"EUREKA"

04/03/05  The Rev. Alan Jackson

SERMON

In 287 B.C. the Greek mathematician Archimedes was trying to determine how much silver had been used as filler in an allegedly solid-gold crown for the king. One day as he stepped into his bath, the full tub overflowed, and it dawned on him that an object surrounded by a fluid is buoyed up by a force equal to the weight of the fluid displaced – hence his law of hydrostatics. He reasoned that if he weighed out an amount of gold equal to the weight of the crown and placed them separately in full basins of water, the difference in the weight of the overflow would prove that the crown was not solid gold. Archimedes was so excited by his discovery that he jumped out of his bath and ran home naked, all the while shouting, "Eureka! Eureka!" (which literally means "I have it!")
 
Moments of discovery like that have long been the stuff of great stories. And one of the most charming of such recognition stories is the one we just heard from Luke. The risen Lord Jesus came alongside two despondent travelers but they didn't recognizing him at first. Apparently Jesus was able to remain anonymous until he was ready to make himself known. And the shock of recognition was particularly strong in this story because of the sheer amount of time Jesus had spent with these two travelers before they realized who he was. That same morning Jesus had been talking with Mary Magdalene for only a few moments before he called her by name and she recognized him. But these two had been with Jesus for hours before they realized who they had been walking and talking with.
 
Even at a good pace and allowing for some breaks, that journey of seven miles would probably have taken a good three hours. That was the Easter afternoon trip these two disciples had set out on. The Sabbath was past, but if it hadn't been for the Sabbath, they probably would have already left Jerusalem. I suspect they felt like they had to get out of town. It was just too painful to stay there. The city seemed haunted by the memory of what had happened to their beloved Jesus on Friday.
 
In the days following his death their grief intensified. Some of you know what that's like. It's the days after the funeral that are often more difficult than the days filled with formal activities and rituals. It's when all the ceremonies are over and you're alone in your home again that it really hits you. So with these two: as the new week began on Sunday, Jerusalem had gone back to business as usual. The vendors were in the streets, the marketplace was abuzz with commerce, and life went on.
 
But how can the world go on after you've suffered a loss so deep that you find it difficult to breathe? So these two disciples decided to get away from it all and leave town. After all, there was nothing more for them there. Jerusalem had become like a house after someone dies: at once too empty of people and too full of memories.
 
So they set out for Emmaus. But simply putting distance between themselves and the Holy City wouldn't let them forget the terrible things that had happened. In fact, they couldn't stop talking about it. Maybe they were trying to make sense of it, trying to square what had happened to Jesus with the things they thought were going to be true of him. Perhaps they had given up trying to figure it out. True, earlier that day some women had told a wild story about a missing body and angels and whispers of resurrection. But who in their right mind could believe that?
 
They were sadly shaking their heads over this new wrinkle when they heard the crunch of gravel behind them. A stranger approached and said, "What are you discussing?" The question caught them by surprise. After all, didn't everybody know the latest? "Where have you been," they asked. "You must be the only person in the whole county who hasn't heard about the recent disaster!"
 
It is probably a sign of the enormity of their grief that they reacted as they did. In truth there could have been any number of people who hadn't heard. To the disciples it was headline news, but to others it may have been hardly worth noting. It was just another Roman crucifixion. That sort of thing happened all the time.
 
Well, this stranger must have been one such clueless tourist. He didn't seem to know anything about it. So they explained things to him. In one particularly poignant line they said, "We had hoped that he was the one who would set everything right." Those words "had hoped" cut to the heart. Proverbs 13:12 says: "Hope deferred makes the heart sick," and those two knew what that heartsickness felt like. Their world collapsed when Jesus died. They had hoped he was the One. Now they had to face the depressing fact that they had evidently made a mistake.
 
We all make mistakes, of course, and when the mistake in question is no more significant than burning your breakfast toast or accidentally calling someone by the wrong name, you can pick yourself up and move on. But when the mistake you've made is more like trusting a neighbor who ends up molesting your child, or trusting your husband only to find he's been an adulterer for decades, then you feel not just embarrassed or a bit upset over your mistake – you're shattered by it. "How could I have gotten things that wrong?" you want to ask.
 
Suddenly the stranger who had appeared clueless a moment before, changed. First he had the audacity to call these disciples foolish; and before they could object, he launched into a detailed Bible study. After that, the rest of the journey flew by. With exegetical precision, this anonymous fellow traveler retold Scripture's story. It was Israel's same old story, all right. But the stranger told the story in a new way. And I can just imagine them thinking, "The last time I heard anyone talk about the Bible in such an invigorating way was… Well, never mind."
 
Before they knew it they were standing in front of the Emmaus TraveLodge. With a wave and a nod the stranger said, "Nice talking with you" and kept on walking. Cleopas called out, "Sir, look, the sun is setting. It's not safe to travel alone. Stay with us at least tonight." The man agreed. After having washed off the dust of the journey, the three of them found a place to eat. Before they knew what was happening, the stranger reached for the bread and lifted it up in an oddly familiar way. He then gave thanks, broke it in a peculiar way, and handed it to them. In a flash they recognized him. But just as they were ready to cry out, "Jesus!" – he was gone.
 
