Vespers Sermon

Stay With Us, Lord Jesus

Luke 24:13-36

Did you ever meet someone who fascinated you? Someone who was gracious and wise and kind and knowledgeable? Someone you wanted to spend lots of time with? Someone whose words brought life – someone you could listen to all day long?

I met someone like that once. I was taking a week long music workshop one summer at Westminster Choir College. One of the women in my class told me she was married to a man who had been part of Einstein’s think tank inner circle. She said he was coming to get her on the last day, and would arrange for us to meet him at the final lunch in the dining hall. I was intrigued. I wondered what this brilliant man would be like. Would I be able to understand anything he said? Would he even notice a nobody like me?

The last day came and my closing class ran long. It had been demanding and I was exhausted. As I gathered up my things to leave, I didn’t see the woman. I thought I might have missed the whole lunch and I almost didn’t go at all. More out of curiosity than anything, on the off chance that this man was still there, I scurried to the dining room, up the stairs, grabbed a tray of food and looked around the dining tables. There were other students from my class sitting at a table way over by the windows. I headed in their direction, disappointed that the woman and her husband were not among them.

As almost the last arrival, I sat at the end of the table near an unkempt old man with rheumy eyes. How nice, I thought. The college is providing a free meal to a homeless person. My classmates were busy chatting amongst themselves, and I decided to stay out of their conversation.

The gentleman opposite me, with bare feet and long uncombed gray hair and long beard, wearing a flannel shirt in summer, set down his piece of bread and asked me a question. I humored him with an answer, and his response got my undivided attention. This was no mere homeless man. This was an intelligent and caring individual who engaged me in such a wonderful conversation that I forgot to eat. My classmates grew quiet as they too were drawn into the conversation.

I was thoroughly enjoying myself when the woman appeared. “I see you have met my husband,” she said. What? This is your husband? Of course! My classmates dropped their silverware in shock. Now it all made sense. No wonder our conversation had been so rich and informative. Unfortunately, they had to go. I wanted to spend much more time with this fascinating yet humble man, but it was not to be. To think I had almost missed him! If I could have followed him home I would have.

I think that might be something like what these two men on the road to Emmaus experienced. I imagine there could be much more to this story than just the bare bones recorded here. Perhaps it went something like this:

Cleopas and his friend had just been through the worst week of their entire lives. Here they were hanging around with a man who was obviously gifted and powerful. Jesus was constantly doing marvelous miracles – sick people were healed, hungry people were fed, lame people walked, blind people saw – the dead even came back to life! He seemed to have access to a ready supply of resources. It was amazing. Cleopas loved it. Crowds followed them everywhere.

Best of all, everybody agreed that this Jesus had the power to deliver them from the terrible bondage of the Romans. Those nasty Romans who took their crops and forced them to live in poverty, who made them pay unfair taxes and took their daughters and destroyed their way of life.

Any day they expected Jesus to walk into the Roman prefect’s office and take over, forcing the Roman officers to give back everything and let them live like they had in the good old days. The only Jews who seemed to dislike Jesus were the priests, though for the life of him, Cleopas could not figure out why.

It all happened so fast. One minute they were riding into Jerusalem like kings. The next Jesus was arrested, tried and killed. Worse than killed. Tortured. Beaten. Humiliated. Crucified. Cleopas had stood nearby and watched Jesus breathe his last breath. How could they treat him that way? Jesus had never hurt anyone.

Now he was dead and Cleopas ran for his life, terrified he would suffer the same fate. He and the rest of the men who had followed Jesus hid out in a dark stuffy room, reeling from the sickening events. Nothing made sense. Why didn’t Jesus just wave his hand and speak deliverance for himself? Why didn’t he kill those Romans? Or at least the priests who arrested him?

Cleopas’ insides crawled with anxiety. His head pounded. He couldn’t eat. He couldn’t sleep. He couldn’t think. He was filled with fear. What would he do? How could he go on? He had to get away. Had to go somewhere safe. As soon as things calmed down, he would make a run for it – go see his relatives in Emmaus. Yes, that’s what he would do. Wait until it was safe, then get out of Jerusalem.

