Orchard Ridge United Church of Christ

Preached on July 29, 2007 by the Rev. Winton Boyd
Luke 24: 1-18(Road to Emmaus)
I sat in a circle of clergy and congregational leaders this week during a retreat program called “Courage to Lead.” This was the fourth time in the last 9 months that the 25 gathered in Kalamazoo, MI for 2-3 days at a time. By now, we know each other well, and the “check ins” have more depth and openness. I suspect this group of people is not much different than any group of 25 adults – but as we shared how things were going over the last few months we had a wide assortment of “issues.”

• Relationships full of joy just in May were breaking up
• A hip was dislocated and had to be replaced
• A team of therapists was ending a 14 year run leading group therapy as one of them was taking a new job in a new city
• A mother had attended the sentencing hearing and given an “impact statement” concerning the man who murdered her 27 year old daughter three years ago.
• A daughter of a participant was using three full days taking a bar exam in California
• An African American pastor was trying to find her way through a very public police brutality case in her city.
• A man was told by his wife of 40 years that she felt he was more married to his work than to her.

The point is not that this group was overly troubled, but that in the course of our lives many good things happen, and many challenges come our way. The hope and prayer of this group not so much that God would take away their troubles or pains, but that God would be present in some way, in some manner…

A friend I saw at General Synod calls today’s text one of the “top ten” Scriptures. It is this seminal post resurrection story of God showing up in a surprising way, at an unexpected time, and almost unrecognized.

The interesting thing about this story is that no one knows where Emmaus is, or was – or in fact – if it ever really was. Many biblical scholars today believe it is quite possible that one of the most significant roads – the road to Emmaus – simply does not exist. But those of us who read this story know that in fact Emmaus does exist. We know that there are times, in the midst of disappointment and confusion, there is a surprising, unexpected and hard to fathom presence of the Spirit.

And of course, many times we ache for more than that – we wonder where God is in the face of personal and social tragedy? We ache from injustice and we despair that God “allows” suffering.

Our lips could echo the words from the rock group, “Train” (Calling all Angels)

I need a sign, to let me know you are here
All of these lines are being crossed over the atmosphere
I need to know things are going to look up

I am Calling all angels, calling all you angels

I want a reason for way things have to be
I need a hand to help build up some kind of hope in me.

I am calling all angels, calling all you angels.
I won’t give up if you don’t give up.

There is an old Jewish tale, collected by philosopher Martin Buber. By definition a tale like this is the collected wisdom of communities of faith over time. It is in your order of worship, and I invite you to follow along while I read.

The Angel and the World’s Dominion
Collected by Martin Buber- Translated by Jerome Rothenberg

“There was a time when an endless torrent of pain and sickness flooded over the earth. The air grew heavy with the moisture of tears, and a dim exhalation of sighs clouded it over. Even the legions that surrounded God’s throne were not immune to the hovering sadness. One angel, in fact, was so deeply moved by the sufferings she saw below that her soul grew quite restless. When she lifted her voice in song with the others, a note of perplexity sounded among the strains of pure faith; her thoughts rebelled and contended with the Lord. She could no longer understand why death and deprivation need serve as connecting links in the great Chain of Events. Then one day, she felt to her horror that the eye of All-Being was piercing his own eye and uncovering the confusion in his heart. Pulling herself together, she came before the Lord, but when she tried to talk, her throat dried up. Nevertheless, the Lord called her by name and gently touched her lips. Then the angel began to speak. She begged God to place the administration of the earth in her hands for a year’s time, that she might lead it to an era of well-being. The angelic bands trembled at this audacity. But at the same moment Heaven grew bright with the radiance of God’s smile. He looked at the suppliant with great love as He announced His agreement. When the angel stood up again, she too was shining.

And so a year of joy and sweetness visited the earth. The shining angel poured the great profusion of his merciful heart over the most anguished of her children, on those who were benumbed and terrified by want. The groans of the sick and dying were no longer heard in the land. The angel’s companion in the steely armor, who only a short time before had been rushing and roaring through the air, stepped aside now, waiting peevishly with lowered sword. The earth floated through a fecund sky that left her with the burden of new vegetation. When summer was at its height, people moved singing through the full, yellow fields; never had such abundance existed in living memory. At harvest time, it seemed likely that the walls would burst or the roofs fly off, if they were going to find room to store their crops.

