Third Sunday of Easter: April 10, 2005.

Acts 2:14a, 36-41

Psalm 116:1-3, 10-17

1 Peter 1:17-23

Luke 24:13-35

K: This week's texts are a matter of the heart. In sermon and in story, Jesus is revealed. There are direct, definitive answers. There also are moments that leave us wondering if what we have seen and experienced was truly the presence of Christ in our lives.

Peter's first sermon comes just minutes after a baptism of the Holy Spirit. It is an answer to the questions of plausibility and incredulity witnesses raise through the loud cacophony of sounds that is now the new church. It is every young pastor's worst nightmare--an extemporaneous prayer before thousands of people, who may or may not believe what you have to say.

Our reading is the end of Peter's sermon--the powerful proclamation that gives witness to the Holy Spirit's Pentecost gift. "Therefore let the entire house of Israel know with certainty that God has made him both Lord and Messiah, this Jesus whom you crucified" (v. 36). The response is immediate and seemingly physical. Those listening were, in a literal translation, pierced through the heart by this proclamation. If we are to follow Jesus with our whole hearts, today our life is on the line.

T: The setup may be a nightmare, but the effects of the sermon are what we all dream of: to cut through the babble of dismay and incredulity thrown up by the world and people's history; to simply state, with force and conviction, the truths of God's love in Jesus the Christ; and then to have the entire crowd, some 3,000 people, convert immediately to the faith. Now that's a new member's class to be proud of!

K: Hearts are on the line in the Gospel also. One thing to note: All Gospel readings this Easter season come from the Gospel of John except this Sunday's story from Luke. This Emmaus text historically has been assigned for Easter evening services. And that is when the story is set--on the day of the resurrection, sometime perhaps in the evening--not two weeks after it! One gets the sense that our trajectory is starting to slowly rewind, letting us see the very presence of God right there in front of us. Jesus the Christ is bones and flesh. He is as full of questions as he is of answers. And now he has stood on both sides of death.

Whether separated by geographic distance (like the two disciples) or time (like us modern disciples), the question may be the same. Did it really happen? Our hearts are in danger and slowly crumbling. Perhaps the intensity of the moment is gone. Or is it? This passage, unique to Luke, does have shades of other stories echoing in it: the longer ending of Mark, Abraham and Sarah's inability to recognize the Lord, the disciples in the boat unclear of what or whom they may be seeing. Are there ever times when we are so lost--in ourselves, the events of the world, our emotions--that we fail to recognize who surrounds us?

This is the heart of the problem. Jesus is rebuked by the two disciples for "not knowing" (v. 18). It is ironic that we have just been told in v. 16 that they are the ones who really do not know what is going on. We will see this root word appear often in the coming weeks, ginosko, and there is a connection between "knowing" and "hope." The two disciples come right out and say that they have lost hope.

T: Although I know it is dangerous to draw a parallel with another Gospel, when the disciples rebuke Jesus I can't help but think of Peter rebuking Jesus for predicting his own demise. There, too, we have a disciple resistant to the notion of a Messiah who suffers. When Peter acts up, Jesus sets him aside and calls him Satan. This time, he brands their hearts and finally opens their eyes and ears to the real truth of God: God acts in surprising, scandalous ways.

Maybe the connection between "knowing" and "hope," and the difference between them, is one of tense. The disciples don't recognize Jesus in the present tense because he's doing something godly: acting beyond our abilities and our notions. The disciples can't see him because it's beyond their expectations. But Jesus nudges them along, giving them a quick primer on methods of scriptural interpretation. Finally, they do get it, but only in retrospect, as they recount the experience to the other disciples. Only in the past tense do they recognize that Jesus was doing something godly, something spiritual, with them. Why is it that we recognize God's hand at work only when we look back on it? Hope is by definition looking to the future. Knowing or recognizing is looking to the past. In both cases, it's looking to God. But how about the present? How do we hope/know God in the present?

K: It is curious that the real and physical presence of Jesus is standing right there with them, and yet his mere presence is not enough to restore faith and hope. So, like a heart surgeon, Jesus cracks open the scripture and burns the words of faith on their broken hearts. Then Jesus tears apart some bread and gives thanks as he breaks it. Yes, the disciples had heard and knew the report about the resurrection. Today we learn the true cost of knowing Jesus. Jesus suffered. He was broken. He has the power to burn his words into us, branding us as his. Our triumphant God is also a suffering Messiah.

T: The suffering Messiah is what we learn in the Easter story, what it burns in our hearts. But there is another part: not only do we have a Messiah who suffers, we are the ones who caused it. And that's a hard fact to face, difficult to comprehend, and an impossible one to get around. I think that is what "pierced the hearts" of the Jerusalemites in Peter's sermon: "God has made him Lord and Messiah, this Jesus whom you crucified."

K: The only "supernatural" thing that happens is Jesus' disappearance. The frustrating thing is that it happens just as soon as the disciples recognize him! But that is not what they choose to tell the others. No, what they tell is how their hearts burned when they heard the words of scripture come alive. And when they looked with Easter eyes at the stranger present with them, they could see the promise come true in broken hands and broken bread.

T: Here is a homiletical question for you. In Luke, I would bet Cleopas and the other unnamed disciple were pretty excited to report their news to the other disciples. Up to this point, they'd had a report from Mary, Joanna, Mary, and "the other women" that seemed to them "an idle tale." Peter sprinted to the tomb, but all he saw was the linen cloths. But Cleopas and his companion actually saw him! They've got to be excited to report back to the others: "We've seen him! We've really seen him!"

But when they get there, they're preempted. "The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!" (24:34) When did this happen? Was this story in there previously and got chopped out at some point? But a more important question for preaching is that the reference to this mysterious appearance is there. Why? And what effect does it have? What did Cleopas and his companion think when they heard this? What do we think when we hear this? KH/TK