
Consider some of his other grand victories in the pages of scripture. The miraculous birth of Isaac. The Israelites' deliverance from bondage in Egypt. The parting of the Red Sea or the demolition of Jericho's walls. The defeat of Goliath. The return of the Jewish exiles. The Day of Pentecost. The conversion of Saul. The final victory in Revelation.
Time and again we see the same principle played out: God does not make big finishes. He makes big beginnings.
So, let us indeed ooh and ah at the splendor of Easter. But let us not mistake it for a grand finale, a big ending. Rather, it is just a beginning. We see something of the nature of that beginning in the three post-resurrection texts of the day.
First, there is the Emmaus story, which demonstrates that Christ's resurrection is not to be confused with the climactic booms of a fireworks show. Rather, the joyous discovery of the risen Lord seems to be a gradual, one-soul-at-a-time experience.
The Acts passage, too, shows that God's preference is more for a big beginning than a big ending. Peter preaches to the diverse multitudes from around the Mediterranean gathered in Jerusalem for Pentecost. The church is born. The gospel is preached to the whole world by proxy. His message shows that God's will was not merely some individual victory for Jesus over death, but a death and resurrection that carried benefits and promise for all, including the forgiveness of sins and the gift of the Holy Spirit. And "that day about 3,000 persons were added" -- a big beginning.
And in the "theo-chronology" of Peter, we see that Easter is not so much a big ending as it is the beginning of an ending. And even that ending -- the end of this time of exile -- is just the entryway to another big beginning.
Alternative Applications
Luke 24:13-35. "The Next Supper." If your congregation will be partaking together of the sacraments this Sunday, then you will surely want to incorporate into your sermon or service the lovely and mysterious experience of the two disciples at Emmaus. Luke reports that "(Jesus) was at the table with them," which is itself a powerful image for us to consider as we come to the Communion table.
Then, Luke continues, "he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them." When was the last time they had seen that? It is wonderful and poignant to think that these grieving disciples may have had their Easter moment only at the moment when they were reminded of Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. That is to say, on Thursday night, Jesus had similarly broken bread and given it to them, saying that it was his broken body. On Friday, they indeed saw his body being broken and given for them, whether they recognized the significance of it at the time or not. So it is that, at this moment of Jesus breaking the bread and giving it to them, "their eyes were opened, and they recognized him."
We know that, at his Last Supper, Jesus' disciples were troubled and bewildered. It wasn't until his next supper -- the one here at Emmaus on Easter Sunday -- that these disciples came to understand and recognize.
When we gather for the sacrament today, we may think first of the supper that Jesus had with his disciples on that Thursday night. Those are the words we will recite, and that is the event we will recall. But our experience as his followers, as guests at his table, is not so much like those disciples on Thursday night; rather, our experience more nearly resembles that of the disciples in Emmaus on Sunday evening. We stand on this side of the cross and the empty tomb, and the risen Christ is "made known to (us) in the breaking of the bread."
Luke 24:13-35. "The Gospel According To Moses." My people are accustomed to hearing about the "Gospel According to Matthew, or Mark, or Luke, or John." They have even been fascinated and disturbed by occasional references to the "Gospel of Thomas or Peter." But they are largely unaware of the "Gospel According to Moses."
If your people are like most of the church folks I have encountered in my years of ministry, then you'll recognize this problem: They don't know the Bible very well; and from what they do know, they have developed a distinct bias in favor of the New Testament over and against the Old.
It is worth noting, therefore, what occurred in the conversation on the road to Emmaus. While Matthew and John were still bewildered, Mark was still cowering and hiding, and Luke was still a pagan, Jesus was teaching the good news about himself to two disciples. And his texts were not New Testament. His texts were "Moses and all the prophets."
We might do well to try to imagine for our people the details of what Jesus might have said to Cleopas and his partner that day. Uncover for them the Christ that is promised and prefigured, anticipated and foreshadowed throughout the pages of the Old Testament. Show him as the wounded offspring that crushes the serpent's head, the mysterious Melchizedek, the image of a snake hanging on a pole, the high priest behind the curtain, the spotless lamb, the Paschal lamb, the suffering servant, the king riding humbly on a donkey, the wonderful counselor and Prince of Peace, and on and on. Let us encourage our people to understand that Matthew and company were not the first ones to tell about Jesus. God's plan and the good news about Christ can be found, not just in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, but also in Genesis, Deuteronomy, Psalms, and Zechariah.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 116:1-4, 12-19
If there's one thing that people universally appreciate, it's being heard. Nothing is quite as debilitating as talking and talking to someone and knowing down deep that the words are not penetrating; not being absorbed. Often, it's not the answer that people care about so much as knowing that their concerns were actually heard.
