Do you remember the day after the Steelers lost their AFC title game to the Patriots? It was on January 23, 2005. On Monday morning the Post-Gazette headlines read, “The Dream Dies.” It was on the front page of the paper, large font, black type. The sub-headline under the main one said this: “A cold reality settlesover the Steeler Nation.”[i] 

Do you remember the feelings you had that day? Those same feelings pretty well describe the two men in our New Testament reading this morning. Not yet aware of Easter, they moped along the road to Emmaus. The text reflects the pathos in their spirits. The words they spoke to the presumed stranger who joined them, “We had hoped this Jesus was the one to redeem Israel.” 

That has to be one of the most sad, dismal, pitiable statements in the Bible. The world had suddenly gone dramatically dark and black. Good old Charlie Brown was exasperated by the lack of cooperation he was receiving from Lucy. He says to her, “Where do I go to give up?” How many times has the same question crossed your lips? Where do I go to give up? The two disciples went to Emmaus. 

“We had hoped that he was the one,” they said. Hope had died. 

Hope had not died, of course. It was just unknown. There was more to the story. We now know what these two men could not have then known. 

There’s a story about a conversation in an office about the movie called “The Passion of the Christ.” A twenty-something woman was saying to the rest of her colleagues, “I will not see that movie. It has a sad, sad ending.” A co-worker said to her jokingly, “It’s okay. He comes back in the end. I read the book.” To which the young woman replies, “There’s a book?” 

Neither we nor the two disciples remain on that sad, lonely road of long ago. We know how the story ends. We are an Easter people. God has turned darkness into light. God has turned sad, dismal despair into hope. From that day comes what we might call “the wild energy of hope.” 

I believe that hope now characterizes the entire Christian life and journey. I read this week that a planning team has selected a new theme for the United Methodist General Conference in Fort Worth, Texas in 2008. The theme will be A Future with Hope. Because of Easter, we have a future with hope. We have the wild energy of hope. 

What about you? Do you live in the wild energy of hope? As a Christian? As a believer? Look at this Emmaus story for clues as to why you can, and why you should. 

JESUS IS TRULY ALIVE 

For one thing, we can live in hope because Jesus is truly alive. He’s not alive in the same way that you and I are, but he’s alive nonetheless. Johnny Carson is supposed to have said that he wanted these words inscribed on his tombstone: “I’ll be right back.” That’s not what we’re talking about here—not really. 

Bishop William Willimon reminds us of the story of Tabitha in the Book of Acts. Tabitha is a disciple. She cares for the widows—the most vulnerable in that society. Then Tabitha abruptly dies. The community goes into despair. Hope dies. 

But death does not have the last word. The disciple Peter speaks the bold words of resurrection: “Tabitha, get up.” Willimon says, “Tabitha leaps into life like a gazelle at the word of resurrection.”[ii] It’s a powerful story, but it’s not the same as Jesus’ resurrection. 

M. Craig Barnes of Shadyside Presbyterian Church says this:

To say that Jesus is risen from the dead is not to say he has returned to his earthly life. That was gone. It was dead. To say that Jesus is risen from the dead is to say that God reached into that tomb and into history, lifting Jesus up to new life. And it is to say that God will do the same thing for us.[iii] 

I think it’s safe to say that no one expected this event. It was not anticipated at all. N. T. Wright says, “The disciples had absolutely no anticipation of Jesus’ resurrection. Absolutely none. Nobody had even dreamed of this.”[iv] 

Nobody expected the resurrection of Jesus. It was simply God’s gift. Which leads to another reason for the wild extravagance of hope. 

DEATH IS NOT OUR ENEMY 

Death is not our enemy. That’s part of the meaning of Easter. Death is not to be feared. Paul first considered death as the great absurdity of life. But after his conversion he wrote, “Death is swallowed up in victory.” (See I Cor. 15) 

I thought of this during the whole tragic Terri Schiavo episode a few weeks ago. During all the battles between parents and husband, during all the decisions and more decisions and even more decisions yet by the courts, during all the maneuvering by politicians at every level, during all the posturing about something called “the culture of life,” I kept thinking: death is not her enemy, or ours. 

