April 19 ~ 40 years of Resurrection Witness in Orleans

https://video.wixstatic.com/video/3ef8bd_0bd1372c33a7484db82afb2b7776a135/720p/mp4/file.mp4

Acts 2:14a, 36-41

Psalm 116:1-4, 12-19

1 Peter 1:17-23

Luke 24:13-35

Sermon by Joel Crouse

A few weeks ago, my Facebook feed turned up a video; it was about a clip another person had posted: he was venting about the fact that when he was hiking up a mountain; he would pass a woman on her own and she wouldn’t make eye contact or say hello. “I am not dangerous,” he said. “Would a hello hurt you?” Some of you in the pews probably have some thoughts about that: first, who was this guy to dictate how someone else should respond to his hello? Could he really not understand why a woman walking alone might not speak to a stranger? And why was he so upset about it, anyway?

It’s fair to say that, for all kinds of reasons, we have become a society where saying hello to strangers is a declining trend. For our mothers, sister, wives, and daughters, listening to the rhetoric of the time, it is reasonable to be questioning; as a large man, I can’t relate to the constant surveillance that my wife, Erin, for instance, naturally does at night while walking alone.

Yet, we are an urban nation, people who live among strangers. So, what, then, is our responsibility to the stranger we encounter? Certainly, at the basic level, it is to respect another’s space and right to privacy; to not police their reaction to our hello, to not make them feel threatened or cornered, to be polite. If most of us did that – if most of us made clear that we would step in on a stranger’s behalf – the sense of unease among those most vulnerable would decrease. The consideration we show to strangers, even more than the kindness we show to friends, sets the tone for society; how we view strangers is one of the most significant factors when it comes to shaping societal trust and well-being.

The small moments of connection are a recognition of our common humanity, our shared journey through the world. Instead, we put on our headphones and look at our phones and pretend not to see one another.

Were the disciples also so blind, walking with their heads down, focused on their own problems, that they failed to recognize Jesus? They meet this man on the road and they are shocked to hear that he has not heard the news from Jerusalem. They debate the news, but still fail to see the man before them. They almost miss Jesus entirely, the very best person to assist them – just as we so often miss the presence of the gospel in our own lives by not seeing the person right in front of us. That opening scene on the road to Emmaus reminds us of an important lesson: don’t dwell so deeply on your own problems and thoughts that you miss the solution right in front of you.

But then, the disciples recover. Because where they do not fail is in their hospitality. As they walk with this stranger, the day grows late, the road falls into shadow. A lot can happen at night alone on a road. They invite the stranger to join them, to stay with them. Let’s have dinner together, they say. And their act of kindness leads to revelation: Jesus reveals himself and they finally realize whom they have been walking with.

What if they had just let the man carry on into the night? What if they had not invited him to dinner when they had dinner to share? They would never have broken bread with Jesus. They would have missed out entirely.

So much of Easter is a challenge for us to see the world as it is, to be open to what is precious and wondrous all around us. Once the tomb is open, the encounters Jesus has with the disciples are fairly low-key. Shocking to them, to be sure, but accompanied by fireworks and choreography. He talks to them, he walks with them, he eats with them. He comes to them in ordinary ways, as if to say to them, and to us – it is, here, in the ordinary passing of the day, that the gospel can be found.

We know this, of course – how contentment and joy can be experienced by watching grandchildren play, by reading a storybook to our children, sharing a warm coffee with a good friend, cuddling with our partner in front of the TV. Just like a helpful stranger, do we see those moments for the gifts they are? Do we reflect on what made those moments special and seek to have more of them? And if we did, would we not feel more at peace, and closer to the gospel?

On the road the Emmaus, the disciples invited a stranger to walk with them. They debated the events of the day, and, for all we can see, respected one another’s points of view – certainly enough that they were happy to keep talking. They offered, but did not demand, the safety of company. And they were rewarded, just as we so often are, by learning something new about the humanity around us. That man on the hike had it all wrong; never say hello to a stranger with expectation – say hello because it is right to do so. Respect what happens next. Give them space. Allow them a voice. On the road to Emmaus, the disciples did this very thing. And if they had been able to post to Tik Tok, their version of the results would not have been resentful or bitter, but joyful. They would have created an opportunity for the gospel to come into their lives with openness and generosity. May we do the same.

Amen