In this psalm, we hear this sentiment loud and clear. "I love the Lord," why? Because he "inclined his ear." In other words, because (he) listened! The catch here is that those who are calling upon God to listen sometimes mistake listening with agreement. As the old preacher said, "God always answers prayers. Sometimes (he) says, 'No.' " Yes, God listens. Indeed, God yearns for us to lean into the grace, acceptance, and forgiveness that are there for us. God hears and embraces all that we are as human creations. This, incredibly, is unconditional.
However, it is an adolescent faith that confuses God's listening with affirmation. Yes. God loves and accepts us, but is definitely not willing to leave us as we are. God loves us unconditionally, but that doesn't mean that (he) is necessarily thrilled with our behavior. And it doesn't follow that those who believe will get the things for which they ask.
The call here comes to this. Beyond God's open ears comes a call for radical trust and obedience. No matter what the answer to prayer; no matter what fortune or misfortune may ride in on the dawn, the call comes for us to "offer a thanksgiving sacrifice" to God for the great abundance given. Now, those who are in the midst of grief and suffering might be tempted to say, "What abundance?" Those who, like Job, have been tested almost beyond endurance might be tempted withhold their praise and thanksgiving until this God delivers.
But this temptation is to be resisted. Wherever life's journey finds us, God has already delivered. The gift of life, the miracle of breath and being, the jaw-dropping awe of realizing that there is one who created us and knows everything about us, and still through it all, loves us. This, finally, is what brings us to our knees and opens our mouth in praise. This, is the wonder and power that pulls us to the one who "inclines his ear to us."
Fireworks displays, by design, are never anticlimactic. They do not end with moments of contemplative serenity. Instead, they purposely end with bombast and spectacle, with rapid-fire explosions and overwhelming sound, color, and light. The crowds "ooh" and "ah," and they erupt with applause at the grand conclusion.
Musicals, on both stage and screen, generally work the same way. The finale is usually grand. It doesn't pay for some song-and-dance in the middle of the show to outdo the one at the end. The musical, too, often ends with a big finish.
Two weeks ago, we celebrated Easter. That would appear to be God's big finish.
From the first time Jesus told his disciples what would happen to him in Jerusalem, the gospel story points toward the cross and the empty tomb. He arrives in Jerusalem on Palm Sunday, and the air is filled with expectation. Tension and drama mount throughout the week. Then, on Friday, it seems that the enemy has won the day, and by Saturday, the palms and crowds of the previous Sunday are long forgotten. The songs and hosannas have been silenced by death. The triumphant entry is eclipsed by darkness and grief.
But, no -- early Sunday morning, the triumphant entry is eclipsed, indeed, but by a triumphant exit. Christ emerges from the tomb alive!
That would appear to be God's big finish, but a closer examination reveals that it was not so.
Acts 2:14a, 36-41
This is not Pentecost Sunday, but this text comes from the Day of Pentecost. Specifically, we enter the scene after the disciples have been filled with the Spirit, have poured out into the streets, and Peter has begun to speak. Our selected verses do not include the content of his sermon, but focus instead on the response of the listening crowd.
Luke reports that "they were cut to the heart" and asked, "Brothers, what should we do?"
The Greek word that we translate "cut" does not appear anywhere else in the New Testament. It can also be translated "pricked," as in the King James, or "pierced through." While different Greek words are employed by Simeon, we are reminded of his sober caution to the new mother, Mary: "a sword will pierce your own soul too" (Luke 2:35). These are images of deep pain. It is not the stuff of stubbed toes, tummy aches, or hangnails. This is pain that hits us at our core.
Interestingly, the only apparent cause for this pain had been Peter's words. His audience had not been physically injured, nor had any tragedy befallen them. He had simply spoken the truth to them. His words were God's word, which we know is "piercing until it divides soul from spirit, joints from marrow; it is able to judge the thoughts and intentions of the heart" (Hebrews 4:12b).
That the audience addresses Peter and the disciples as "brothers" is likely a credit to Peter. It is a term of familiarity and affection; it is not at all a term that suggests an antagonistic relationship. And so, even though Peter has preached to them a demanding truth, which sounds accusatory at the end, the people do not resist or rebut. Rather, they turn to these "brothers" to learn what they need to do.
