Sermon - Easter 3 - Luke 24:13-35

As the Easter season continues, the lectionary sets before us another fascinating post-resurrection appearance of our Lord Jesus Christ.  This time, he appears to two disciples who are walking the 7 miles, or 2 plus hour journey, from Jerusalem to Emmaus.  Only Luke tells us this particular story, and it likely came from his careful research and interviews, the firsthand accounts of those who were there.   

But similarly to what John emphasized in last Sunday’s reading – that it is blessed to see and believe, but even more blessed to not see and yet believe...  So now we have these two disciples who are kept from seeing Jesus.  Well, at least their physical eyes were mysteriously kept from seeing him for a time – while instead he revealed himself to them in the word, and later, in the breaking of the bread. 

They were distressed and confused, saddened, but also perplexed by the news the women had brought of an apparent resurrection!  They were disappointed that Jesus wasn’t the one to redeem Israel (that is, from Roman rule).  But they also acknowledge that he was a prophet mighty in word and deed.  They believed, but they needed some help with their unbelief.  Don’t we all? 

Don’t our sad faces and burning hearts also need Jesus?  Don’t we need to hear from Jesus and return again to the scriptures, and approach his table, where he reveals himself to us in the breaking of the bread? 

We are not so different.  We bring our own expectations of God and are often disappointed or dismayed.  We interpret him as saying one thing, when he really might be saying something else to us.  We hear what we want to hear, what we think we need to hear, and sometimes that’s not what he’s saying at all.  And it can lead us to all sorts of trouble, confusion, and even despair. 

Oh, foolish ones, slow of heart to believe all that the Lord has spoken.   

The antidote for all of this, is, of course, just what Jesus gives.  The solution is found exactly where he points them, and us:  the scriptures.  Beginning with Moses and the Prophets, that is to say, the Old Testament as we know it.  In all these writings, Christ is set forth as the Messiah – the one who had to suffer, and then be glorified (that is, rise from the dead to glory). 

We are blessed to also have the New Testament of God’s word, in which the same author points to the same Jesus Christ, now with even more clarity.  Christ is the center of all Scripture.  He is its focus and its heart. 

But it is not the Christ who comes to fix your daily problems, at least not like you think.  For it is written that the Christ must suffer and die and be glorified.  It is written that God has made him both Lord and Christ, this Jesus whom you crucified. 

It is written that we are redeemed, not with perishable things such as silver or gold, but with the precious blood of Christ, like that of a lamb without blemish or spot. 

We must constantly turn our eyes to the Scriptures, to God’s word, and most especially to the Gospel of Jesus Christ.  With laser-beam focus, let us fix our eyes on Jesus, and hear no other word about him apart from what he reveals to us there.  For man’s ideas, man’s words, and man’s experiences will all fail and fall short.  But the Word of the Lord endures forever.  It is trustworthy and true. 

And that word is not just information, as so many Christians seem to treat it.  Nor is it instructional, as if by following it to a tee we could live the good life.  The trouble is, we can’t.  But the cheif blessing of God’s word is that it gives us life, and abundant life in Christ.  By showing us the Christ who redeems us, who died and rose for us, who makes his presence among us and reveals himself to us – we are blessed, forgiven, and saved. 

Or to put it another way, the Word of God is a means of grace by which we receive Christ and all his blessings.  That’s what those disciples received on the road.  Not the visible Christ, but the Christ enshrined in the word.  The same way he is revealed to us. 

But the giver of all good gifts is not stingy.  He gives freely, abundantly, and even more than we need.  Along with his word of grace he also gives physical means of grace.  Visible elements combined with his word: sacraments, in which we receive his generous goodness yet even more.  Baptism.  The Lord’s Supper.  These simple things, along with his Word, are his means of grace.  And through them we are saved.  By them he reveals himself to us.  In them we receive forgiveness of sins, and every blessing. 

The risen Jesus revealed himself to the disciples on the road to Emmaus first in the word, and then in the breaking of bread.  The risen Jesus reveals himself to us, his disciples, in the word, and in the bread and wine of his Holy Supper. 

And so their hearts burned within them.  Holy heartburn, it’s been called.  The intense experience of despair giving way to faith as Jesus is revealed to his people.  As we see him him woven through the pages of Scripture.  As we hear his saving death and glorious resurrection preached.  As we receive the bread and wine that is his body and blood, and depart in peace knowing our sins are forgiven.  Our hearts burn within us. 

It’s not a fleeting feeling, but something deep and abiding.  It’s a yearning to hear more of the precious good news of Christ and all he is and does.  It’s, in a sense, what brings us here today:  that hungry faith, craving the bread of life that Christ gives, the thirsting soul, eager for the quenching water of life that flows from him.  That contrite heart that pines for the only peace of conscience that lasts – the free and full absolution that is ours in Christ revealed in word and sacrament. 

And look what such faith prompted.  They’ve seen Jesus, in the word, and in the bread, and then even with their eyes.  They drop everything.  Any fatigue from their day melts away, and their fervent joy drives them 7 more miles back to Jerusalem, back to the disciples, to tell the good news, “We have seen the Lord!” 

