I have no problem with the idea that the disciples didn't recognize Jesus. Because they didn't expect him, they couldn't see him – he was simply another stranger walking down the road with them. I have been reminded of how this is in two vivid encounters, both while on vacation. The first was in central Pennsylvania. While visiting a park I noticed a clergy member of the Annual Conference that I know well. When I went up and greeted him I got a blank look in return – because he had no expectation of seeing me in the middle of Pennsylvania he couldn't place me. In a moment the blank look turned to the – "I know I'm supposed to know you, but who are you" look. Finally I had to tell him who I was. And as he said, because he was not expecting to run into anyone he knew, he didn't know me. The second was in the crowds of Walt Disney World. While standing at the end of "Rockin' Roller Coaster" in MGM studios I heard my name being called. I ignored it, thinking they HAD to be calling someone else named Myrna. Next thing I know some strange guy is in my face jumping up and down with excitement to see me. He got the same blank look from me that I was given in Pennsylvania. It took me a long moment to "see" this was a family I knew well from church.
Recognition is often connected with expectation … the things we depend on. We expect cold things to come out of the refrigerator and hot things from the oven. We expect people to stay on the correct side of the road while driving. We expect lights to turn on at the flip of a switch and so on. When the expected does not happen confusion follows. Or, when the unexpected is in our midst, we simply fail to see. So, when Mary and the other women come to the tomb they fail to see the living Christ because they were looking for a dead body. As the disciples walk down the road they do not see their beloved friend, they simply see another bedraggled stranger trudging down the road with them.
That is exactly the scene in this morning's gospel text. Strangers on the road, finding themselves going the same direction – with no expectations, the disciples have no thoughts of who this stranger who joins them might be. In fact they are a bit taken aback because he seems to be the only person in the world that knows nothing of Jesus' death. The disciples press the stranger to stay on and share a meal with them. It is only then in the familiar gesture of bread broken that they recognize Jesus in their midst and realize their hearts have been telling them something all along.
The journey to Emmaus is a journey of recognition. It is a journey that says the risen Christ walks with us, and has always walked with us. It is a journey that calls us to keep our senses alert to the sacred that is in our midst all of the time: the sacred that is in the familiar – of friends and families, of beloved hymns, and church liturgy … and the sacred that is in the unfamiliar – new hymns, strangers in our midst, and the world around us. When I think of the sacred in meals, I think of the loveliness of our communion ritual, the familiar movements and sounds and tastes where each Sunday I find the sacred. But, I also think of two of the most sacred meals I have shared in the realm of the unexpected – where my first instinct was to turn away. One was a piece of ham shared with a street woman in the city of Trenton – Margaret had salvaged the ham from a restaurant's scraps and was so excited with her find. She wanted to share, and I was the invited guest. The second was a drink of water offered by an Afghan girl. Water, that I knew was not clean by my Western stomach's standards, but water offered out of a deeply ingrained sense of hospitality. In the end I accepted both offerings, and found the presence of Christ.
Where is Emmaus? Physically no one is sure. Five sites are offered – each being as likely as the next. The possible location that intrigues me the most places it about four miles outside of Jerusalem – a Roman encampment where 800 some soldiers had been assigned to stop the uprisings of the Jews by the emperor Vespasian. Symbolically it says that after the crucifixion, the disciples are giving up – returning to what had been familiar, even if oppressive. They are re-surrendering to Roman authority. For all current appearances, their time with Jesus was a failure – what else was there to do, but to surrender and go back?
Where is Emmaus? Emmaus is where we are heading when we cannot see, or refuse to see God in our midst. It is where we go when we want to surrender back to oppression or give up. This week marked the 40th anniversary of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Junior. Here was a man who lived as a sign of Christ's presence in our midst, calling people to live a dream of Christ's inclusiveness. Many in our nation could not recognize that, could not see his dream. And so he was jailed, threatened, and finally killed. As a nation we walked the Emmaus road of prejudice and racism and fear – and as we journeyed a man walked in our midst calling us to a different way – our eyes have opened slowly to the reality of his dream.
My favorite Easter hymn is "Now the Green Blade Riseth." In the Emmaus story I am reminded of these words in the hymn: "when our hearts are wintry, grieving or in pain." For that is what the journey towards Emmaus was for the disciples. They had no hope or expectation that this journey would; in any way, shape or form; be anything but a return to their former lives. It was a journey of surrender for all they knew. The next words of the hymn are the transformation of the Emmaus journey from one of despair to a journey of unexpected hope: "Jesus' touch can call us back to life again." The risen Christ is in their midst!
With recognition comes response. When the followers of Jesus encounter him as rise, they go to tell others. We too are called to do the same. May we live our lives ever more open to seeing God in both the expected, and the unexpected … and in those encounters find ourselves transformed anew, that we might go to transform the world.
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