Sunday, April 30, 2017

A Different Hungry

The gospel of the disciples on the road to Jerusalem is read again today, the Third Sunday of Easter. Read the passage from Luke 24 by clicking here.

A new leaven is at work in the Jerusalem community of disciples.  There are rumors and counter rumors causing turmoil as word spreads that Jesus' tomb is open and the body gone.  No one knows for sure what has happened.  Some women claim to have had a vision of angels reporting that Jesus had risen from the dead, but other disciples refuse to believe it.  You can imagine the buzz!

But two disciples have no taste for the confusion, so they take off.  They've had enough of Jerusalem.  They're heading for Emmaus.

If you had stopped them and asked if they were hungry, they'd have told you you were crazy.  They were baffled, disheartened, and despairing, but hungry?  Not a chance!  They were, though.  They were hungry for hope, the hope they had had a for a new future and lost when that future died on a cross.

Jesus knew their hunger.  He always very good at spotting the hungers of the human heart.  Still is.  How often did he feed a multitude of people who came to him hungry for wonders to spice up their lives and found themselves fed instead with words that brought new life?  And when stomachs growled, they found themselves handed more bread and fish than they could eat in one sitting. Leftovers were not a daily experience for the poor who scrabbled hard for meals, but on those occasions, there were baskets full of them.  Jesus knew all their hungers, and fed them unstintingly.

So it's no surprise that he joined the two disciples on the road to Emmaus.  He knew what they ached for, and he knew it wasn't bread.  So, very patiently and at great length, he unpacked trunk loads of scripture for them, showing them what God had promised over the centuries, what God had provided, and what God would work through the Messiah, under whatever name different schools of expectation knew him.  And he showed them that it would be hard, bloody work because rewriting the whole death-doomed history of humankind would cost everything the Messiah had to give.  Literally everything.  You don't reorient a fixed path of history with a few words and a kindly look.  Not if you have to work from within the confines of humanity's hardened self-interest, break open the tomb in which the human spirit had buried itself, and break the barred gates of the dark prisons of sin and death  from inside so that all its hopeless prisoners could finally get out.   And that's what Jesus had to do.  And what he explained to those two disciples.

When day started to close down on them, they discovered that their cold, dead, hopeless hearts had already been warmed with a newly kindled fire set by his words.  But their hunger for their lost hope, for a life with meaning, for a new way to see and to be, wasn't quite satisfied, so they didn't want him to go.  They asked him in for supper at a nearby inn.  He went with them, but not to eat.  Instead, he continued to feed them, this time with bread.  And in breaking it for them, he let them see who he really was, this stranger who was no stranger.

And then, at last, they were fed.

Satisfied, he disappeared--he had other appearances yet to make on this busy Easter evening, other hungers to feed.

As his disciples always must, the two ran back to join their companions in Jerusalem and pass on what he had fed them.

I wonder if they stopped to grab the broken loaf before they went?  Maybe not.  They weren't hungry any more.   But you?  Hungry?  You know who to invite in to join you.

Copyright 2017, Abbey of St. Walburga



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