May our hearts burn with such faith and joy.  May our eyes ever be opened to see Christ in the word, and in the sacrament.  May our despair and despondency ever give way to fervent love for God and one another.  For we know, and we believe, that Christ is risen!  He is risen indeed, Alleluia.  Amen. 

Sermon - Easter 2 - John 20:19-31

This First Sunday after Easter, our Gospel reading takes us to the very first week of Easter. There we see the disciples locked up for fear of the Jews – even though some of them had seen the risen Jesus already. And then, even after they had a whole week to sort it out – there was still much unsettled for them. What will the future hold? What does all this mean? Are we safe? Where IS Jesus anyway? To put it simply, they were not at peace.  

But then Jesus does what Jesus does. He does a miracle. He speaks a word. And he changes things. 
 
Today we can still recall the Easter celebration as church was packed and bells and choirs and fanfare all joined to the celebration, and we greeted each other, “Christ is Risen! He is risen indeed, Alleluia!”. But now it's a week later. And life is already getting back to normal. Or is it? We may have some of the same questions as those disciples. We may even have some of their fear. 
 
Maybe we don't feel like Easter has changed all that much. We still sin. We still live like death is in charge. We still act like strangers and enemies of God, every time we break his will for our lives. And we do it every week. Every day. So why did Jesus go to all the trouble? Couldn't he have just skipped the dying and rising and all? 
 
But Jesus still does what Jesus does. He makes his presence known among us. He speaks to us. He changes us. 
 
Jesus appeared to them, miraculously. He didn't sneak in through the back door or window, as some have suggested. This isn't a group-delusion of those mixed-up and grieving disciples, as some modern scholars would claim. No, it was the same Jesus who conquered death – he also rules time and space and reality. He does what he wills. He goes where he wills, when he wills. 
 
And he speaks. His first words to those huddled and fearful men who should have known better were not, “you should all know better!” He doesn't scold them or cajole them. He doesn't lay a guilt trip on them for deserting him at Gethsemane. Nor does he give them a pep talk about how it'll all be ok. He gives them his peace. 
 
Now, he's not just saying peaceful words, here. This isn’t just a garden variety greeting.  These are words which do something. Jesus’ words do what they say. When he commands, when he forgives, when he promises – it happens. So these words of peace are not just a kind wish for them, but an extension of his peace. He puts his peace upon them. Just as he does for us. 
 
There's that part of our service, right after the Words of Institution, called the Pax Domini.  In it, the pastor says, “The Peace of the Lord be with you always”. And most of us well-trained Lutherans want to say right back, “and also with you”. AH! But listen and look carefully. This is not a holy howdy. This is not a greeting from the pastor, but this is the Peace of the Lord himself. This is the peace of Jesus given in his Body and Blood we are about to receive. This is why the proper response at that time is, “Amen”. Consider those words most especially, today, in light of our Gospel reading. 

But Jesus goes on. He brings even more than just peace. He brings proof of who he is – his pierced hands and side – which he would show even to a skeptical Thomas a week later. 

These wounds are not shameful reminders of his failure, but glorious signs of his greatest work – signs for our benefit and blessing.  With his stripes we are healed.  He was pierced for our transgressions.  So this gesture is not just a unique identifier, it is an affirmation of his death on the cross for the sins of the world.  It is a demonstration of the lengths he has gone in love for the disciples, and for you and me.  But he’s not finished bringing blessings just yet. 

He breathes on them. Now you probably wouldn't appreciate your pastor, or anyone, breathing on you. But this is the glorified Jesus, after all. We are instantly reminded of the first time God breathed – it was to bring life to the body of Adam he had formed from the clay. Then there was Ezekiel's vision in the Valley of Dry Bones – prophesying to the breath – the breath of God which brought life to the lifeless bones of Israel. Now Jesus breathes, and he too brings life. 

He who has come back from death, the Living One, he breathes his life upon his people. He breathes his spirit on them – and on us, his holy church. His resurrection, his life, is our only source of life. His breath is our breath. His Spirit is ours. Yes, the word for spirit is the same as the word for wind or breath. All this is ours in Christ.  

And along with that Spirit, that Life, that breath, comes forgiveness. He gives his apostles the greatest authority, and the apostolic ministry still exercises it. The power to forgive sins. Your sins. Mine. Far greater than the power to do miracles, or to heal, or even to create. The power to forgive sins is the power to give life and peace. And he gives it to his church, and to his pastors, for the benefit of his people. 
 
When we hear those words of blessing and benediction, “Peace be with you”, Christ is actually giving his peace. When we hear those words, “Your sins are forgiven” he is actually giving his forgiveness. And when he says, “This is my body and blood” it really is too – also for your forgiveness and life. 

We don't see him standing here this morning, but as he said to Thomas, even more blessed are those who haven't seen and yet believe. We don't see him in the bread and wine, but we do, by faith. We don't touch his resurrected body, but we receive it in our mouths, by faith. 

Even when we are fearful, the risen Jesus still give us his gifts. And so, we are blessed. And so we are at peace. And so we have life, in Jesus Christ our Lord. Amen.