Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY
I love
today’s gospel. Of all the accounts of
the resurrection appearances of Jesus, it is my favorite. Until Jesus vanishes from their sight, it
seems quite ordinary. Two disciples are
walking back to the village which is likely their home. They are saddened and perplexed by the events
of Jesus’ betrayal, trial, execution and death, and by the reports that he is
in fact alive. Luke beautifully captures
their emotional state in the aftermath of these events, and all the better by
having us accompany them as they walk those seven miles. Luke’s skill as a writer invites us to join
them as they trudge along, in no great hurry, talking with each other. When a stranger appears, they are open to his
presence and include him in their conversation.
The most natural scene in the world.
And another realistic touch. When the stranger they have included begins to instruct them in detail about the scriptural anticipations of the passion and resurrection, they don’t seem to catch on at all. They, like most of us, are not perhaps the brightest bulbs in the sign. Imagine having a daylong bible study led by Jesus. Of course they don’t know it’s Jesus. But perhaps there might have been a clue or two. Jesus’ response to them is a pretty big breadcrumb of a hint: “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.” But our two friends don’t pick up on this at all. And that too is realistic! How often do we hear something that is the key that will unlock something for us, and we just don’t get it? Cleopas and his friend are Everyman. They could be anyone. They could be us. In fact, they probably are.
They certainly don’t know their scriptures, that’s for sure. Virtually every angel story in the Hebrew scriptures follows the same pattern as this story: In the context of some crisis or other, perfectly ordinary people are going about their business when someone appears. Always a stranger. But a stranger who seems to know what is going on. The stranger introduces something new into the situation which changes things. Then, only as or after he disappears, do they realize it was the Divine One. A seemingly quite ordinary human person is revealed to be the presence of God come among them. The story of the road to Emmaus is in this sense very much a of piece with God’s older angelic revelations to his people. They are smack dab in the middle of one and don’t know it till it’s over. And I think that has been the point of the story for Christians throughout the ages, and for us today. It seems altogether ordinary when it is happening, and only later do we realize the truth.
If Cleopas and his friend are Everyman, then we are invited to identify ourselves with them. We may take it that if this is a story about how the risen Christ appeared to his quite ordinary disciples, then it is also a story about how we can encounter Him in our ordinary lives as well.
There is something attractive to me about Cleopas and his friend. They are clearly stunned by the events that have just happened, but they are open to them. They remember and recount the data but can’t piece them together. They can’t find the meaning or the solution of them. They are also emotionally open: they are obviously deeply moved. But more than that, they are open to this stranger joining them. In the culture of their time, that says something. In their culture you just don’t invite strangers to share in confidence your deepest concerns. But they do. They are big hearted people, ready to invite a stranger in.
“As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on.” I absolutely love this little detail. There is a fine politeness, a gentility, about this action of Jesus. He’s not one of those who hangs around hoping to be invited. We all know people like that - it is time to separate, and it is embarrassing to exclude someone who obviously wants to be included. But Jesus does the gentlemanly thing and moves ahead, avoiding being a possible cause of embarrassment to his new friends. But thick as these two may be in some ways, they immediately understand the situation, and they invite him to join them for supper and the night. An ordinary human kindness. It is this act of kindness that makes opening their eyes to the Risen Christ among them possible.
This story tells us that God is gracious. The Lord does not press his new friends to invite him in, but gives them the space to open themselves to him. It is as though we are being told that God will be close at hand, wanting to join us, but only when our hearts are big enough to reach out and invite Him in.
This lovely story has a clear message for all Christians. It is telling us that we will find the Risen Christ already in our midst. In Matthew 25, Jesus tells his disciples where to find him: “Inasmuch as you did it to one of the least of these, you did it to me.” He is already and always here with us.
As we trudge along our daily seven mile journeys, pondering the things that have happened around us and to us, someone may unexpectedly join in our conversation. Perhaps we should welcome that new voice. It may be that our openness to including someone new in our lives, as the two on the road to Emmaus did, will open to us a new and unexpectedly blessed presence. It would seem that the resurrected Lord is already here, waiting for our openness and welcome.
For monks - and after all, this is a monastery - this story of the unexpected presence of Christ has a special significance. One of the most famous passages of the Rule of Benedict is in chapter 53, The Reception of Guests, referring to Matthew 25: “All guests who present themselves are to be welcomed as Christ, for he himself will say: I was a stranger and you welcomed me.” This statement commands an act of loving charity to someone in their need. The context of this act is the resurrection. All Christians, and especially monks, live in the expectation of the New Life of Easter. To welcome Christ in every guest is to expect that New Life will in fact come right to our door. We are invited to live in constant expectation of the inbreaking of the resurrection life in the most mundane of circumstances, in the person who comes to us hoping to join in some small way with us in our daily life, hoping to be included in our conversation as we journey on our way, if even ever so briefly. The business of being a monk is the business of readiness for the inbreaking of the Risen Christ. We should be trying to create an expectation of a wonderful greatness about to break in. We should be practicing to recognize the signs of it when it starts to happen. Our monasteries should be places where that energy of loving expectation is the light we see by and the air we breathe.
Which leads me to share a final thought, perhaps a bit wild. If we are to welcome every guest as Christ, what sort of expectation does that put on a guest? We are all of us guests in different ways, at one time or another. What does it mean to a guest that our hosts think that we might represent Christ? Perhaps we should consciously try to bring Christ with us as we are welcomed.
Perhaps we are all called to be both Christ-welcomers and Christ-bearers.
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