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Tag Archives: Emmaus

Sermon – Luke 24.13-35, E3, YA, April 23, 2023

30 Tuesday May 2023

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Sermons

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confusion, Easter, Emmaus, fear, gather, glorious, Jesus, joy, listen, renewed, resistance, Sermon

In 2015, Jamil sat in a hospital room distraught.  His newborn daughter, Alma, had suffered a stroke during childbirth, and had been whisked away to the Neonatal Intensive Care Unit.  Doctors and nurses had been tending to her around the clock.  And then, in the haze of the hospital stay, at about one o’clock in the morning, a doctor came into their hospital room and shared some difficult news about Alma’s treatment plan.  And here’s where the story gets interesting:  “‘…instead of just delivering the news compassionately and leaving, [the doctor] just pulled up a chair.’  The two men talked for about 90 minutes — a wide-ranging conversation in which the doctor told Jamil about his own struggles as a new father, and shared his thoughts about parenthood.”  Jamil recalls of Dr. Petersen, “It was as though he hit the pause button on this torrent of pain and anguish that we were feeling.” [i]

Sometimes we have a hard time remembering what the first Easter and Eastertide felt like for the followers of Christ.  We read Luke’s gospel today, but in all the gospel narratives of that first Easter, we discover not a sense of victory and responding alleluias.  We find fear, confusion, and resistance.  In Luke’s gospel today, the women have already discovered and reported the empty tomb, and Peter even had run to confirm the amazing news.  Today we pick up the story as Cleopas and another disciple of Jesus have packed up and are heading back home to Emmaus.  They do not believe the women and the inability of Peter to see the risen Lord makes them even more incredulous.  As they unknowingly talk to Jesus along their walk to Emmaus, they express their despondency acutely, “…we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.”[ii]

We too get trapped in post-Easter uncertainty.  We had a glorious Holy Week and Easter Sunday here at Hickory Neck, and even enjoyed a healthy crowd last Sunday.  This past week we started our Gratitude Gatherings, which have been full of joyful pondering about all that the Holy Spirit is doing among us.  As we turned our conversations to our hopes for Hickory Neck, I have heard a similar thread:  a longing to know what is next.  We have walked through all sorts of identity changing years of late:  from new leadership, to welcoming, nurturing, and then sending on the Kensington School, to wading through a pandemic and becoming a hybrid community, to the promise of a sabbatical in just a month’s time.  As we have talked about our hopes for the future, we have many dreams and desires; but it also feels like we are standing at a precipice.  We have that feeling of goodness and blessing, and also that unsettling feeling of wondering where God is taking us next. 

When Jamil sat with Dr. Petersen for an hour and half in the midst of his grief and anxiety, he says, “‘I just felt like I couldn’t control anything…I was feeling this loss of autonomy, of agency.  And then I just remember [Dr. Petersen] not leaving.’  Petersen’s honest conversation about the ups and downs of fatherhood reminded [Jamil] that he wasn’t doing this alone.”  Jamil says, “Afterwards I stopped thinking about the suffering that we were going through and started thinking about, OK, well, what do we do for Alma next?”[iii]

Jesus does not leave Cleopas and the other disciple in the despondency.  He walks with them.  He listens and he shares the salvation narrative with them.  And as if that were not enough, Jesus “leaves them free to continue on without him.”  Like he always does, he gives his followers free will.  And when Jesus is invited to stay on, Jesus does.  Only then – in the sacrament of breaking bread, blessing bread, and distributing bread – only then are the disciples’ eyes opened.[iv]  Jesus tarries with the disciples until they can ask the question that the followers in our Acts narrative ask today, “What should we do?”[v]

That is our invitation at Hickory Neck in these coming weeks and months.  We are invited to sit with Jesus – to not let him depart, but to continue walking, talking, and eating together at his table.  We are invited in these weeks of Easter and sabbatical, to keep gathering together, to listen in the midst of our busy lives, to be open to how Jesus is warming our hearts with his presence.  That is where our hopes and dreams become redefined.  That is where we become renewed and delivered from our fears and anxieties.  That is where we can let go of what has been and take up what we are to do next.  Jesus is with us – and his presence is a glorious promise for warmed hearts and renewed spirits.  Amen.


