Then their eyes were opened

Scripture Lessons: 1 Peter 1: 17-23 and Luke 24: 13-35 Sermon Title: Then their eyes were opened Preached on 4/30/17 Last Sunday we were focused on Thomas, also known as Doubting Thomas, and the more I think about him the more I’m convinced that doubt isn’t the worst thing in the world, because doubt, while not an ideal spiritual state, still often leads to faith. That makes doubt different from something like absolute despair when you are so down you can’t see the light. With doubt the light is still there, if only as a glimmer. When Thomas doubts, when he questions his friends, the Disciples, when he says to them after they tell him that they’ve seen Jesus risen from the dead: “Unless I see the mark of the nails in his hands, and put my finger in the mark of the nails and my hand in his side, I will not believe” that word “Unless” is crucially important because “unless” leaves the door open. “Unless I see the mark” – with that unless the door to faith is open, if only a crack. Faith is a real possibility, and so there are more dangerous mental states to be in compared to doubt. Absolute and certain despair for one. With certain despair, there’s no “unless,” there’s no “I might believe if I just could see him.” With certain despair, you already know; hope is lost; the light is out; it’s finished. That’s where these two in our Second Scripture Lesson were. We read that these two were leaving Jerusalem, and why were they leaving? You leave a place when you’re certain that there is nothing left for you there. They were leaving Jerusalem and the new life style they adopted as followers of Jesus Christ. They were leaving the new teaching they had embraced that was proclaimed by a prophet mighty in deed and word. Certain that he was dead they were now returning to the life they had before headed to Emmaus. They tell this stranger who they were traveling along with: “But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.” “We had hoped.” That’s past tense. And now, certain that hope was lost, what else should they have done? So, complete and certain despair is a problem, because certainty rules out new information that might change your mind and your course, but it’s foolish to be complete certain when it comes to lost hope. It’s like that Dr. Seuss book. You know the story, a character named Sam askes Daniel: “Do you like green eggs and ham?” Daniel is certain that he doesn’t, and so he says: “I do not like them Sam I am. I do not like green eggs and ham.” Fortunately for Daniel, Sam digs a little below the surface: “You do not like them. So, you say. Try them! Try them! And you may. Try them and you may I say.” Daniel, who was certain that he knew already, takes a bite and his eyes are opened. Every parent who ever attempted to convince a picky child to try something new have had this experience: where certainty was a barrier to faith, to new things, to expanded horizons, but certainty collapsed with a bite. And just like that story from Dr. Seuss, for the two who were traveling away from Jerusalem and towards life as it was. They were certain that hope was lost, but everything changed over a meal. Just when these two men are sure that Christ has died, certain that he’s gone for good, in the breaking of the bread their eyes are opened and they see that the Resurrected Lord had been walking with them all along. This is the power of a meal. In the breaking of the bread he was made known to them. And that happens a lot – maybe more than you think. Last Friday morning I was at a meeting. You might have heard that a man named Andre Norman was in town last week. It says right on his website that he is an inspirational speaker, business coach, and author and he was invited to come here to Columbia to speak all over: at schools and the Rotary Club. Last Friday morning I had the chance to hear him along with a group of pastors and civic leaders. At the beginning of his presentation, when I was still trying to decide if this guy was for real or not, he started telling us about his work in Ferguson, Missouri during the riots that raged after Michael Brown was killed by a police officer. This speaker, Mr. Norman, he went up to Ferguson and wanted to help, so he put together a panel of major players in the conflict in the hopes of spurring some dialogue that would build relationships. For this panel, he got together the police chief, the mayor, a gubernatorial candidate, and two leaders in the Black Lives Matter movement – they were all seated behind a long table in front of a big crowd. As we watched the video of this panel we saw that people are tense, and before anyone spoke we could tell that most of these leaders had already lost hope, certain that no headway was going to be made by having this divided a group speak to a crowd of people on a panel, and it seemed they were exactly right. The panel was