Oak Chapel United Methodist Church

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The ancient Greek physicist and mathematician, Archimedes, is remembered for having said that, if he had somewhere to stand, he could, with a lever, lift the world. We have such a lever, one that will lift the world, and we have a place to stand. Our lever is the Gospel of Jesus Christ, and our standing place (our fulcrum) is the historical record of Jesus’ life, his death, his resurrection and his ascension. The Gospel has lifted the world to new heights of love and civility on many occasions. It has lifted hundreds of millions out of hopeless, despairing lives. But today the Gospel lever, with its power to change life, lies neglected. Weaned on doubt and raised to believe that knowledge and cynicism are the same thing, our expectations are too meager. Who would dare to hope in this awful world? Who would stick out his neck in faith? Better to be smug in pessimism than to be disappointed in hope. But what an terrible life that engenders!

I called this sermon, “Crashing Our Expectations.” “Crashing” not as in crashing an automobile, but as in “crashing” a party. To crash. To intrude upon. As the risen Christ intruded upon the sad conversation of these two Jesus fans as they walked home to Emmaus, broken hearted, on Easter night. They were so discouraged! “But we had hoped,” they said, “we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.” Their “king to be” had not become a king, but had, instead, suffered under Pontius Pilate, had been crucified, was dead and lay buried. About as bad as it can get! (They had heard rumors that some women had found the tomb empty that morning – just as we hear those rumors every Easter Sunday -- but they weren’t going to get caught hoping again.) It was time to tough up and see the world as it really was. Everything behind them was a bombed out zone. Everything before them was a moonscape. They expected nothing good.

And then he walked up behind them and crashed their pity party. Of course, they didn’t recognize him. But (remembering back) they did feel their hearts burn as he reviewed the scriptures with them. (There own scriptures, in which they had never seen what this stranger on the road said was so obvious in them – that God’s Messiah, when he came, would have to suffer, and die, and rise again.) John Wesley paraphrases Jesus’ words, “The very sufferings, which occasion your doubts, are the proofs of his being the Messiah.”
When they get to Emmaus the two press this stranger to stay with them. A very famous hymn was written around their words of invitation, when they say, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” (If I give you the King James version, you’ll know what hymn: “But they constrained him saying, Abide with us: for it is going toward evening, and the day declines.”) Henry Lyte, an Anglican priest, at the end of his career, having been told by his doctors that he had only months to live, went into his garden and in less than an hour composed the words:

Abide with me; fast falls the eventide,
The darkness deepens, Lord with me abide.

Somehow Jesus breaks into our sad, twenty-first century conversation and brings hope. And he does it not with a silly optimism. (Any religion that says life is a bowl of cherries is bound to fail before it begins. Isn’t that so? Any would-be Christian who comes to the faith expecting comfort and safety will be sorely disappointed.) No. Jesus became known to these two men, in Emmaus, as they themselves said, “in the breaking of bread.” Now, to Luke, and to the early Christians who first read his Gospel, that would have suggested Eucharist, Holy Communion, to be sure. But the deeper meaning would have been that Jesus became known to these men in his self-sacrifice, in the story of Holy Week -- in his taking his life into his own hands and giving it away -- which is what the Eucharist is all about. “Eucharist” means “thanksgiving” because that’s all we can do when we stand at the foot of the cross or see the empty tomb.

“The breaking of bread” – “This is my body which is broken for you.” – self-sacrifice -- that is our secret code. That’s what distinguishes Christians from, and makes us seem crazy to, the rest of the world. And that’s why our faith must always be suppressed by the rulers of this world…whose powers are based on getting, not giving. When we hang a cross around our neck, or put one on a pin or ring, and wear it about, we are telling the world that we are members of a different club, a club that sees as the key to happiness not getting but giving, and as the basic principle of all life sacrificial love – first God’s for us and then ours for others.
So much was so moving about Pope John Paul II. A good Christian friend told me that he was moved by so many things, but he found himself holding back tears when he saw John Paul’s apartment: one bed, a hard wooden chair, and a chest of drawers. What a crazy way for a world leader to live! But that’s our password. In his Last Will and Testament John Paul left no worldly possessions – he simply had none to leave. (John Wesley, too, by the way, left nothing. He, also, had given it all away.) Giving, not getting. That’s the signet ring that identifies us a members of the secret Jesus club.

Many commentators have spoken, in recent days, about the twinkle that always seemed to be present in the Pope’s eyes. Everybody saw it. And I think what they were seeing were his hopeful expectations. But, surely a man who had lost mother, father and only brother (his whole family) while still young – surely such a person would have dismal expectations about the future. Surely such a person would feel hopeless – all the psychology books say so. But, no. Something, or Some One, had apparently crashed his expectations. He suffered under the Nazis, but all the time he confidently expected them to fall. And they did. He struggled against the communists, but always knew that their evil empire would collapse someday – maybe not in his lifetime, that wasn’t important, but it would definitely happen. Because God would not tolerate such arrogance forever. Strong, hopeful expectations, based on God’s promises, will make your eyes twinkle. Reporters could never tangle him up in discussions of what they felt were the relevant issues facing today’s church: homosexual marriage, ordination of women, shortage of priest and nuns, birth control, abortion. He took stands on all these things, often hugely unpopular stands, but we never saw him wring his hands over them. Because, he confidently expected that God would heal these and all such divisions and preserve his church.

Peter Marshall used to talk about seeing life through “the spectacles of faith.” New Testament scholars often say that the Gospels were written by men who saw Jesus’ life “through Easter glasses.” Once you have met the risen Christ, you cannot see the world in any way except hopefully. Of course there is sadness, and loss, and inequality, and disappointment, but the “big picture” is good. God reigns, let the earth be glad. Let your eyes twinkle!