Scripture Lesson: Luke 24:13-35
Dear Norah,
This story, about Jesus appearing to his friends after
he died, is not one I expect you to understand for a long time. In fact, I’m
not entirely sure I understand it!
It’s a very strange story, and it doesn’t really make sense. Why didn’t the
disciples know it was Jesus when he was walking with them? Why did he pretend
he didn’t know what had been going on? Why did he disappear at just the moment
they recognized him?
There’s a book your Grammy gave you called I’d Know You Anywhere, My Love, and I
couldn’t stop thinking about it as I read the most compelling moment of this
story: the disciples recognizing Jesus as he broke the bread.
“There are things about you quite unlike any other,”
the narrator of the story says, “things always known by your father or mother.
So if you decide to be different one day, no worries… I’d know you anyway. If
early one morning, you put on your socks and declare ‘For today, I’m a little
red fox!’ I’d say, ‘My, my … that is quite a disguise!’ But I’d know it was you
by the gleam in your eyes. …
“And if one fine day you got bored and you said,
‘Today I’m not me, I’m a lion instead.’ Even
if I’d never heard it before, I’d know it was you by the sound of your roar.”[1]
There are moments in life when a person does something
that reveals a facet of their character that is deep and true. Once we see that
part of them, we’d know them anywhere. In some cases, because we are all made
in the image of God, a person’s actions even help us recognize something about God’s character.
For example, on Maundy Thursday, Pope Francis got a
lot of attention by washing peoples’ feet. This act of humility, in and of
itself, would be enough to bewilder the world. After all, the world tells us
that powerful people don’t do dirty work like washing feet. The ritual is
something that previous popes had done – of course, it’s based on Jesus’
washing his disciples’ feet on the night of his last supper with them.
But Francis got even more attention because he changed
things a bit this year. Instead of selecting a few Catholic men, as had been
traditional, the people he chose were all refugees – but that was the only
thing they had in common. Four of them were Catholics from Nigeria; three of
them were Coptic Christians; three more were Muslims from Mali, Syria, and
Pakistan; and one was a Hindu man from India. Two of them were women, one of
whom had a baby that Francis also blessed.
The world was shocked that a Catholic Pope would stoop
to wash the feet of people who practiced a different religion than he does. In
the midst of a week when terrorist bombings were in the news; in the midst of
the American election that has vilified Muslims and Mexicans, among others; in
the midst of a news cycle filled with stories about laws that seek to
dehumanize gay, lesbian, and transgender people; in the midst of all this, the
Pope’s actions were incomprehensible to those who do not understand that power
is truly found in humility, and that, in Frances’ words, “All of us together:
Muslims, Hindus, Catholics, Copts, Evangelicals. … all brothers and children of
the same God. We have different cultures and religions, but we are brothers and
we want to live in peace.”[2]
The images of Pope Francis washing and kissing the refugees’feet are incredibly moving. They help us recognize something deep and true
about his character – but more than that, they show us something of God’s
character: inclusive, loving, humble, kind.
I experienced something like this the night you were
born. It had been a long day. You weren’t supposed to come for almost another
month, so I was at work in Richmond when your mom called me to say she’d gotten
checked out at the doctor’s office and, sure enough, her water had broken.
“The baby is coming today,” she said, around nine in
the morning. I couldn’t believe it! I rushed home, but it turned out I didn’t
really need to because you waited until after midnight to be born.
All through the pregnancy, I knew I wanted to be in
the room when you were born, but I also knew I wanted to be standing at the
head of the bed, my hand resting on your mother’s shoulder, encouraging her,
cheering her on – not seeing … anything. (I had seen a video of a woman giving
birth in Health Class during high school and it was terrifying.) But after
fifteen hours of waiting for you, I guess I wasn’t thinking clearly. When the
nurse said, “Okay dad, you hold this leg, I’ll hold the other, and mom is going
to push,” I just went with it.
As I looked into your mother’s face, I saw such
strength, such determination, such courage. And it’s hard to explain, because
these were all qualities I already knew she had. It’s not like I was learning that she was strong,
determined, and courageous. It’s like I was recognizing these qualities, distilled
to their very essence in her. And not only that, but I recognized the kind of
courage it takes to create life, to suffer – meaningfully – as you bring it
into the world, to risk your own comfort, your safety, your very existence. And
I recognized: all these things are true about the ways God brings life into the
world.
After several minutes of pushing, I watched as you were
born. And because we didn’t know if you were a boy or a girl, the doctor asked,
“Okay Josh, who is it?” And I said, “It’s- it’s- NORAH!” When I think about that
moment, I can say I truly understand what the disciples meant when they asked,
“Weren’t our hearts burning within us?”
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| He Qi: "Maundy Supper at Emmaus" |
Their hearts were burning in that moment of
recognition, when they saw him break the bread. It’s such a magical moment. In
some ways, it seems literally magical, as if something unexplainable is going
on. In other ways, it seems magical in the way your birth was magical –
completely explainable, and miraculous all the same.
I imagine the disciples watching as Jesus’ hands took
the bread and broke it. I imagine them, having just recited the story of his
life back to him on that long walk to Emmaus, remembering the time be broke the
bread to feed five thousand people; remembering the time he taught them to pray
for daily bread; remembering the time he invited them all to the same table for
one last meal, and broke bread, and said, “This is my body, broken for you.”
Jesus fed the disciples the whole time they were with
him. He fed their bodies with bread, their minds with parables, and their
spirits with his unconditional love. In those ways, he was the perfect
embodiment of the ways God feeds us.
When he broke that bread, they recognized him because
it was something they had seen him do dozens of times before. Whatever effect
death and resurrection had on him, his ability to personify God’s feeding of us
did not change.
And so they recognized him, and they recognized God. The
psalmist says, “I believe I shall see the goodness of the Lord in the land of
the living.” This story is the perfect example that we can see God at work in this world.
Whoever’s hands break the bread, we can see God
present there.
Whoever’s body gives birth, we can see God present
there.
Whoever’s lips kiss in blessing, we can see God
present there.
I hope I can teach you to keep your eyes open and pay
attention, to look for the Lord in the simplest moments and the most extraordinary. Because one day I hope you’ll be able
to say to God, “I’d know you anywhere, my love!”
Amen.
[1]
Nancy Tillman, I’d Know You Anywhere, My
Love. New York: Feiwel & Friends, 2013.
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