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Margaret E. Snyder
April 10, 2005

Strangely Familiar
Luke 24:30-31

In the midst of preparing for this sermon I encountered a person in whose presence I did not feel safe. This person was a complete stranger. It was a conversation at the back door of the church late in the afternoon on Easter Sunday. It was just a look that frightened me, nothing more.

But that night I had trouble sleeping. It wasn't just the experience with the stranger that kept me awake. It was the strange encounter with today's text in combination with my experience with the stranger. What made me toss, turn, and curl in and out of my fetal position, was that my experience with the stranger did not fit with the gospel of Jesus Christ I had hoped to hand over to you today.

The Emmaus Road story in Luke describes an encounter with a stranger. The story begins with two followers of Jesus who are traveling to the village of Emmaus. It is late afternoon, Easter evening. That same morning in Jerusalem disturbing events had occurred on the outskirts of the city — events that had cut these two travelers to the heart. Perhaps needing to get out of town in a hurry, they flee from the city leaving Jerusalem behind.

Although the scripture doesn't say so, maybe the two are a mom and dad, a grandfather and a grandmother, or two friends. Regardless, these two followers of Jesus are heading home to Emmaus. But the events surrounding the death of their friend and leader, follow after them like their own shadows in the setting sun. Trying to make sense of everything that had happened, they talk it out as they journey the seven miles from Jerusalem to Emmaus.

Sometimes walking is a small good thing, especially in the company of another, particularly if our companion is someone dear to us. Often, we can talk about things as we walk, things that are too personal to discuss face to face, like teenagers and parents talk better in the car than they do at the dining room table.

While the two are talking and discussing, Jesus himself comes near and joins them on their walk. Jesus, the very one whom they are discussing, the one whose death had occurred just a few days ago, is now walking along beside them. But the two have no idea who he is. Their eyes are kept from recognizing him. Odd isn't it?

What if at this moment your deceased husband, father, daughter, or friend were seated in the chair next to you? Would you recognize them? I would hope so. In an attempt to help us figure out what is going on here I am going to pause the biblical story for a moment.

The gospel of Luke was originally written in Greek and I want to prove to you that studying biblical Greek can really be fun. In this scene, Luke says the eyes of the two travelers are kept from recognizing Jesus. In a prior scene Jesus says to the city of Jerusalem, "If only you had recognized the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes."

The word Luke uses for "hidden" in this sad cry over Jerusalem, is a word that comes from the Greek word krupto, meaning hidden or concealed. Does this Greek word krupto sound at all familiar to you? Nod you heads "Yes." Of course it does. It's the root of the word kryptonite, — the rare green radioactive element native to the planet of Krypton! Exposure to kryptonite causes a loss of strength, and overexposure to this mineral can bring death to any native of the planet Krypton, like… Superman.

I don't suppose any of us have been exposed to kryptonite (Have we?), but I would venture to say that all of us have had some exposure to Superman.

Anybody here remember the debut of Superman in the 1938 DC Comic Books and the weakening effect of kryptonite on Superman?
How about some of you Boomers, like me?
Do you remember the black and white TV episode where Superman's x-ray vision can't see through a bank safe because its lining of kryptonite blocks Superman's vision?
What about Lex Luthor's kryptonite ring in the 1978 Superman: The Movie? Lex Luther can hold Superman at bay merely by raising his ring finger.
Has anybody seen the most recent TV series called Smallville? This week's episode will features a kryptonite explosion at Luthercorp.

Yes, kryptonite is a rare element of the 30th Century. But let's return to the first century and rejoin our group of travelers back on the road to Emmaus. As we remember, Jesus is now walking alongside the two and they do not recognize him. How and why we can only guess. But their own powers of recognition have some how been weakened or hidden. It is as if the travelers had been exposed to kryptonite.

Here Jesus says to them, "What are you talking about?" For the first time today the two are stopped dead in their tracks. In their culture it is dangerous to talk to strangers. Believe it or not, maybe even more dangerous than ours. But because it was so dangerous they expected one another to be hospitable, to talk to strangers, sometimes even to provide food, water, and shelter.

Cautious about the stranger, yet surprised by the stranger's question, one of the two named Cleopas, asks him, "Are you the only stranger to Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?" Caught between caution about the stranger and the social custom of hospitality, Cleopas shows cautious hospitality.

Those of us who work here at First Presbyterian know the tension that Cleopas and the other follower felt when the stranger joined them on their walk. In our church we want to be hospitable to everyone who comes in our building, yet we are cautious about some who find their way to us. In fact, those of us who work here feel a tension nearly everyday between caution and hospitality. You may feel it as well.

It comes when we encounter people in our building who are strange to us. We refer to them by different names:

street people
walk-ins
the homeless.

These persons who "walk into" this building on a daily basis may be in need of groceries, a bus pass, a cup of coffee, or a pair of steel-toed boots to wear to work at a local construction site. I am pretty sure some of these walk-ins walk more than seven miles on any given day.