"I knew it!" Cleopas exclaimed. "Didn't you wonder about this, too? The way he taught us, the way he applied Scripture, wasn't it eerily familiar all along!" Then, without a second thought they sprinted back to Jerusalem, covering those seven miles in record time. Some of their thunder was stolen in that, before they could spill their news, the others said, "The Lord has risen and has appeared to Simon Peter!" Then the two shared the news of their encounter, making special note of the fact that the moment of recognition happened in the breaking of the bread.
 
We stopped our reading today at verse 35. But Luke goes on in the very next verse to tell of how Jesus suddenly appeared in that room in Jerusalem. He ate some of their food. But more important, he engaged them in more Bible study. Jesus apparently had to prove to the disciples that he was no ghost – that he really was there. But he also helped them understand from the Bible itself that the crucifixion, rather than being an accident from which God had to scramble to recover, had been long anticipated by God as the necessary way to bring salvation. Until the disciples understood that this all had to happen, even the wonder of the resurrection would leave matters incomplete. Jesus had to teach them that God wasn't falling back to re-group after being blind-sided by the chief priests and their Roman executioners. The crucifixion wasn't a setback. It accomplished exactly what God had set out to do from the beginning.
 
Certainly the resurrection is a grand and glorious thing. But if it amounts to no more than God trying to fix something that shouldn't have been broken in the first place, it's not enough. If Easter is nothing more than God doing an end-run on the people who thought they had gotten the best of Jesus the previous Friday, it's not enough. Easter must be the consistent continuation of a plan that had included that dreadfully deep sacrificial death all along.
 
I said last Sunday that we're inclined to think of Easter as mostly a joyful celebration. But that was not how John presented things in his account of the first Easter morning; and it's not how Luke presents it, either. It's true; there is very palpable joy to be found here. But there's also something quite revealing about the fact that, before that first Easter Sunday ended, the picture we find in Luke 24 is of the disciples sitting at Jesus' pierced feet with furrowed brows, scratching their heads now and then, trying to understand the new things that Jesus is teaching them.
 
As we noted last week, the good news of the gospel is not only that Christ is risen, but also that this message fits our lives in this real world. Easter doesn't need to burst onto the scene in ways that nobody could miss in order to be true. It's enough if it creeps up from behind, like the supposed-gardener behind Mary Magdalene, or the stranger on the road. It's enough to keep coming to the Lord's Table and discovering once more that Jesus himself is right here among us. True, sometimes you no sooner spy him and he seems to disappear, but the brevity of Jesus' appearance to the two disciples on the road to Emmaus did not diminish their joy at having seen him.
 
One of my favorite preachers, Frederick Buechner, once noted that all of us travel to Emmaus eventually. Where is your Emmaus? Do you have a place you go to get away from it all, a place to which you escape so that you don't have to think about how difficult life can sometimes be? Maybe it's the mall where the noise and the rush of people keep you from thinking about life. Maybe it's a bar where the alcohol helps numb you to the troubles that lurk outside that darkened room. Maybe it's a matinee at the movies where you go to take in some "escapist fare." Maybe it's the TV that takes you away from it all as you mindlessly channel surf every evening. We try to escape our troubles, but sooner or later we have to face the fact that there is no escape.
 
Luke reminds us that on the way to your Emmaus you just might encounter Jesus. The good news is that he cares enough for you to be there. Maybe he meets you along the way and walks with you as you silently trudge along, maybe you find him waiting for you once you get to wherever it is you're going. But he's there. You may catch a glimpse of him in the kindness of a stranger. You might see him in that note of encouragement that came in the mail the very day you needed it most.
 
There may be times when you come to church but you don't find joy in it. The kids were a pain in the neck getting ready that morning. You and your spouse snapped at each other in the car on the way to church. In fact, the whole week had been one frustrating, disappointing moment after another until you wanted to throw your hands up and say, "Forget it! I quit!" So you settle into your pew feeling more surly than sanctified, more petulant than pious. And yet at some point during the service you catch a glimpse of Jesus and you just can't shake the sense that it made a difference. You realize you can go on a while longer now. You can get out of bed on Monday morning after all and go back to work.
 
The truth is that we don't spend much of our lives in the obviously holy places like Jerusalem. In fact, sometimes we feel like a holy place is the last place we want to be. So we leave town; we head for Emmaus. We go some place where we feel like, if we're lucky, we won't run into anyone from church. Then, "Eureka!" of all people, we run into Jesus. And even if our glimpse of him is momentary, we know he was there; and we realize all over again that the world changed forever on that first Easter morning long ago. And we will never be the same.
 
There are all kinds of things in our lives that drive us to Emmaus. But if we can discover Jesus even there, then he can find us anywhere. And my prayer is that, around his table today, we might realize that he is right here – right now.
 

amen

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