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| by Meta Herrick Carlson |
Here are the lectionary readings for Easter 3, Year A. Also, enjoy!
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In Ordinary Blessings, Meta Herrick Carlson celebrates the practice of blessing ordinary things: waiting at a bus stop, washing dishes after a family meal, a warm drink on a cold evening, moving...
I love this practice because blessing teaches us to pay attention and cultivate gratitude. Blessing can sharpen our awareness of God’s presence in our lives.
And that is exactly what happens in the road to Emmaus story. It is only when Jesus takes the bread, blesses and breaks it for sharing that He is finally recognized.
At the end of our first service here, Chris and I shared a blessing, a prayer called The Pilgrims’ Prayer. What we intended to offer this community was a blessing for the journey we are on together, a pilgrimage back home to our resurrected space.
But I want to suggest this morning that this is not only a parish pilgrimage.
It can also be a personal pilgrimage.
For each and every one of us.
If we choose to experience it this way.
If we choose to walk with Jesus through this Easter season and beyond.
With open eyes.
Open minds.
Open hearts.
If we dare to ask questions.
If we let curiosity and imagination be part of our faith.
Then things could get very interesting.
In my hospital chaplaincy training, before we headed out to visit patients, one of our mentors taught us to say to one another, “Don’t forget to walk with expectation.”
Walk with expectation.
Walk as if, at any moment—around any corner, in any room, in any conversation—we might encounter the holy in a way we did not expect.
Thank goodness I had eight months of chaplaincy training, because it took a while to learn to walk those halls every day with expectation.
But once I began to learn it, something shifted.
I started to notice more.
I started to listen differently.
I started to see holy moments I might have missed before.
Little miracles started to happen.
I cannot tell you how many times I encountered God's presence along that journey.
And that is why I can relate to Cleopas and his unnamed companion on the road to Emmaus.
Because they were walking.
But their grief had narrowed their vision.
They were weighed down by sorrow and dashed hopes.
They were confused, trying to make sense of all that had happened.
Jesus had died.
The tomb was empty.
And no one quite knew what to do next.
They had hoped—
Jesus was the one.
The one who would redeem Israel.
The one who would set things right.
The one who would free the people from the crushing power of empire.
But that is not how it went down.
Jesus died.
Now what?
So they took a long walk. Maybe they were heading home; we do not know. We only know it was about seven miles from Jerusalem to Emmaus—a substantial journey on foot.
Long enough to go over the details again and again.
Long enough for their bodies and minds to let down their guard a little.
And then a stranger comes alongside them.
A stranger who seems somehow oblivious to the story everyone else has been talking about.
Where has he been?
How has he missed it?
And yet he knows the scriptures.
Beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he opens the story to them. He helps them make connections they had not seen before. They are blessed by his presence.
And still, they do not recognize him.
By the time they reach their destination, it is getting dark. The stranger appears to be moving on.
But they urge him, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.”
And then it happens—
At an ordinary table, on an ordinary evening, as the sun sets like any other day.
In the taking, blessing, breaking, and giving of bread, their eyes are opened.
And they see him.
It has been Jesus with them all along.
Then, of course, he vanishes.
That is the wonder of this story.
Not only that Jesus appears and then disappears, but that he is made known in something so ordinary.
A walk down a road.
A conversation about God.
Bread blessed and broken.
A shared table.
Do you see it?
This is the very pattern that shapes our worship.
Scripture opened.
Bread blessed and broken.
And in that holy pattern, Christ is made known to us.
Week by week, we practice Emmaus here. Week by week, we pray that the eyes of our faith may be opened. And week by week, Christ is made known in the breaking of bread.
But Emmaus also offers us something else.
Only afterward do they say, “Were not our hearts burning within us?”
Only afterward do they recognize what had really been happening all along that long dusty road.
And is that not often how it is?
In the wake of loss,
in seasons of transition,
in moments when life has changed, and we are not sure what comes next,
We easily miss the Holy One right there in the midst of the ordinariness of life.
We are just trying to keep going.
Just trying to put one foot in front of the other.
And that, too, is holy.
Sometimes resilience is built exactly that way—one step at a time.
And, if I may add a small plug for walking here:
Walking can be healing. It’s great for building cardiovascular health, lowering blood pressure.
It makes us breathe more deeply.
In walking, we can find our footing again.
But walking with expectation is something more.
It is a way of living with open attention.
A way of trusting that Christ may be nearer than we know.
A way of asking God to open the eyes of our faith, so that we may behold him not only in dramatic moments, but in all his redeeming work.
I wish I had learned that earlier in life.
Maybe I would have noticed more.
Maybe I would have seen more clearly the ways God had been at work.
Maybe I would have understood my own calling much sooner.
Sometimes we only recognize the holy by looking back over roads we never would have chosen.
After we lost our six-year-old daughter, Meghan, Rob and I went to marriage counseling.
We were grieving very differently, and that is normal. But it was putting a strain on our marriage. We were young. We were each struggling in our own ways, doing our best to put one foot in front of the other after the unimaginable.
The counseling helped us so much.
I will not speak for Rob, but it helped me begin to see some of the patterns in my life.
Looking back now, I can see that something was being opened.
It did not happen all at once.
The road was not straight by any means.
But there was enough light for the next step. Enough grace for movement toward this call. Enough, eventually, for me to recognize a loving presence with me in every ordinary and extraordinary moment.
Maybe, looking back, you can see moments that did not make sense at the time.
Conversations.
Turns in the road.
Unexpected companions.
And now, only now, you can say:
Aha! God was there.
Friends, we are that unnamed companion on the road.
We walk through life distracted,
grieving.
hoping.
wondering.
trying to make sense of what feels incomprehensible.
And often we do not realize who is walking right beside us.
Christ is so near.
In scripture opened.
In bread broken.
In ordinary moments.
In unexpected companions.
In blessings spoken aloud and blessings hidden in plain sight.
May God open the eyes of your faith.
May you walk in love and with expectation.
May your hearts burn within you as we break bread in this bold, tenacious, beloved community.
And when your eyes are opened, may you run boldly to share the good news that Christ has risen, indeed.
Amen.
The Pilgrim’s Prayer
O God,
Be for us our companion on this walk,
Our guide at the crossroads,
Our breath in our weariness,
Our protection in danger,
Our refuge on the Way,
Our shade in the heat,
Our light in the darkness,
Our consolation in our discouragements,
And our strength in our intentions.
So that with your guidance
we may arrive safe and sound
at the end of the Road
enriched with grace and virtue
may we return safely to our homes
filled with joy.
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