And what they need to do, according to Peter, is "repent, and be baptized ... in the name of Jesus Christ." The exhortation to repent and be baptized, of course, is what we first heard John the Baptist preaching at the beginning of the gospel story. His stated rationale was because "the kingdom of heaven has come near" (Matthew 3:2). It seems to have been a repentance in preparation for what God would do. But Peter's invitation is repentance as a response to what God has already done. The deed is accomplished; and so repent, in order that you may receive what God has for you: forgiveness of sins and the gift of the Holy Spirit.
The breadth of Peter's invitation is noteworthy, too. "The promise is for you," he assures the crowd, and "for your children, and for all who are far away." What recognition on Peter's part. In contrast to the protectionism of Joshua (see Numbers 11:25-29) or the provincialism of John (see Mark 9:38-39), Peter does not suspect that the gifts of God are for him and his select group of companions only. No, the great multitudes before him were all invited, as well as other multitudes, both absent and unborn!
Luke reports that there is more that Peter said to the multitudes than what we have recorded here -- "many other arguments." But Luke does include one final word from Peter in this episode: "Save yourselves from this corrupt generation."
The gospel of Jesus Christ is manifestly not about saving yourself. Quite the contrary. We call upon and depend upon the Lord for our salvation. He provides and offers; we respond and receive.
Yet, in this instance, there is an exhortation to save yourself. Peter had heard Jesus lament about "this generation" on several occasions (see, for example, Matthew 11:16, 12:41-45; Mark 8:12, 38; Luke 11:50). We are presented with an image of a generation that is doomed -- like a plane careening toward a mountain -- and those who would be saved are urged to jump off. If you want to be saved, you have to separate yourself from this generation, for it is destined for destruction.
It is worth asking ourselves whether Peter would say the same thing to us in our day.
1 Peter 1:17-23
The first line of this lection presents us with an interesting pairing of images. He begins with the phrase "if you invoke as Father." That starting place should make our ears perk up, for that is indeed what we do. We have learned from scripture, and especially from the New Testament, that we relate to God as his children, and that he loves, protects, corrects, and welcomes us back like a father.
In the next breath, however, Peter uses the phrase "the one who judges." Taken by itself, that suggests a very different image, and it evokes a different sort of emotion. I am at ease with my father; I am rather formal and self-conscious before a judge. I know how my father feels about me; a judge, however, I hope to persuade. My father looks on me favorably because he loves me. The judge's favor is an open question.
The two images in Peter refer to the same person. God is both Father and Judge. What a relief to know that as I go to stand before the bar, the one who sits on the bench is my own Father, who loves me. Since our Father is the judge, and since the judge is our Father, we are encouraged to "live in reverent fear."
Specifically, Peter instructs his readers to "live in reverent fear during the time of your exile." The imagery of "exile" here echoes the image with which the whole epistle began: "Peter, an apostle of Jesus Christ, To the exiles of the Dispersion in Pontus, Galatia, Cappadocia, Asia, and Bithynia" (1:1). Clearly, Peter is not thinking of exiles in the traditional sense, for his audience has not been taken captive and removed from their homeland to be relocated involuntarily and permanently in the aforementioned places. These people are not like the Jewish exiles in sixth-century BC Babylon.
But Peter's audience -- and we, too, as followers of Christ -- are exiles in the sense that we live our lives in a place where we do not belong. This world is not our home, and there is an extent to which this world should always feel a bit foreign to us.
Peter's reference to "the time of your exile" is one component in a larger, sweeping view of history reflected in this passage. The apostle operates with what I'd like to call a "theo- chronology" -- that is, a paradigm in which theology is understood in terms of time and ages. And so, for example, Peter says that Jesus was "destined before the foundation of the world" but "revealed at the end of the ages." Hence, God's salvation plan in Christ was established from the beginning, but it did not come to fruition until the end. Peter understood himself and his audience to be living in the end -- if not the final seconds of the game, then certainly the fourth quarter. And at the very end, we anticipate standing before "the one who judges all people."
Superimposed on that grand sweep of history, there is also the individual's history. On the left side of the Christian's time line is "the futile ways inherited from your ancestors." That is our past. But it is not our future, for we have "come to trust in God" and "have purified (our) souls by (our) obedience to the truth." We have been "ransomed" and "born anew." Accordingly, in light of both the big picture and our own individual small picture, we "live in reverent fear" during the present time, with "faith and hope ... set on God" and "genuine mutual love" for one another.
Luke 24:13-35
This part of the Easter story, found exclusively in Luke's gospel, is a marvelous episode, full of preaching possibilities. We will explore two in some detail below. For the present consideration of the text, however, let us observe the substance of the dialogue between Jesus and these two unfamiliar disciples.
