to return to your place in the text.To read endnotes, click on the the note number, then click on the
That has nothing really to do with the message this morning.
I mention it simply to let you in on the title of the sermon,
"East of Easter." Easter is past, and if you can think of that
momentous event as midnight on a clock, the beginning of a new
day in human history, then superimpose a compass over that clock,
we are EAST of Easter.
That should mean something to us. The question is, DOES it?
Think about it for a moment as we reflect on those two friends we
met in our scripture lesson.
They were just like us. They had the same concerns that
have been common in every age - keeping body and soul together,
keeping out of trouble, keeping up with the Joneses, keeping in
tune with the times, and now keeping a stiff upper lip in the
face of dashed hopes and shattered dreams. Just like us.
They were religious folk, having walked the several hours to
Jerusalem a few days before from their home in Emmaus. With a
real sense of excitement, they had gone to the holy city -
obviously for the Passover, an event no good Jew could miss; but
also to be near Jesus, one whom they had come to look on as
Israel's deliverer, the Messiah. But now they were going home...
dejected, depressed, defeated.
As they walked, they talked. Probably about mundane things:
taxes too high, wages too low, kids too wild...probably a little
about the trial and crucifixion, but nothing TOO much...too
hurtful. Small talk to survive large pain. We all do it, until
forced to do otherwise.
Perhaps that is why Jesus engaged them in conversation.
The Great Physician was a Great Therapist. These two NEEDED to
verbalize what was inside...to get things out in the open, to let
some air get to the psychic wound. He knew what he was doing.
They were still living WEST of Easter, where "the world, the
flesh, and the devil" come out on top. They needed to see for
themselves that the new day had dawned.
With a sadness tinged by anger, they described the events
that had made them so heavy of heart - their disappointment with
respected religious leaders, their distress at the political
system which could be so easily manipulated by evil men, their
despair at the loss of someone who had personified their hope for
the future. Sounds very much like something we might read in
tomorrow's newspaper. Those things happen in any age.
But there was something different here. Along with all the
rage they were venting, they had that strange story they had
heard from some women friends about an empty tomb, a vision of
angels, and a risen Lord. What to make of it all?
Fortunately, their companion had the answers...not only for
them, but for all of us. He reminded them of things they had
known all along. He recalled for them that God's plan was never
to overwhelm humanity with divine power, but to draw us in
through love and service and sacrifice. The lives and words of
Moses and the prophets were recounted to drive home the point.
And now God's grand seed of strategy had burst into final
glorious blossom with the events of these past few days.
Did the travelers understand? Not quite. But now they had
arrived in Emmaus. The afternoon had gone too quickly; they did
not want their conversation to end. "Friend, can you stay for a
bite of dinner? We don't have much - just some bread and wine -
but we would love to have you. Won't you stay, please?"
You see, they had begun to get a glimpse of life East of
Easter, a life where evil does not win the world, a life where
pain does not overwhelm existence, a life that even death cannot
end. No wonder they wanted him to stay.
In the King James Version of the Bible, the invitation of
the two travelers reads, "Abide with us; for it is toward evening
and the day is far spent," words which were the inspiration for
that beloved hymn, "Abide with me/Fast falls the eventide." The
hymn was written by Henry Francis Lyte, for 25 years the vicar of
the parish at Devonshire, England. He was 54 years old, broken
in health and saddened by dissensions in his congregation. On
Sunday, September 4, 1847 he preached his farewell sermon and
went home to rest. After tea in the afternoon, he retired to his
study. In an hour or two, he rejoined his family, holding in his
hand the manuscript of his immortal hymn.
Despite what most think, Lyte's "eventide" has nothing to do
with the end of the natural day but rather the end of life.
"Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day/Earth's joys grow
dim, its glories pass away." The words are about the faith that
face life and death fearlessly and triumphantly in the light of
the cross and the empty tomb....East of Easter. Thus Lyte could
conclude, "Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows
flee/In life, in death, O Lord, abide with me." Vicar Lyte died
three months later.(1)
Jesus accepted the invitation of the two friends on the
road, of course, just as he accepted the invitation of Henry
Lyte. Jesus always accepts. And during the course of that
simple Emmaus meal, as the Gospel record has it, "their eyes were
opened." Did they suddenly have all the answers? Of course not.
But they had a glimpse now of the future...God's future...a
future to be faced with confidence.
The calendar of the church says "East of Easter," but that
question comes again: does it matter? What does the calendar of
the heart say? In so many ways, we are still far, far West. So
Jesus turns the tables this time. Instead of awaiting OUR
invitation to him, he invites us...to a simple meal - just bread
and wine - so OUR eyes might be opened too...open to the fact
that he is really with us, and open to a life of faith that can
be lived genuinely and confidently "East of Easter."
Let us pray.
O God, we confess to often being overwhelmed by events that
drive us to despair. We see so much in this world that ought not
to be. Our souls cry out asking, if not for revenge, at least
for justice. Forgive us, Lord, and remind us again that you are
still on the throne and sovereign over all. Open our eyes in the
same way as the eyes of those ancient Emmaus friends as we come
to the table. For we pray in the name of Jesus. Amen!
1. Frank Colquhoun, A Hymn Companion, (Morehouse- Barlow Co., Inc., Wilton, Conn., 1985), pp. 195-196
click and send us mail