Terri Schiavo’s case prompted a woman to write to her sister and her father with these words: “I’m telling you both this now. If I am ever in that state, please let me die. Do not have a feeding tube put in me. And in no uncertain terms, do not let the United States government get involved.”[v] 

We value life—but we do not fear death. We should not be eager to die, but neither should we fear it. 

Among the moving comments I heard about Pope John Paul II was one news commentator’s observation which struck me as powerful. He said, “Here was a man who had an extraordinary serenity in death.” 

I am reminded of the line from Bill Gaither’s hymn:

  Because he lives, I can face tomorrow.

  Because he lives, all fear is gone. 

There’s another kind of resurrection story out of Phoenix City, Alabama some years ago. Albert Patterson decided to run for Attorney General. The city at that time was filled with gangsters and gamblers. The town was wide open for all forms of vice and corruption. Albert Patterson ran on the promise that he would clean up Phoenix City. His campaign was the target of intimidation and fraud, but he did get elected. Two weeks after his election he was found murdered. 

The citizenry of that town were outraged. They rose up and took on the criminal element. A new grand jury brought 29 indictments over a few short weeks. Other leaders of the vice and corruption left town. All because Patterson saw God’s “yes” in his decision to do battle. Someone wrote, “Following his death, there was a resurrection of concern in the good people all over the state.”[vi] 

Maybe that’s why Jesus could say with such ease, “No greater love has anyone than this—to lay down your life for another.” Think about what that really means. That’s a bold affirmation. It is rooted in the realization that death is not our enemy. Death is never the enemy when God reigns and God’s will is sought. That’s part of the wild energy of the Easter hope. 

SEEING LIFE THROUGH NEW EYES 

Another reason for hope? We now see life through new eyes. The Emmaus story says, “And their eyes were opened…” Not just to recognize Jesus, but also to see a whole new meaning in life. 

About five years ago I began to have some difficulty with road signs when I was driving. They seemed to blur until I got close enough to read them. I found out that I had cataracts on my eyes. I had cataract surgery. When it was over I saw that the trees had leaves again! I saw the world through new eyes. 

Easter removes the cataracts from all of our eyes—not surgically, but steadily and spiritually. We see with new eyes. And we see what his Kingdom is all about: love and compassion and justice. 

We see life differently in our struggles and disappointments. I read in a devotional piece just this past week these words, “No power on earth or in hell can conquer the Spirit of God living within the human spirit; it creates an inner invincibility.”[vii] 

There’s a small poem attributed to Emily Dickinson that goes something like this:

“Hope” is the thing with feathers

That perches in the soul

And sings the tune without the words

And never stops at all.[viii] 

EXPERIENCING CHRIST HERE AND NOW 

A final reason for hope is that we can experience Christ here and now. That’s what happened to the two disciples on the road to Emmaus. They experienced a walk with Jesus. They became convinced that that kind of walk could be normative. They said to one another, “Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked to us on the road?”

It’s important to realize the significance of this story. The experience was not on a mountaintop somewhere in isolation. The experience with the living Christ was not even at an empty tomb. The experience was not mystical or some kind of a vision. The experience with Jesus came in a walk along the road and at a dinner table together—two very common occasions. 

That’s the way he comes to us. Don’t look for Jesus only in church. Don’t look for Jesus only in the high holy moments. Don’t look for Jesus only in some great gathering of believers. 

Look for Jesus in the smile of a friend, in the playfulness of a child, in the shared stories of a small group, in a note of appreciation and affirmation sent to you, in the unexpected kindness of a friend. 

So many times and so many places and so many occasions we can sing, “Surely the presence of the Lord is in this place. I can feel his mighty power and his grace.” Part of the joy of being an Easter people is knowing this. Jesus makes himself known to us time and time again... in some very ordinary, everyday ways. 

Therefore I invite us all—you, me, all of us together. I invite you to live these days in the wild extravagance of hope. Be reminded with Paul that “hope does not disappoint us.”