Like most of us, many of them want an honest day's wage for an honest day's work, if only someone would hire them.
Like most of us, many of them love their kids and want to put a decent meal on the table at the end of the day, if only they had a table.
Like most of us, many of them want to have a weekend away from the every day hassles, if only they had a car to go somewhere.
Like most of us, many of them return to say thank you.
Like most of us, many do not complain.
But like some of us, some of them do complain, some of the time, and a few quite a lot.
Some of them, having lived on the streets, season after season, are tired and they are tired of being nice.
Like hungry toddlers, they stomp their feet when told the food bank is closed for the day.
Like teenagers, they snarl when we are out of bus passes and they can't get to work or the store.
Like young adults out on their own for the first time, they yell when they can't get the money they need to pay the rent.
Like those facing the changes that come with middle age, they cry out saying "I know I made mistakes, but I'm trying to fix them while there is still time."
Like older adults, they throw up their hands and say, "Nobody cares anymore about anything. What's the use?"
A rare few who are so angry, they even damage church property because they don't know what else to do.

When in this church building, more often than not, my dilemma is the tension I feel in how I am to welcome the stranger. This is what I felt on Easter Sunday afternoon: how to welcome the stranger and keep myself safe.

Sadly seminary study has often kept me from reading the local paper and at times I am a bit naïve about some strangers, and wonder to myself, "Am I the only stranger in Cedar Rapids, who does not know the things that have taken place here in these days?" Cleopas asks this same question of the one whom he thought to be a stranger, "Are you the only stranger to Jerusalem that doesn't know the things that have been going on around here?

Jesus, still unrecognized, responds, "What things?" Cleopas and the other disciple respond, "The things about Jesus of Nazareth. We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel." Their answer reveals that they had hoped that Jesus would solve all their problems, and resolve all their tension in some dramatic way. But in this passage Jesus solves nothing. He listens. Then he interprets their story in light of his story.

One of the reasons I felt called to go to seminary was that I had hoped to resolve all these tensions we feel at First Presbyterian. Among other things I wanted to know how to minister to the stranger and be safe. Sometimes I have even hoped that Superman would come, unhindered by kryptonite and resolve these tensions for us, redeem us, so to speak, out of our tension.

Arriving at their destination in Emmaus, the two travelers invite Jesus in. "Stay with us," they say. It is almost evening and the day is now nearly over." At table with them Jesus takes bread, he blesses and breaks it. As the bread is opened and the crumbs are tossed like confetti, their eyes are opened, and they recognize him.

The kryptonite loses its power. They see him for who he really is. God in human flesh, a stranger in our midst. Then he vanishes from their sight. They say to one 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?"

I don't think Superman is going to resolve this tension for us. Seminary has only partially resolved it for me. What I have learned before and during seminary is this. In the year 2000 many of you will remember that we had Dr. Tom Long here to lead us in a weekend study of worship. This unique weekend gave our congregation a vision. A vision of a Sanctuary we are about to enter. It also gave us a vision of the kind of church we wanted to be. We chose the theme A Magnet for Ministry.

One thing I remember Tom Long saying clearly was, "When a church learns to accept children, it is like a dress rehearsal for accepting people who are more challenging." I liked what he said at the time because my heart has always burned for the full inclusion of the gifts of children in worship. I have always felt that we should welcome and embrace children, for to them "belongs the kingdom of God."

In the years since Tom Long made that statement, I have come to appreciate more and more how much our church welcomes and embraces children and youth. I have also come to appreciate how much we try to welcome and embrace the stranger, even though at times we feel unsafe. Or at times when we ourselves feel like a stranger to this congregation, yet we are willing to stick it out, even if we feel unwelcome and some do not choose to hug us.

On communion Sunday in 2003, the text for the sermon was Mark 19:2-12, Jesus' teaching on divorce. As the Hymn of Meditation began, and the communion servers processed with silver down the aisle toward the table, I had to get out. I felt unwelcome by the scripture. I felt unwelcome by Christ, who was the host of the meal about to be served. Considering my own recent divorce, I was overcome by a sense of guilt, failure, and sadness.

Slowly putting myself back together in the hallway beneath the Sanctuary, I made my way to my office on the floor above us. Just as I put the key in the lock, five year old Taylor Courtright called out from the door of the childcare room. "Mawgret, we didn't get our Sunday hug this morning."

Flinging wide the portals to the childcare room, Taylor took me in her arms and blessed me. Taylor's hug, her own interpretation of scripture, made my heart burn. At that moment I knew I was welcome at the table and I returned to the Sanctuary to recognize Christ in the Lord's Supper.

The two in our Bible story remembered that as Jesus interpreted to them on the road all the things about himself in all the scriptures, the hearts of them burned. As so often happens in our lives, Jesus is recognized only after we welcome the stranger.

When the stranger is welcomed the stage is set for God in Christ to reveal himself. He interpreted the scriptures for them and their hearts burned. He took, broke, blessed, and gave them bread, then their eyes opened.

Scripture and bread, Word and sacrament. When we welcome children, when we welcome strangers, when we welcome ourselves, no matter how strange or estranged we might feel, when all are welcome to the Lord's table, we set the stage for Jesus to reveal himself to us.

Jesus said, "And I, when I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself." Are we are Magnet for Ministry church? Are we?

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First Presbyterian Church of Cedar Rapids
310 Fifth Street SE Cedar Rapids, IA 52401
Phone: 319-364-6148
E-mail: church@fpccr.org