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The Eve of Saint Philip and Saint James
The Third Sunday Of Easter
O God, whose blessed Son did manifest himself to his disciples in the breaking of bread: Open, we pray thee, the eyes of our faith, that we may behold him in all his redeeming work; through the same thy Son Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.
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The Third Sunday Of Easter
The Eve of Saint Philip and Saint James
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Scripture citation(s): Luke 24:13-35
A Sermon by
on
Luke 24:13-35
✛
The Road to Emmaus
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Among the papers found in Hans Christian Andersons study after his death, was an unpublished children’s story about a teapot. It narrates as follows:
There was a proud Teapot, proud of being made of porcelain, proud of its long spout and its broad handle. It had something in front of it and behind it; the spout was in front, and the handle behind, and that was what it talked about. But it didn’t mention its lid, for it was cracked and it was riveted and full of defects, and we don’t talk about our defects – other people do that. The cups, the cream pitcher, the sugar bowl – in fact, the whole tea service – thought much more about the defects in the lid and talked more about it than about the sound handle and the distinguished spout. The Teapot knew this. “I know them,” it told itself. “And I also know my imperfections, and I realize that in that very knowledge is my humility and my modesty. We all have many defects, but then we also have virtues. The cups have a handle, the sugar bowl has a lid, but of course I have both, and one thing more, one thing they can never have; I have a spout, and that makes me the queen of the tea table. The sugar bowl and the cream pitcher are permitted to be serving maids of delicacies, but I am the one who gives forth, the adviser. I spread blessings abroad among thirsty mankind. Inside of me the Chinese leaves give flavour to boiling, tasteless water.” This was the way the Teapot talked in its fresh young life. It stood on the table that was prepared for tea and it was lifted up by the most delicate hand. But that most delicate hand was very awkward. The Teapot was dropped; the spout broke off, and the handle broke off; the lid is not worth talking about; enough has been said about that. The Teapot lay in a faint on the floor, while the boiling water ran out of it. It was a great shock it got, but the worst thing of all was that the others laughed at it – and not at the awkward hand. “I’ll never be able to forget that!” said the Teapot, when later on it talked to itself about its past life. “They called me an invalid, and stood me in a corner, and the next day gave me to a woman who was begging for food. I fell into poverty, and was speechless both outside and inside, but as I stood there my better life began. One is one thing and then becomes quite another. They put earth in me, and for a Teapot that’s the same as being buried, but in that earth they planted a flower bulb. Who put it there and gave it to me, I don’t know; but it was planted there, a substitution for the Chinese leaves and the boiling water, the broken handle and spout. And the bulb lay in the earth, inside of me, and it became my heart, my living heart, a thing I never had before. There was life in me; there were power and might; my pulse beat. The bulb put out sprouts; thoughts and feeling sprang up and burst forth into flower. I saw it, I bore it, and I forgot myself in its beauty. It is a blessing to forget oneself in others! “It didn’t thank me, it didn’t even think of me – everybody admired it and praised it. It made me very happy; how much more happy it must have made it! ……….and I have my memory; that I can never lose!”
Perhaps the reason this story was never published before the authors death, was because it might seem too heavy, or even depressing for a child; it doesn’t seem to have a clearly happy ending. And yet it is a profoundly transforming story of the triumph of love over death and despair, and the arising of a seed that has been deeply buried in good soil.
This is the real and invaluable principle of the story of the disciple’s messianic hope in Jesus, and its dashing to pieces, as they lamented on the road to Emmaus in today’s gospel. They believed that a proud , victorious messianic movement through Jesus, would usher in a new and long promised age of great spiritual power and light, the ancient Davidic hope of Israel would be fulfilled and they would be liberated. Not unlike the early experience of that fine porcelain teapot, all glorious and well served. Instead fate seemed to have cruelly taken their messiah, the anointed one, and broken and dashed his and their hopes to pieces.
Then, unexpectedly, a companion joins the depressed and downcast Emmaus walkers, a kind of story teller, who asks them to unburden themselves of their story with a perceptive question. He draws out of them their pain and disillusionment. Then he offers them a new perspective on their story, on their pain and reveals something of the light that shines in the dark places, when all other lights go out. Crucially they invite him to share a meal with him, even though he seemed to be going on , and then because of this invitation and table hospitality there is revealed a transformative experience , the story of hope the storyteller has highlighted, has become the story teller himself, and then he disappears. He is the light that they thought had gone out, but is both now crucified and risen.
They are now no longer regretting the loss of a military or magical or forceful solution, but seeking an internal revolution of the soul which moves outward into the world from within, an invisible kingdom of righteousness and justice. Something like a seed has been planted deep within them, as in our Anderson story, that will bring forth a beauty and a life-giving truth that will change the view of all who see it, a child of the water and the light.
The Emmaus pair then rush home to share this death defying love and re- creation that is now within them, and their story has become a tale of risen life and Easter hope, beyond the power and fear of the grave and the forces of oppression that had seemed to overwhelm them. The messiah lives in an utterly new way and will reign from within and between their hearts.
This Emmaus Easter way, is the way for us, a unique way of pilgrimage in the world. We walk along life’s journey and unburden ourselves with each other. We sometimes recognise that a divine and deeply interested companion has joined us on the way and we get into a dialogue, which sheds a little light perhaps, Then we are invited , as we are this in morning’s Eucharist, to listen to the story of the people of God in the scriptures, to look into the truth about ourselves, to be hospitable to one another, to break bread, and in that bread breaking and cup bearing, is revealed in communion the presence of the light of the world.
This communion gives us just enough light for the next step on the way, a way forward in the shadows, the way of the disciples of Christ, the way of Christ crucified and risen. A way forward together side by side. This is a way that leads to abundant life, even if as for the teapot and for the Emmaus disciples, it doesn’t always go the way we had dreamed of, and our hope seems to lie in pieces.
This deeply interested companion, the ultimate story teller, who is the story in himself, will be a light for us in dark places, when all other lights go out; there is a light which the darkness can never overcome. When we pray and share in this faith, hope and love, we make room for a grace and a peace that the world cannot give.