mostly white, but one of the leaders in Black Lives Matter stands up. He’s a young African American man who goes by Oooops. Oooops walked in front of the panel, told everyone there that Ferguson is filled with racists, that he’s certain all the political leaders present are racists, and how he’s absolutely certain that nothing has really changed in America since the days of slavery. Then he cussed at the crowd and finally sat back down. For him, whether he was right about any of that or not, hope was lost, and after he said all that, hope of a successful panel was lost too. But then, after the panel meeting ended, Mr. Norman asked these leaders – the police chief, the mayor, the gubernatorial candidate, Ooops and his friend from Black Lives Matter – he asked them to eat lunch with him. After lunch, they had dinner. The next day they ate breakfast together. Today, that young man who went by Ooops goes by Representative Bruce Franks Jr., serving district 78 in the State of Missouri’s House of Representatives. The young man who condemned the establishment, who blamed them for every problem his community faced, certain that the whole system had failed him and that hope for progress was completely lost, got involved and became a part of the solution. It’s hard, if not impossible, to see a man’s potential when he’s angry and in front of a crowd and a camera crew, but sit down and eat, listen and be heard, and the future opens right up. It’s also hard to throw stones at someone you just had breakfast with. You sit down and eat, you listen and feel heard, and hope streams forth. For years we’ve been making fun of ourselves about the relationship between faith and food. “Why do we always have to eat when we get together at First Presbyterian Church,” some joke. Then Garrison Keillor joked that the Lutherans of Lake Woebegone celebrate three sacraments: baptism, communion, and pot luck supper. Just last week our church provided food for about 25 people out in the parking lot for Melvin’s birthday party, 250 for Literacy Night at McDowell Elementary School on Thursday, about 65 meals on Wednesday Night, Mrs. Martha Boone and her team provided chili-dogs for 80 or so on Friday at the Peoples’ Table. That’s a lot of meals. But listen to this – it wasn’t just meals that we provided. You know that Melvin is a homeless man who’s been around here for years now. Before we ate BBQ for his birthday he wanted to say the blessing and he bowed his head and I heard him say, “Thank you God for all my friends.” That’s what a meal does. The center piece of this sanctuary is a table where we remember that when our Lord was at table with his disciples, the night before his arrest, he took bread, blessed and broke it – reminding them of a love so profound that the bread represents his body broken for our sake, the wine his blood, spilled for the forgiveness of our sins. Ours is not a religion of gold and silver but of bread and wine. Why then can’t we sit down for a real meal more often? There’s a story Dr. Eugene Peterson tells. He translated the Bible into a very readable version. It’s called the Message, and someone around here has an autographed copy. How many people get a Bible autographed by the author? Well, in his book titled The Pastor Peterson tells the story of when his wife Jan went to speak to a women’s group. They were all struggling with their husbands who worked all the time, their kids who were involved in baseball, dance, art club, Karate, church choir. “How can we hold our families together?” they wanted to know. “I challenge you to do just one simple thing,” she said, “eat dinner together, at least four times a week.” “Impossible!” they all replied. But how are we to see each other if we don’t eat together? How are we to learn about each other? How are we to grow as families, as couples, as friends; how are we to grow as a church if we don’t sit down at a table to break bread together? Not to mention the truth – that he’s still with us – but it’s possible to be as blind to his presence as we are to each other. These two walking towards Emmaus were so sure that it was over. They were so certain that hope was lost that they were leaving Jerusalem to go back to whatever life they had before. But in their certain hopelessness had them blind. It’s the same with you – it’s the same with me. We think we know so much – or we think we know nothing. We think we know each other – or we’re sure we never will. We think we know when hope is lost – but have you ever been so sure of something that was absolutely wrong? That’s how it was with them, and when they slowed down, when they ate, when the bread was broken, their eyes were opened and they recognized him. In this world of fast-paced blindness. When we are too busy to think and too busy to really see, stop and eat and may your eyes be opened – because hope, after three days, hope rose again. Amen.