Luke's narrative presents us with an interesting and revealing juxtaposition of what the disciples said with what Jesus said. In verses 19-24, the two disciples offer a designation for Jesus, an interpretation of events, some reports about him, and their conclusion. In verses 25-27, however, Jesus offers a different designation, a different interpretation of the same events, other reports about himself, and a quite different conclusion. His response parallels the statement made by the disciples, but it stands in dramatic contrast to theirs.
Their designation for Jesus was "a prophet mighty and deed and word." For any other person, that would sound like high praise. Let someone in your congregation call you a prophet who is mighty in word and deed, and you will likely resist the bold characterization. But Jesus, in his response, makes reference to the same person they spoke of -- namely, himself, though they do not know it -- but he uses a different title: "the Messiah." See the difference: "a prophet" versus "the Messiah." Those disciples perceived him as a special man of God, to be sure, but "a prophet" is not unique. Jesus, however, replied with a title that was a category unto itself -- a one-and-only sort of designation.
The disciples' interpretation of recent events, meanwhile, was all confusion and sadness. "We had hoped," they say, speaking as people whose hopes have been dashed. For all the hopefulness and promise of their mighty prophet, you see, had been eradicated by the "chief priests and leaders" who put an end to him. But Jesus interprets those same events quite differently, asking, "Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things...?" Suddenly, the events of Thursday and Friday are no longer tragic developments that thwarted what God was doing. No, now those same events are necessary developments that actually served to accomplish what God was doing.
Finally, the disciples offer reports about Jesus -- from "some women of our group" and "some of those who were with us." It is not quite an instance of the blind leading the blind; but it is at least the bewildered leading the bewildered. The women were confused. The follow-up crew that ran to the tomb was confused. And now Cleopas and his companion are admittedly confused. Jesus, however, is not confused; and he endeavors to resolve their confusion. He appeals to different reports about himself -- "Moses and all the prophets" -- and then, in a lesson for which we don't have the transcript, he teaches those disciples all that they had not understood yet about the person and work of Christ.
We will consider further below what Jesus might have said to the disciples at this juncture. And we will also consider below the brief at-table experience that they had with him.
Application
If Easter had been God's big finish, then I suppose the New Testament would end at the resurrection. The curtain would close on the empty tomb. All three of our readings this week come from some time after that seeming grand finale. The gospel passage comes later that same day. The Acts passage comes a few weeks later, and the epistle reading comes from many years later.
If Easter had been God's big finish, then we would expect the audience to burst into applause. But much of the audience in this case seems, at least initially, bewildered and frightened.
As it turns out, our God does not seem to care for big finishes.
Consider some of his other grand victories in the pages of scripture. The miraculous birth of Isaac. The Israelites' deliverance from bondage in Egypt. The parting of the Red Sea or the demolition of Jericho's walls. The defeat of Goliath. The return of the Jewish exiles. The Day of Pentecost. The conversion of Saul. The final victory in Revelation.
Time and again we see the same principle played out: God does not make big finishes. He makes big beginnings.
So, let us indeed ooh and ah at the splendor of Easter. But let us not mistake it for a grand finale, a big ending. Rather, it is just a beginning. We see something of the nature of that beginning in the three post-resurrection texts of the day.
First, there is the Emmaus story, which demonstrates that Christ's resurrection is not to be confused with the climactic booms of a fireworks show. Rather, the joyous discovery of the risen Lord seems to be a gradual, one-soul-at-a-time experience.
The Acts passage, too, shows that God's preference is more for a big beginning than a big ending. Peter preaches to the diverse multitudes from around the Mediterranean gathered in Jerusalem for Pentecost. The church is born. The gospel is preached to the whole world by proxy. His message shows that God's will was not merely some individual victory for Jesus over death, but a death and resurrection that carried benefits and promise for all, including the forgiveness of sins and the gift of the Holy Spirit. And "that day about 3,000 persons were added" -- a big beginning.
And in the "theo-chronology" of Peter, we see that Easter is not so much a big ending as it is the beginning of an ending. And even that ending -- the end of this time of exile -- is just the entryway to another big beginning.
Alternative Applications
Luke 24:13-35. "The Next Supper." If your congregation will be partaking together of the sacraments this Sunday, then you will surely want to incorporate into your sermon or service the lovely and mysterious experience of the two disciples at Emmaus. Luke reports that "(Jesus) was at the table with them," which is itself a powerful image for us to consider as we come to the Communion table.
