Traveling Companions

Luke 24:13-35

Sunday, April 22, 2007

The Rev. Dr. David A. Van Dyke

The Third Sunday of Easter

David Van Dyke's Farewell Sermon

 Prayer: Lord Jesus stay with us, for evening is at hand and the day is past; be our companion in the way, kindle our hearts and awaken hope, that we may know you as revealed in scripture and the breaking of bread. Grant this for the sake of your love. Amen (from The Book of Common Prayer).

As you might imagine, in recent weeks I’ve been learning a great deal about the State of Minnesota.  While Minnesota is a unique place and its people do have some unique ways of saying things and expressing themselves, Minnesotans are virtually indistinguishable from say their neighbors to the east, in Wisconsin.  In fact, I’m told the only way to tell the difference between people from Wisconsin and Minnesota is to ask them if they voted for Mondale in 1984.

And  I’ve been reminded by some and warned by others that the Twin Cities is home to the Mall of America—9.5 million square feet of retail and entertainment space.  I did a quick calculation and figure that’s enough space to collectively house some 200,000 teenagers, all talking on their cell phones at the same time.  I also learned that, not surprisingly, the snowmobile was invented in Minnesota. What I didn’t know, however, was that it was invented so that rural families would have a means of transportation to attend Fourth of July celebrations.   

You have been gracious and kind as we prepare to set out on an exciting, unknown journey to a new place and a new charge.  And I can’t help but being a bit nostalgic on a day like today, when I consider the journey we’ve traveled together over the last ten years and how that relates to today’s gospel lesson, which comes, by the way, at the end of Luke’s gospel, right after the reports of an empty tomb, and yet before the emergence of the church’s mission in the world, which immediately follows in the Book of Acts.  And isn’t that where we find ourselves today, you and I, living in a post Easter world and on the brink of new ministries and missions?    

The story is a poignant one—two travelers are walking along from Jerusalem toward a village called Emmaus, discussing the things that have taken place. They were no doubt discussing the life and death of Jesus.  They were no doubt discussing the reports of an empty tomb.  They were discussing these things when a stranger appears and asks them what they are talking about.  And rather than saying, “You know, we appreciate your interest, but we’re good friends having a private moment here—our worlds have been turned upside down and we need our space,” rather than responding in that way, they invite the stranger into the conversation. 

“Are you the only one who hasn’t heard?” they wonder aloud, sadly.  And then they tell him all the things they have experienced concerning Jesus of Nazareth.  About how he was a prophet, mighty in word and deed. About how he was betrayed and killed.  And about how they had hoped that he was who they had believed him to be.  “We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.  We had hoped that he was the one who would save us.” 

But then Jesus explains to them how it is, beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he opens up the scriptures and their hearts burn within them.  Then, as they near the village, Jesus, still this unknown stranger, is walking ahead of them, which by the way is usually where you’ll find Jesus, and they want him to stay with them, so they invite him in.  And once they are at the table, he breaks bread and gives it to them and their eyes are opened and they recognize who it in their midst—who had been walking alongside of them the entire time.  But then just like that, he’s gone.  A momentary revelation.  A powerful, but brief experience, which is how it happens, I think. 

Together they have a shared experience of Jesus and what happened to him, and therefore, what happened to them through the events in his life.  One of the travelers is named Cleopas while the name of the other one is not mentioned.  Cleopas is never mentioned again in scripture. 

Clearly, these two are not part of the “inner circle,” or of the twelve. In a way, they are rank and file Christians—those who live out their lives in faith not fanfare.  They are traveling companions, sharing common experiences and reactions to what they have seen and heard and believe to be true.   

And as I read this text and thought about this day, it occurred to me that in a real way—in a way that demonstrates how these ancient words are the living words of the Living God, I couldn’t help but thinking about the ways in which you and I are those two traveling companions.  You, as a church, and I as your pastor—how we have traveled together along the same road for the past ten years, discussing the things that have taken place pertaining to Jesus and how those things pertain to us. 

It’s what church and pastor do.  It’s the kind of relationship we have as traveling companions.  And so I have been thinking about the times when our hearts have burned and our eyes were opened and we experienced even briefly, the risen Lord in our midst.    

And I don’t know about you but at least for me, serving you communion last week for the final time, was an occasion where I certainly experienced the risen Christ in our midst and if you didn’t, maybe you should pinch yourself because you might be dead already and don’t even know it!  And by the way, who knew you had rhythm? 

But I’d like us to consider that contrary to what the text says, maybe the risen Christ isn’t revealed only in the breaking of the bread, but anytime we invite the stranger in and to walk along with us?  You see, I think the breaking of the bread is really a metaphor for extending hospitality and welcome to everyone.   

In her book Dakota, Kathleen Norris says that, “Both monasteries and small towns lose their ability to be truly hospitable to the stranger when people use them as a place to hide out, a place to escape from the demands of life” (p.146). Surely the church, in this day and age, is not called to be a hideout or an escape.  From time to time it may be that but it is not that.

