AMBIVALENCE, 4/26/2020

A sermon from Rev. Clarence on  the Third Sunday of Easter, 26 April 2020 A

Ps. 116:1-3, 10 – 17; Acts 2:14a, 36 – 41; I Peter 1:17 – 23; Luke 24:13 – 35

“As they were saying this, Jesus himself stood among them. But they were startled and frightened…And he said to them, ‘Why are you troubled, and why do questionings rise in your hearts?’”
–Lk.24:36 -38

I put before us today a word, although probably not a frequent tool in your daily vocabulary, which surely has made its appearance at some time onto a spelling bee list.  That word is “ambivalence.”  “Vacillation” might be another such word.  And should our goal be to compile a longer list of related terms for our spelling bee, we could add a third word “oscillation.”  However, my immediate interest in fact is not to arrive at a spelling bee list for high-school whiz kids.  Rather, I am keen on becoming better acquainted with the immediate followers, disciples if you will, of Jesus.  My rationale is [that] should I understand them better, the knowledge gained may yet assist me as a follower, someone many-centuries removed from that First Easter.

Any and all of those words—ambivalence, vacillation, or oscillation—would be appropriate in order to describe the reactions of the followers of Jesus of Nazareth following his crucifixion and the shocking, unbelievable, anti-reality words of Mary Magdalene who reported what had been told her and [that] she saw supported by the evidence of an empty tomb and the folded linen cloths.  How else ought we to describe the feelings and reactions of those women and men of the First Easter and the days immediately following, who heard the words: “He is risen.”?   They wanted to believe but simple biology, the observable facts of nature, had taught them otherwise.  They vacillated between the high of “is it true?” and the low “there is trickery involved.”  They were ambivalent.

Already demoralized by the unanticipated turn of events and frightened by the possibility of further violent repercussions against them due to their association with Jesus of Nazareth, who had been tried in what we today might call a ‘kangaroo court’ and subsequently executed, it is no wonder that the two disciples who encountered Jesus as they made their way from Jerusalem to Emmaus should be anxious, suspicious even, of that man who appeared not to have an inkling of the event that had changed their own lives.  They, along with the eleven to whom they reported later on the same evening that they had encountered the risen Christ, were first surprised, but later elated.  Caution dictated their initial response.  Had they walked, unwittingly and unprepared, into a trap?  That they should exhibit those feelings surprises me not at all.  They followed their human instinct.

There is something, however, that does surprise me.  And as the gospel of the day, the third Sunday of Easter is proclaimed u(sually in procession but this year via streamed media) we pass over almost glibly a sentence [that] has captivated my thoughts.  I repeat it here:

So they drew near to the village to which they were going.  He (Jesus) appeared to be going further, but they constrained him, saying, “Stay with us, for it is toward evening and the day is now far spent.” ( Luke 24:28-29a)

Actually, given the events of recent days, the crucifixion, the fear and uncertainty of the future [that] forced other disciples to shelter-in-place behind locked doors, this offer of hospitality surprises me greatly.  I ask myself, as surely they could have asked themselves, are they not at risk of being exposed?  Is it not possible that this stranger might endanger their future life, their livelihood?  How can they be certain that he is not the forerunner for a larger, perhaps more threatening band [that] would invade Emmaus?  I would have been not only skeptical but also suspicious.  There was, though, something that moved them to behave otherwise.  What was it that triggered in their minds a sense of trust that goes against everything [that] 21^st century culture would have me/us do?

This welcome extended to a stranger causes me to think about the treatment [that] governments and other authorities have shown and continue to show to the stranger among us and elsewhere.  People have come seeking asylum, people attempting to escape persecution because of ethnic background, people seeking a sanctuary from war.  How have they been received, what hospitality have we shown them, those who have come knocking?  Those two disciples, not a member of the tighter eleven still in Jerusalem, pose for me personally (now centuries removed, who preaches, teaches, and tries to implement a philosophy of hospitality) the question: How often have I, on the Red Line when I board at Harvard Square, personally cast a sideward glance at someone who was not attired in the academic uniform of the buttoned down shirt, whose personal hygiene brought another class status to mind, who spoke too loudly and in grammatically flawed English, whose behavior caused me to go to the other end of the car, even to move to another car on the train?

The Resurrection has much to teach us.  For one, were those two second-tier disciples—my term, in order to distinguish them from the eleven still in Jerusalem—present when Jesus addressed the question regarding who our neighbor is?  A priest and a Levite crossed to the other side of the road, in order to avoid the stranger.  Yet, it was a stranger who offered hospitality to another stranger, the wounded victim of a robbery.  He put the man on his own beast of burden and thus forced himself to walk, took him to the nearest inn, paid his care, and promised the innkeeper to reimburse him upon his return for any expenses [that] could not be anticipated.

