Emmaus and Darkness

I wonder how many parking lot conversations would suddenly change if we found ourselves asked this question by Jesus: what are you discussing with each other?  It is a very humbling question. 

Yesterday we mentioned that famous story of Emmaus. I wonder how the chatter of our own mind would change if we stopped and asked ourselves this question from Jesus--what are we discussing with one another? 

Certainly the disciples felt as if their hopes had been shattered. They are walking and walking; perhaps it is natural for humans to want to move when they have experienced something overwhelming, something disappointing, some devastation. Do we have a bodily yearning to be somewhere else, to seek something else, to physically enact movement from grief, depression, sorrow to wholeness and light?

Even as we move through the darkness, it seems we have a hard time recognizing the divine when we are distraught or mired in our own emotions. Somehow our senses are dulled (or maybe too sharp) and we are lulled into a shunted existence.  It is then literally a journey through darkness to light and sadly it can be a long one. While we may think ourselves alone, while we may feel alone, we never are. That is the promise of scripture, the power of the walk to Emmaus.

As Simon and Garfunkel made famous in their song:  hello darkness, my old friend...I think many of us have come to know the darkness too well, to wear it as a cloak, a barrier of protection. How have I made myself blind to those around me? How have I tuned out those walking with me? Why is my innermost being turned in on itself?

If we open ourselves, epiphanies are possible, maybe even plentiful. Growth, transformation, and reaching a destination can be laborious and painful. Yet we affirm that such a journey is very worthwhile.  

God loves us with a tough love that propels us forward toward the light. As we move to Easter it is my prayer that the light will be visible in the distance, that we will find ourselves strangely warmed by the presence of the wholly/holy Other. 

We will stop, I hope, to consider the many nuances of this encounter this coming Sunday in the story of Jesus' encounter with the Samaritan woman at the well. Will we let our imaginations go back there, to be shocked, exposed, and ultimately uplifted by Jesus' insight in to all that she had done...all that we have done?

A prayer from Walter Brueggemann:

We call out your name in as many ways as we can.

We fix your role towards us in the ways we need.

We approach you from the particular angle of our life.

We do all that, not because you need to be identified,

but because of our deep need,

our deep wound,

our deep hope.

And then, we are astonished that while our names for you

serve for a moment,

you break beyond them in your freedom,

you show yourself yet fresh beyond our utterance,

you retreat into your splendor beyond our grasp.

We are--by your freedom and your hiddenness--

made sure yet again that you are God...

beyond us, for us, but beyond us,

not at our beck and call,

but always in your own way.

We stammer about your identity,

only to learn that it is our own unsettling

before you that wants naming.

Beyond all our explaining and capturing and fixing you...

we give you praise,

we thank you for your fleshed presence in suffering love,

and for our names that you give us.

Amen.