Then, Luke continues, "he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them." When was the last time they had seen that? It is wonderful and poignant to think that these grieving disciples may have had their Easter moment only at the moment when they were reminded of Maundy Thursday and Good Friday. That is to say, on Thursday night, Jesus had similarly broken bread and given it to them, saying that it was his broken body. On Friday, they indeed saw his body being broken and given for them, whether they recognized the significance of it at the time or not. So it is that, at this moment of Jesus breaking the bread and giving it to them, "their eyes were opened, and they recognized him."
We know that, at his Last Supper, Jesus' disciples were troubled and bewildered. It wasn't until his next supper -- the one here at Emmaus on Easter Sunday -- that these disciples came to understand and recognize.
When we gather for the sacrament today, we may think first of the supper that Jesus had with his disciples on that Thursday night. Those are the words we will recite, and that is the event we will recall. But our experience as his followers, as guests at his table, is not so much like those disciples on Thursday night; rather, our experience more nearly resembles that of the disciples in Emmaus on Sunday evening. We stand on this side of the cross and the empty tomb, and the risen Christ is "made known to (us) in the breaking of the bread."
Luke 24:13-35. "The Gospel According To Moses." My people are accustomed to hearing about the "Gospel According to Matthew, or Mark, or Luke, or John." They have even been fascinated and disturbed by occasional references to the "Gospel of Thomas or Peter." But they are largely unaware of the "Gospel According to Moses."
If your people are like most of the church folks I have encountered in my years of ministry, then you'll recognize this problem: They don't know the Bible very well; and from what they do know, they have developed a distinct bias in favor of the New Testament over and against the Old.
It is worth noting, therefore, what occurred in the conversation on the road to Emmaus. While Matthew and John were still bewildered, Mark was still cowering and hiding, and Luke was still a pagan, Jesus was teaching the good news about himself to two disciples. And his texts were not New Testament. His texts were "Moses and all the prophets."
We might do well to try to imagine for our people the details of what Jesus might have said to Cleopas and his partner that day. Uncover for them the Christ that is promised and prefigured, anticipated and foreshadowed throughout the pages of the Old Testament. Show him as the wounded offspring that crushes the serpent's head, the mysterious Melchizedek, the image of a snake hanging on a pole, the high priest behind the curtain, the spotless lamb, the Paschal lamb, the suffering servant, the king riding humbly on a donkey, the wonderful counselor and Prince of Peace, and on and on. Let us encourage our people to understand that Matthew and company were not the first ones to tell about Jesus. God's plan and the good news about Christ can be found, not just in Matthew, Mark, Luke, and John, but also in Genesis, Deuteronomy, Psalms, and Zechariah.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 116:1-4, 12-19
If there's one thing that people universally appreciate, it's being heard. Nothing is quite as debilitating as talking and talking to someone and knowing down deep that the words are not penetrating; not being absorbed. Often, it's not the answer that people care about so much as knowing that their concerns were actually heard.
In this psalm, we hear this sentiment loud and clear. "I love the Lord," why? Because he "inclined his ear." In other words, because (he) listened! The catch here is that those who are calling upon God to listen sometimes mistake listening with agreement. As the old preacher said, "God always answers prayers. Sometimes (he) says, 'No.' " Yes, God listens. Indeed, God yearns for us to lean into the grace, acceptance, and forgiveness that are there for us. God hears and embraces all that we are as human creations. This, incredibly, is unconditional.
However, it is an adolescent faith that confuses God's listening with affirmation. Yes. God loves and accepts us, but is definitely not willing to leave us as we are. God loves us unconditionally, but that doesn't mean that (he) is necessarily thrilled with our behavior. And it doesn't follow that those who believe will get the things for which they ask.
The call here comes to this. Beyond God's open ears comes a call for radical trust and obedience. No matter what the answer to prayer; no matter what fortune or misfortune may ride in on the dawn, the call comes for us to "offer a thanksgiving sacrifice" to God for the great abundance given. Now, those who are in the midst of grief and suffering might be tempted to say, "What abundance?" Those who, like Job, have been tested almost beyond endurance might be tempted withhold their praise and thanksgiving until this God delivers.
But this temptation is to be resisted. Wherever life's journey finds us, God has already delivered. The gift of life, the miracle of breath and being, the jaw-dropping awe of realizing that there is one who created us and knows everything about us, and still through it all, loves us. This, finally, is what brings us to our knees and opens our mouth in praise. This, is the wonder and power that pulls us to the one who "inclines his ear to us."