[i] Laura Kwerel, “Jamil was struggling after his daughter had a stroke. Then a doctor pulled up a chair.”  My Unsung Hero from Hidden Brain, NPR, April 17, 2023, as found at https://www.npr.org/2023/04/17/1167802053/jamil-was-struggling-after-his-daughter-had-a-stroke-then-a-doctor-stepped-in on April 19, 2023.

[ii] Luke 24.21

[iii] Kwerel.

[iv] Cynthia A. Jarvis, “Homiletical Perspective, Feasting on the Word, Yr. A, Vol. 2 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 423.

[v] Acts 2.37.

Sermon – Luke 24.13-35, Acts 2.14a, 36-41, E3, YA, April 26, 2020

30 Thursday Apr 2020

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Sermons, Uncategorized

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church, crisis, disciples, Easter, Emmaus, faith, hope, human, Jesus, lost, love, pandemic, resurrection, Sermon, vulnerable, weakness

To say we have been operating in crisis mode here at Hickory Neck would be an understatement.  We went from normal operations, to heavy restrictions for gathering and receiving communion, to entirely closing our buildings, to moving all worship online, to virtual learning, fellowship, and pastoral care.  All of those changes happened rapidly, and with an eye to whatever was next.  Once we figured out some semblance of a new rhythm and “normal,” Holy Week came, and we had to figure out how to make our most sacred week of the Church Year meaningful despite our inability to gather physically.  Baptisms and confirmations have been postponed, our Bishop’s visit has been delayed, and farewells and celebrations have been canceled.  And yet, here we are, about half-way through a stay-at-home order, with infection and death rates at astronomical levels, and the Church finds herself in the third week of Easter, still proclaiming her alleluias.

I am not sure I could pull myself together and proclaim those alleluias without the lessons from Holy Scripture we have been journeying with these last Sundays.  In a normal Eastertide, we are more carefree, reveling in Easter joy, making bold proclamations about resurrection and eternal life, and listening to the early Easter stories like the walk to Emmaus with a sense of endearment – as if saying, “Bless their hearts!” as the early Christians try to figure out what in the world is going on after Jesus’ resurrection.  But this is not a normal Eastertide.  In fact, Biblical scholar Matt Skinner refers to this time as “Pandemic Easter.”[i]  For the first time in perhaps most of our lives, we can more deeply empathize with the disciples during these early days of resurrection.  The modern Church has used Eastertide as a bold proclamation of the meaning of Jesus’ death and resurrection.  But the first disciples of Christ are not boldly doing anything.  In fact, they are bereft, confused, scared, given glimpses of hope followed by bouts of despair and doubt.  They are not sure what to believe, even having seen the risen Jesus themselves.  Even those who receive the teaching from the disciples in our Acts lesson are overcome with emotion and can only ask, “Brothers, what should we do?”

Somehow, living in Pandemic Easter has made our Eastertide lessons much more powerfully relatable.  I do not know if I am ready to boldly proclaim, “The Lord is Risen Indeed.”  But I am willing to say to fellow Christians, and to God, “What should we do?”  I am willing to talk with a fellow person of faith, or even a person of no faith, walking with them (either metaphorically or at least at a distance of six feet) as we make our way through this mess.  Those disciples on the walk to Emmaus look different to me this year.  Those two people who thought they knew what they believed, who are confused by testimony of Jesus’ resurrection, who walk away from the protective hideout with fellow disciples, are trying to make sense of life, death, and Jesus.  They are not people to be pitied or seen as adorably unsure of their faith.  They are us.  They are people in a life-altering crisis, trying to make sense of death and defeat, wondering where hope may be, and a bit lost.

And here comes the best part.  Now, I have always thought the best parts of this story are where Jesus teaches the disciples unawares, shares a meal with them, or their hearts becoming strangely warmed, allowing them to become the second set of witnesses after the women at the tomb.  But in Pandemic Easter, the best part of this story might just be what happens on the walk to Emmaus.  Jesus invites these two followers to talk about what has happened to them.  He literally walks with them as they share their shock, their grief, their sadness.  Perhaps in Easters past, I thought Jesus was being coy or trying to trick the disciples in some way.  But in Pandemic Easter, I think Jesus is doing what we all need:  Jesus listens, he lets the disciples share their reality, he makes space for the human response to a new normal.    Jesus makes space for questions like, “What should we do?”