And so I think about the statement we made in renovating our building, by adding a wide open and inviting “front” door and a gracious welcome once inside. By welcoming all, you are not hiding out or escaping the demands of this life, you are embracing the opportunity to come face to face with the very real demands of this life.

I think back to the circumstances that invited us to walk together down a road of exploring who we were as a church and who we were going to be in the future.  And how that journey we traveled together led to our statement about inclusion and to some intentional efforts to practice hospitality toward all people, regardless of their sexual orientation and despite the messages our own denomination was sending to gay and lesbian Presbyterians.  That road wasn’t necessarily an easy one to travel.  Some people chose not to make the journey with us. But those who made the journey, I believe, will acknowledge that along the way, our eyes were opened and we sensed something of the spirit of the risen Christ in our midst. 

I can recall our numerous mission trips to Peru, and how we encountered poverty on a scale that before we could only imagine.  And how we learned that despite our wealth and education and knowledge, and all the things we thought we had to offer, it was our listening ear, our solidarity and genuine friendship that were our greatest gifts.  And that despite our wealth, we are really just as needy.    

Because when you sit as a guest at a makeshift table, in a shack with a dirt floor beneath you and a tin roof overhead, and receive the bread our poor hosts were offering us, your eyes will be opened and you will understand what this gospel lesson is describing and you will never again be the same.    

I remember where I was standing when our own David Bodiker, The Ohio Public Defender, asked me if I would conduct the funeral service for Wilford Berry, the first person executed in Ohio in 35 years.  And how because I saw David functioning at the end of Wilford’s life the way a family member would, including making the necessary funeral arrangements, I responded as I thought a pastor should, and agreed to have the funeral. 

When I held that service in our sanctuary, however, and all the press showed up, not all of you appreciated my sense of pastoral responsibility.  But I think about that experience and how that brought me face to face with the issue of capital punishment and what our scripture has to say about it, and how that developed into a friendship with another of Ohio’s Death Row inmates, John Spirko, who I have mentioned to you on occasion.  And that so many of you ask me about him and follow the stories about his case in the paper, tells me that it wasn’t just my eyes that were opened through that experience.       

For people who practice a progressive, thoughtful faith—a faith that is not afraid to engage the world and the issues that confront us, the road isn’t always easy. At times, it can feel lonely.  I’m convinced, however, that authentic Christianity is always counter-cultural—always bound to be unpopular at times, and will surely cause tension in every aspect of our lives.  From our politics to what we do with our resources, to how we treat our neighbors—the strangers within our gates.  Sometimes practicing an authentic Christianity isn’t easy but you know what, it’s not supposed to be easy.  If it were easy, everyone would do it.  And a risk-less, tepid, watered down gospel has never caused anyone’s heart to burn from within.   

In a wonderful book, Christianity for the Rest of Us, Professor Diana Butler Bass shares the findings of her research on vital congregations like ours—congregations solidly and historically in the mainline tradition.  Much has been made of the struggles many churches like ours are experiencing.  It’s no secret that many mainline congregations are dying.  But she found that many, in fact, are not dying but thriving.   

I find her words comforting but also encouraging because Broad Street could have been included in her book.  Of the old mainline congregations she discovered that are very much alive, she says that,

Typically, they have discovered the riches of the Christian past and practice in simple, but profound things like discernment, hospitality, testimony, contemplation, and justice. They reach back to ancient wisdom and reach out through a life sustained by Christian devotional and moral practices. They know the biblical story and their own story. They focus more on God’s grace in the world than on the eternal state of their own souls. Along the way, those congregations taught me something important about the Christian faith. Institutions do not hold Christians together. Tradition holds them together, to one another, to the past, and to the future.

And then she continues,

Emerging Christianity is about change—about changing from spiritual tourists to pilgrims—about transforming our selves, our congregations, and our communities. We are [talking about] a change of heart that revolutionizes one’s whole life.  The churches along my way had not closed their eyes to change. Indeed, they were wide-eyed congregations in which new things were happening, lives were being transformed, and grassroots communal actions offered new possibilities for the body politic. None of the congregations I visited practiced business-as-usual church. All were reaching toward a future they could not fully see—a future of faith, hope, and love. At one time, I thought I was alone. But the rest of us are here. There are many pilgrims on this road (pp.7-11).

As a congregation and as my spiritual home, you have been my faithful traveling companion over the last ten years.  You are not the same congregation you were when I arrived, nor am I the same person I was then. Our world is different place as well.  But together, and on occasion, we have experienced along the way our hearts burning within us, we have had our eyes opened to recognize the risen Christ in our midst, and we have changed—we have grown, perhaps in ways we won’t fully realize or appreciate for some time.

In a way, our ten-year journey ends today.  But in a very real way, it doesn’t end at all but continues on. Maybe now down different roads and through different places, but it will always be toward the same destination, of loving and serving and worshiping the God we have come to know in Jesus Christ our traveling companion and Lord. 

Thank you for allowing me the extraordinary privilege of traveling with you.  Thank you for traveling with me.  May God bless you all in the days and years ahead.

Amen. 

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