Suddenly, Mary burst into the room, that crazy prostitute Jesus had rescued. She was blathering on and on about Jesus’ body not being in the tomb. Something about seeing angels and Jesus still being alive. What a bunch of nonsense. Peter and John, more to shut her up than anything, cautiously slipped out of the room to check it out. It was too much. Cleopas couldn’t take it anymore. He grabbed his friend. “Let’s get out of here.” The man nodded and the two of them backed into the shadows and out the door before anyone noticed.

They slunk along the back alleys and through abandoned yards until they were safely outside the city gates. They shuddered past the hill where Jesus died. Cleopas could not look at the cross still standing there. He felt like he was going to vomit. They stumbled along in silence until they were a good several miles from Jerusalem before either one said anything.

Then it was like a dam had burst. They went over and over the details of what had just happened, trying to figure out what went wrong. What should they have done to save Jesus? If only they had snatched him out of that garden before the soldiers arrived. If only they had known what was coming. If only . . .

They were so caught up in their conversation they didn’t even see the stranger until it was too late. He didn’t seem to be Roman. He didn’t even know about Jesus’ crucifixion. They found themselves telling him the whole sordid story, even the part about crazy Mary and the empty tomb.

Then, the strangest thing. He seemed to understand. He began to tell them about the sayings of the prophets and the ancient writings. Things began to make sense. Cleopas’ pulse slowed down. His stomach settled. His legs stopped shaking. Yes. Yes, what this man was saying made sense. Why hadn’t he seen it before?

He could have listened to this man talk forever. It was so comforting. He had stopped hurting, started wanting to live again. They had arrived at Cleopas’ destination. The man was taking his leave of them. “No – no,” Cleopas pleaded. “Don’t go. Stay with us awhile longer.”
Cleopas was frantic. How could he convince this man to stay? “Look, it’s getting dark and night is falling. Come in and have dinner. Spend the night here with us.”

To his delight, the man agreed. Cleopas rushed about getting things ready. At last, they sat down together. The man’s very presence evoked peace and confidence. As guest, they asked him to start the meal. The man agreed, picked up the loaf of bread, blessed it, broke it and handed him a piece.

Suddenly, Cleopas stared. He had seen this man break bread before. Could it be? No. It’s not possible. But it is. Yes! Yes! It was Jesus! He IS alive. He really is alive. Cleopas looked at his friend, grinning like a crazy person. He leapt up but Jesus was gone. Gone! Where did he go? Back to Jerusalem. Of course. They had to get back there. He grabbed his coat and dashed out the door with his friend.

I knew it Cleopas thought as he rushed along. I was so full of peace and joy when he was talking to us. It all makes sense now. I just knew it was him. Hurry up. I don’t want to miss him. I want to spend the rest of my life with him.

I find it intriguing that in both of these stories – the one about Einstein’s brilliant companion and the one about Jesus – the person wasn’t recognized for who they were until the breaking of the bread. Until we sat down with the person to enjoy fellowship with them, until we ate together, until we took the time to look into the person’s eyes, we did not understand.

Isn’t that the way it so often is? We long to see God, long to feel his presence, especially when we are having one of the worst weeks of our lives, especially when we are suffering or anxious or fearful, especially when things don’t make sense.

Sometimes it feels like – even though, like Cleopas and his friend, we have spent time with Jesus on a regular basis – suddenly God has deserted us. When someone we love has died, when someone we care about is suffering, when we have lost our job, when our health is at risk, when we have to do things we do not want to do, we wonder where God is. We are hurt and don’t understand. We look everywhere trying to find Jesus, but he is gone. Have you ever felt like that?

I take comfort in this story of Cleopas and his friend, bereft because of the death of someone they cared about. I take comfort because it gives me hope to know that Jesus will come to me in the midst of my sorrow, in the middle of my journey bringing his comfort and peace when I most need it.

Like Cleopas, I want Jesus to stay with me because in my life evening is often falling and night sometimes seems to be near. Like Cleopas, I want to hear Jesus explain what is going on, to feel his words burning in my heart, to know that everything is going to be alright.

I take joy in knowing that God has promised never to leave us or forsake us. I look for his comfort and presence in the breaking of the bread. For me, Jesus is the bread of life, broken for me, broken for you, broken for the world. And in that brokenness, he brings healing and wholeness.

I close tonight with a song of those words, Stay With Us, Lord Jesus, Stay With Us. Evening is coming and night is falling. It is often the prayer of my heart, even when things are not going wrong. I hope, if it is not the prayer of your heart that it will become as dear and precious to you as it is to me.