I don’t know about you, but the very real, vulnerable, human interactions between Jesus and the disciples in Scripture today has been a tremendous balm to me.  More than perhaps any year, the Church is not telling us how to embrace and proclaim a certain and sure faith.  Today the Church is simply inviting us to hover in the actual experience of Easter – days of confusion, sadness, fear, and grief.  We are able to tarry there because Scripture reminds us today that Jesus walks with us.  When we cannot yet understand, when we perhaps cannot even believe, Jesus walks with us on the journey.  Jesus listens to our real human response to crisis and walks with us.  Someday – maybe today, maybe in a week or month, or maybe in a year, we will be able to hear Jesus’ teaching and understand, and our hearts will be strangely warmed with conviction.  Until then, Jesus walks with us where we are, acknowledging the fullness of our weakness, and staying with us and loving us through it all.  Thanks be to God.

[i] Matt Skinner, “The Road to Emmaus Feels Longer This Year,” April 19, 2020, as found at http://www.workingpreacher.org/craft.aspx?post=5428 on April 24, 2020.

Sermon – Luke 24.13-35, E3, YA, April 30, 2017

03 Wednesday May 2017

Posted by jandrewsweckerly in Sermons, Uncategorized

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confess, disciples, dream, Emmaus, go, God, hearts, Jesus, learn, listen, ministry, move, movement, road, Sermon, walk

Teachers and group facilitators know there are different types of learning styles.  Some people need to see something in writing in order to follow what is being presented.  These are the folks in church whose head is in their bulletins when the scripture is being read because they need to see the words, not just hear them.  Some people need to hear information orally to absorb information.  These are the folks you will see looking away from their bulletins during readings at church, preferring to watch and hear the words of the lector or celebrant instead of follow the words on the page.  And some people are what are called kinesthetic learners, who need to touch, feel, and do something in order to grasp the concept.  These are the folks who experience God more like our two disciples today – walking, talking, listening, and breaking bread.

I have been thinking a lot about walking this week.  Next month we will be talking about the Christian tradition of pilgrimage – a moving journey with God.  I think one of the primary reasons we walk, why we take pilgrimages, is because we sometimes just need to move in order to see God.  If we think back about Christ’s years of ministry, much of his sacred, life-changing moments happened while walking:  the woman who grabs the hem of his garment and receives healing while Jesus walks; the blind man Jesus encounters while walking in the city; the grieving mother Jesus meets while walking past the funeral procession.  Though Jesus certainly spends time sitting and teaching in homes, in gardens, and on mountains, much of his ministry isspent on the move.

Back in Advent, we had a clergy retreat.  The day was filled with all sorts of activities – conversation, silence, prayer, and readings.  But perhaps my favorite part of the day was when the facilitator assigned us to another person in the room and told us to go for a walk.  One person was to speak about whatever was on their heart and the other was to listen.  At the end, when the speaker was done, the listener was invited to reflect back about what they had heard and where they heard God moving in the speaker’s life.  What is interesting about taking a walk with someone – either being the listener or the speaker – is that you cannot really make eye contact.  Your body is busy watching the path in front of you, avoiding rocks or holes, and navigating turns.  Meanwhile, your mind works harder to focus – keeping your body moving while allowing yourself to speak or listen.  In some ways, that kind of walk is reminiscent of a confessional.  Two people, side-by-side, confessing what is on their heart, without the piercing judgment of eye contact.  Somehow the seemingly simple act of taking a walk with someone becomes profoundly intimate and sacred, something I am not convinced happens as well when we are sitting still.

