Broken Hearts & Burning Hearts 4-23-23
Broken Hearts & Burning Hearts
Luke 24:13-35
New Moon Over Emmaus Michael Coffey
A new moon over Emmaus and in the spacious dark sky the waning and waxing of an old story forgotten you know the one where the unfamiliars walk and talk and share bread and wine and humble deep laughter where hospitality and conviviality become the norm and the sacred is tasted and touched in daily routine where war stories and scar stores are voiced beyond the pain and the memory of courage eclipses panic and pride where archetypal hopes of liberation and a world refreshed rise again like the warming of alcohol in a red cheek flush. So why is it that just when we get it again, fly-by-night Jesus in the breaking and pouring and dining and singing does it all disappear through a fissure in the evening air and you wrench us out to find it with some other wayfarer not just here and now, never settled or fixed in rubrics we would incant and enact in a Mobius movement nowhere, but like you, always rising an walking on and out, hungry for the next meal where strangers become divine companions. Keep us in phase with your lunatic ways, Jesus of broken bread, so like the moon we and your wild twilight dream of God can be new, can sliver some reflection of your light can spin and orbit and elate into full glow and aura.
Luke 24:13-35
Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. And he said to them, “What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?” They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?” He asked them, “What things?” They replied, “The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place. Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him.” Then he said to them, “Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?” Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures. As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” So he went in to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were saying, “The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!” Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.
Prayer – Risen Lord Jesus, elusive yet compelling companion on the way, you walk behind, beside, beyond; you catch us unawares and often leave us wanting more. Break through the disillusionment and despair clouding our vision, that, with wide-eyed wonder, we may find our way of faith and with burning hearts share the good news of your new life – Amen.
I take a walk just about every morning. I get up early to walk down the Trinity Trail in Fort Worth, for exercise, for meditation, to get centered and ready for my day. My practice hasn’t changed for the last 10 years or so; Valerie just shakes her head at my habit, routine, obsession. I start on my walk before the sun rises and as spring has sprung by the end of my walk the sun is gently rising above the horizon – the colors of the sunrise, the breeze on the trail each morning is refreshing, the silence for the most part is comforting in a unique kind of way. I watch the early birds catching the worms, I hear an occasional owl hooting along the trail, frequently smell the odor of a skunk from the previous night’s spraying. This spiritual practice of walking prepares me for my daily walk through the halls of the hospital where I encounter both breaking hearts and burning hearts. Walking gets me out of my head and more aware of all that is around me.
And yet, in most ways, I expect, my walk each morning is a different sort of walk from the one Cleopas and the other disciple took that Sunday afternoon so long ago. For one, they didn’t walk alone as I typically do each morning. No, each one had a friend with whom to sort out the meaning of all they had witnessed over those last days, and weeks, and years. There was no effort on their part to try to set aside all that filled their memory and imagination.
We don’t hear the content of their conversation, not really. Not until they offer the stranger a summary of all these last years, they last days, had held. Indeed, most of all that we can tell from all of this is that they are stuck in the story where it had ended for them – a place of broken hearts where they had hoped so much that Jesus was indeed the Chosen One of Israel. The one they had hoped for, hoped in, had died and now there is a tale from the women that Jesus had somehow been coughed up by the earth and was alive. Crazy talk they probably thought.
‘But they had hoped . . .’ Perhaps no more powerful words spoken during Jesus’ time. So much is said in those four words, as they speak of a future that is not to be, a dream that created energy and enthusiasm but didn’t materialize the way they had hoped resulting in broken hearts. Those four words speak of a future that is closed off, now irrelevant, dead and buried. And there are few things more tragic than a broken heart and a dead future. Once challenged to write a short story in six words, Ernest Hemmingway supposedly replied by penning on a napkin, “For Sale: Baby Shoes, never used.” It’s bad enough that the tragedy of what happened hurts, but the gaping wound of all that could have happened but won’t reflects that broken heart.
‘But they had hoped . . .’ But now they don’t hope anymore. And when you don’t hope, even though you hear of possibilities, you can’t quite summon any enthusiasm, because you can’t bear to be disappointed again. Cleopas and his friend Simon had been close enough to know that the women had seen angels in the Garden who said Jesus is arisen, but nothing from the Apostles who had looked around and didn’t see anything, so now they are on the road out of town. Hopeful people don’t leave town.
‘But we had hoped . . .’ I love those heart-breaking words not because I enjoy wallowing in the dark or sentimental emotions of loss, but because they ring so very true to me. They are not only the truth, of course, there is much in this life we live that is beautiful, daring, confident, inspiring, and more, all of which deserves our gratitude. But there is also disappointment, heartbreak, and failure. And all too often we tend to gloss over this in church. Heartbreaking news is rarely good news.
Or if not gloss over it, at least feel the pressure to move by it too quickly toward some kind of resolution. As I have shared with chaplain colleagues over the years we can’t be too quick in sharing a good word when something hard and heartbreaking occurs. Life reflects the cycle of death and resurrection and so attempting to flee the cross demeans the resurrection. Think about it, a friend shares the news of a death of his or her sister, and we sympathize for a moment before quickly changing the subject to how about those Cowboys. Or a daughter or son shares their disappointment of not getting a promotion, and we remind her or him that at least they have a job. Or we see an acquaintance we know who has just gone through a dreadful loss, and we avoid him or her altogether because we just don’t know what to say. We don’t mean to be callous or insensitive, we are just at such a loss of words with loss. We feel inadequate to the task of confronting the darkness of our lives and this world so flee to the light in denial.
Honestly, it is hard to sit in the gutters of hard, heartbreaking news with others, no words to make it better or even manageable makes us feel helpless. In the church this tendency is almost damaging; and perhaps that’s somewhat understandable. We are, after all, people of the resurrection. And so when reading or hearing a story with heartbreak as the central theme we often hurry to the burning hearts part of the narrative, celebrating with the disciples their encounter with the risen Christ. But just as before there is resurrection there is the cross; so also I’d say that before there are burning hearts there are broken ones.
The two friends are headed towards Emmaus and encounter a stranger who truly is Jesus who throws them a curveball. He didn’t say – be not afraid or fear not. Jesus gives them unbeknownst to them, a hard time – how foolish you are, can’t you remember what the prophets said about the Messiah. We need to do some serious Bible study. Jesus was reminding them thematically about hope in the most improbable circumstances. Moses freeing the people from slavery, enduring 40 years in the wilderness, searching for the Promised Land where oppression no longer exists. Prophets painted wild pictures of hope. God hears the cry of his people and brings good news of hope.
Whatever Jesus said in the sermon to the two nailed it, or perhaps un-nailed since it is now after Easter because they want him to stick around for the night and share a meal. He sits down with them and breaks bread and they have a sense of déjà vu, they have seen this somewhere before, and suddenly they see, truly with new eyes, resurrection eyes, Easter eyes and then he vanishes again. Blinking their eyes, ‘were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was teaching and breaking bread. Hope has a way of mending broken hearts which in turn become burning hearts.
As we gather two weeks after Easter, each of us has had the hard experience of broken hearts. What we don’t always realize is that Jesus is walking down that path with us, listening, reminding, sharing in a meal all for the intent and purpose to transform our broken hearts into hope-filled burning hearts. At the end of the day, Jesus has a way of breaking through or at least into our brokenness and bringing life and hope where there was none before. That is good news; no, that is awesome, life affirming, you can count on it burning hearts good news – thanks be to God – amen.