Proud and contented, the shining angel basked in her own glory. For by the time the first snow of winter covered the valleys, and dominion over the earth reverted into God’s hands, she had parceled out such an enormous bounty that the people of the earth would surely be enjoying her gifts for many years to come.

But one cold day, late in the year, a multitude of voices rose heavenwards in a great cry of anguish. Frightened by the sound, the angel journeyed down to earth and, dressed as a pilgrim, entered the first house along the way. The people there, having threshed the grain and ground it into flour, had then started baking bread-but alas, when they took the bread out of the oven it fell to pieces and the pieces were unpalatable: they filled the mouth with a disgusting taste, like clay. And this was precisely what the angel found in the second house and in the third and everywhere she set foot. People were lying on the floor, tearing their hair and cursing the Lord of the World, who had deceived their miserable hearts with His false blessing.

The angel flew away and collapsed at God’s feet. “Lord,” he cried, “help me to understand where my power and judgment were lacking.”

Then God raised His voice and spoke: “Behold a truth which is known to me from the beginning of time, a truth too deep and dreadful for your delicate, generous hands, my sweet apprentice-it is this, that the earth must be nourished with decay and covered with shadows that its seeds may bring forth-and it is this, that souls must be made fertile with flood and sorrow, that through them the Great Work may be born.”

As the group I was with reflected on this story, there were a number who were troubled by one word in the last paragraph, and I bet you can guess which word. “Behold a truth which is known to me from the beginning of time…that souls MUST be made fertile with flood and sorrow, that through them the Great Work may be born.”

There was a healthy dialogue around the question of sorrow and tragedy – does God cause it, allow it, require it in our lives?

Part of me thought the question was a mute point. Remembering our “check ins” the day before, knowing my life and the lives of everyone I know, I asked–

•  Is there any way to be human without “flood and sorrow?”
•  Is there any way to be human without knowing the pain and suffering of the world (near and far)?
•  Is there any way to spiritual depth without at least feeling the pain of the world, receiving it and holding it – even if it is not our own.
•  Was not the gift of Jesus the gift of full humanity – full identification with the life we live – and the full embracement of God’s love in the midst.
•  Remembering that this story was the collected wisdom of a community, the reality of flood and sorrow struck me as lived experience, lived reality.

The leader of the retreat invited us to write the next chapter to this story. I would like to share mine.

“Upon further reflection, the angel realized that not everyone had cried out in anguish, not everyone had been surprised or confused by unpalatable bread.

Quietly, and dressed again as a pilgrim, the angel walked the lanes and paths and streets to find the sweet and wise ones. As he met them, she would sit with them at their table, in their garden, or walk among their trees. As she did so, she realized that they knew firsthand this truth she was just learning.

Many of the sweet and wise ones were older, softened and strengthened by both the great tragedies of their lives, but also the great and simple joys. Some of the joys included delightful roses in their gardens, memories of wonderful meals, pictures of babies being born, and medals of honor won by 10-year-old competitors.

However, some of the sweet and wise ones were much younger. One was a young girl she found chasing a butterfly – which the youngster intuitively knew were great symbols of this truth…There was a 20 something man who loved to ride his bicycle feeling the wind at this face…There was a 35-year-old mother…

The angel brought these wise ones together to share a meal; to talk, to come to know one another. They shared the laughter and delight of fresh tomatoes and cilantro from the garden. They giggled at their own memories of milking (or trying to milk) a cow as they drank the cool and refreshing milk.

They also listened deeply to one another’s version of this great truth. They honored one another’s particular and specific tragedy; they marveled in each particular, specific, and heartfelt journey to wholeness. They sang songs, they prayed and they left the home of the angel deeply and profoundly moved by shared lives, the fullness of humanity, and a profound recognition that in one another, they had seen love, they had known life, and they had encountered the sometimes seen and often unseen God…”

How are we, through flood and sorrow, being called into the Great Work of God in the world?
Where are the unexpected places we are seeing God?
Where is the sweet wisdom of brokenhearted faith in our life?
Where is that Great Work being born in us?