The two disciples may have been having the same kind of conversation on that road to Emmaus.  They have a lot on their minds:  those last days of Jesus’ life; his arrest, crucifixion, and death; the testimony of the women about his resurrection.  Everything in their lives has been upended, and they are confused, sad, and lost.  But as they walk, Jesus appears on the road alongside them.  Together, the three of them keep moving, sharing hopes, dreams, and fears, while also reflecting where they see God in the midst of this turbulent time.  While their bodies are busy with the steps of that dusty road, their minds and hearts are opening up through their conversation.  The noise all around them fades, and the clarity of truth breaks through.  Though they do not notice the feeling right away, later the disciples remember a distinct feeling of their hearts burning within them.

Most of you know by now or will soon figure out that I am a planner.  I like to sit down and think through challenges.  I spend energy considering the various possibilities, weighing consequences, and working through solutions.  I will do research, talk to people with experience, and try to gauge reactions.  In general, being a planner can be a great asset.  The challenge for a planner is moving.  There comes a moment when you have to move on what you have and make a decision or start the planned action.  And although this will come as no surprise to the more spontaneous folks in the room, sometimes, you have to get moving without doing all the planning.  Sometimes, you just have to take a walk – get out and start doing, and clarity will come.  Sometimes Jesus does not show up until you are on the road.

That is what is interesting about our story today.  The two disciples today are overwhelmed and stuck.  They do not know what to make of all that has happened and they especially do not know what to make of the women’s testimony.  They could have stayed in that room with the other disciples, worrying and talking through the possibilities.  Instead, they get up and walk.  They walk, talk, confess, listen, and learn.  Their hearts burn within them only when they move – only when Christ comes alongside their moving bodies and reveals truth to them, helping them understand the fulfillment of Scripture in all that has happened.

I wonder if Christ is not inviting us to do the same today.  A couple of weeks ago, I celebrated my first anniversary here at Hickory Neck.  It has been an incredible year of growing, relationship-building, serving, and sharing in fellowship.  As I have reflected back, the year has been full of good work, growing discipleship, and energized mission and evangelism.  We really have had a very full year.  But one of the things I keep remembering, and now our Vestry has begun exploring, is the conversation I had with our Search Committee and Vestry over a year ago.  We talked extensively about dreams, many of which had already been articulated.  The one that captured my heart was using the blessing of this property to begin some new ministries – ministries that would serve those in need in our community and would reflect the distinct nature of our neighborhood.  Knowing that we have an abundance of retirees settling in Williamsburg, and an influx of young families moving in as well, Hickory Neck began to dream about how we might serve both constituencies – with childcare, elder day care, or both simultaneously.  The dream was what drew me in, and as colossal as the dream sounded, the dream also sounded inspired and full of the Spirit.

For the last year, we have been sitting, getting to know each other, building trust, and growing in our love of Christ.  But now, your Vestry has started taking some walks.  Your Vestry has started meeting with leaders, service providers, and member of the larger community.  The idea is to walk alongside others, hearing their stories, and listening for the Spirit.  We are also sharing our dream, and making sure our vision is in line with what the community needs.  We are taking those kinds of walks that lay bare our concerns and fears, but also confess our deepest hopes.  Of course, we could avoid these conversations, staying in the upper room with fellow disciples – fellow Hickory Neck-ers.  But instead, we are taking a cue from the disciples today, hoping that on our walk, our hearts will burn with a sense of the presence of Jesus.

The disciples and our Vestry are issuing a similar invitation to us today – to move out of the comfort of familiarity, and to start walking the way in the hopes of encountering Jesus.  What they have learned is that sometimes, in order to clear our heads, in order to get un-stuck in our current path, in order to go deeper with God and to find Christ in our midst, we need to move.  We need to walk, talk, listen, confess, and learn.  We need to step out of our places of comfort and familiarity, and start moving.  On those walks are where we encounter Christ, where scripture becomes clear, and where our hearts burn with renewed energy, purpose, and meaning.  That is work that we are taking on as a community, but also work that we are invited to take on for ourselves.  Taking those first steps can be scary, intimidating, and uncomfortable.  The good news, is that, like the disciples, we do not go alone.  We go with fellow brothers and sisters in Christ.  We go with neighbors who long for justice and dignity for all.  We go with Christ, who whispers truth and who burns in our hearts.  Come, and take a walk with Hickory Neck.

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