Were those two second-tier disciples present earlier when Jesus, through another illustration, taught that hospitality was not limited to taking someone into one’s home, off a potentially dangerous road before darkness fell upon the town?  Could they [have] heard the call—commonly called “The Last Judgment” in some Bibles—to administer to the hungry, the thirsty, to the sick and to those in prison?  A more direct and challenging commandment of hospitality cannot be found than that which Matthew has recorded in his biography of Jesus:

“Lord, when did we see thee hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not minister to thee?”  Then he will answer them, “Truly, I say to you, as you did it not to one of the least of these, you did it not to me.”  (Matt. 25:44f.)

It is clear for all who would seek favor with the God of Creation, hospitality not limited to providing lodging for Jesus only—when did we see you…?—but that hospitality can take many forms.

Now, many decades ago—in fact in the summer of 1967 after my ordination to the diaconate—I applied for and was granted the privilege of working for the Archdiocese of Vienna, Austria.  I was one among other young people from countries such as New Zealand, Germany, Czechoslovakia, France, Canada, the United States, and England.  Our task was to get to know our host city through service to residents of Vienna, with the hope that we would, upon our return to our own homeland, become ambassadors for the gospel of being a good neighbor.  One of my tasks was to work with a single mother of three who lived on the third floor of a four-story walk-up in a less than desirable neighborhood, in a building in which [shared] toilet facilities were located on the landing between floors.

The Archdiocese expected to receive from me recommendations based on my findings and experience [on] how the lives of that family could be improved.  And social improvement of that neglected family was desperately needed.  [However, it was my recommendation that this struggling mother most needed regular human contact, demonstrating to her and her three children that they were not alone, that there were others who cared for and about them.  This lonely family existed removed from what tourists see when visiting beautiful Vienna, the Paris of the East, with its stately opera house, St. Stephan’s Cathedral, the opulence of residences on the famous Ringstrasse or the nearby Belvedere Castle.  They needed to be shown hospitality.]

If I were to be an ambassador for Christian mission, there was one other place [that] I desired to see, a place not on anyone’s agenda.  I wished to visit a prison.  Initially denied, I persisted.  To succeed took direct intervention of Diocesan Headquarters, and I succeeded because I laid before the diocesan official assigned to our group a citation from Holy Scripture.  I was successful.  I felt then, and believe now, that even acknowledging the need for and application of justice for crimes committed, how a country treated those incarcerated spoke and speaks to civility, humanity and, in my case, the mandate of the gospel of the Risen One of Nazareth.  Where was the hospitality?

I venture a hypothesis that the two disciples who encountered the Risen Christ on the Day of the Resurrection, according to biblical record, had not expected a reward for their hospitality.  However, in the jargon of contemporary 21^st century American, they were rewarded, and rewarded big time.  They won the jackpot:

So Jesus went in to stay with them.  When he was at table with them, he took the bread and blessed, and broke it, and gave it to them.  And their eyes were opened and they recognized him… Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he was known to them in the breaking of the bread.  (Luke 24: 29a – 35)

When we make our spiritual communion (because an actual presence at Eucharist currently would be ill-advised) the Risen Christ is present as on the road to Emmaus.  The two disciples extended the tradition of offering hospitality to strangers, and they were rewarded beyond measure.  The two disciples could not remain silent.  They shared enthusiastically their excitement.  They told the eleven what had occurred to them.  Hospitality must continue to mark who we are as individual Christians, as well as a Christian community, even when and as we worship via ZOOM and live-streaming.  Indeed, we recognize the Risen Christ in the breaking of the bread.  But our obligation does not end there.

We participate in their enthusiasm when we can with a telephone call, thus observing social distancing, reestablishing a too long estranged relationship.  We participate in their enthusiasm when we can ring in to friends too long not seen.  Our spiritual communion gains greater significance when, using that modern gadget called the telephone, we speak with members of our own congregation.  The hospitality of the Emmaus road is unlimited.  The reward is great if biblical record is to be believed.  Hospitality is as good for our earthly well-being as it is for the soul.  The God of Creation, in whose image all humankind is made, has granted us through the Emmaus encounter permission and given us the obligation to be creative.  We are commanded to live in the Resurrection of 2020.

AMEN

Clarence E. Butler +
Priest-in-Residence

Images:
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Christ_and_the_Disciples_on_the_Way_to_Emmaus_MET_DP818260.jpg

https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Mansson-St._Stephen%E2%80%98s_Cathedral_in_Vienna.jpg