The author of the letter which bears Peter’s name

          admonishes us to “live in reverent fear during the time of your exile.”

                   It may seem that we are not in exile,

                             since most of us live in the country of our origin.

 

But if we accept that our true home is with God,

          then our entire time on this earth, in this life,

                   is lived in exile.

 

When we hear the word “ransom” we tend to think

          of the substitutionary atonement,

                   Jesus’ sacrifice in restitution for Paradise Lost.

 

But one commentator [Daniel G. Deffenbaugh, Hastings College Prof. of Religion] reminds us that

          in the context of the exodus from Egypt the unblemished lamb was not seen as a sacrifice

            at all but as a divine invitation to a meal.  Its blood was offered not as an appeasement to

            God but as a symbol of Yahweh’s favor.  Seeing it, the Angel of Death would pass over

            the households of the chosen.

 

So the “ransom” points not only to the escape from the bondage of sin

          but also the acceptance of new life in God’s grace.

 

In light of both – escape from bondage and acceptance of new life in grace –

          we are to live in reverent fear, placing our faith and hope on God.

 

What do we understand of reverent fear?

          Well, reverent according to my dictionary means

                   “feeling, exhibiting, or characterized by reverence; deeply respectful.”

                             There is awe involved, and veneration.

                                      And it is both a feeling and an attitude.

 

God “judges all people impartially according to their deeds” –

          so therefore we need the fear as well …

                   but it’s not a paralyzing fear but a deeply respectful fear.

 

Seems to me St. Paul wrote something about working out our salvation

          “with fear and trembling.”

                   To me reverent fear means respecting God’s power and majesty

                             while standing in awe of God’s overwhelming grace.

 

And as much as I’m inclined to live mostly “in my head”

          this has more to do with what’s in my heart.

 

And that brings me to the road to Emmaus

          with Cleopas and the other disciple – probably his wife –

                   in the midst of their journey,

                             still stunned by the events of the past week,

                                      the Friday we call good when the teacher

                                                was put to death –

                                                          the one they expected to redeem Israel!

 

That stranger they met on the road

          seemed not to know about the prophet Jesus

                   and all that had happened concerning him –

                             his triumphal entry into Jerusalem,

                                      his trial and condemnation,

                                                his death – and now the women’s tale

                                                          that he might be alive.

 

But we can tell they don’t believe it.

          They seem mired in hopelessness.

                   They are unable to imagine the future;

                             they remember the past, and it’s over.

 

Surely we know that feeling:

          when what we were hoping for is irretrievably gone, utterly dead.

                   He opens the Scriptures to them in ways they had never seen before.

 

The stranger sees their disbelief, too.

          And he opens the Scriptures to them in ways they had never seen before.

                  

When they get to Emmaus, the stranger moves to go on,

          but something has changed for the two disciples,

                   because they urge him to stay.

                             For some reason they can’t let him go.

 

And then when he is at table with them,

          as he so often was,

                   and he breaks the bread and blesses it,

                             their eyes were opened “and they recognized him…”

                                      and then he vanished!

 

Lutheran preacher Barbara Lundblad writes

          Their eyes were opened.  But, when?  … Was it when they sat at the table, when he broke

            the bread?  Or did it begin when they walked on while he opened the scriptures? … It is a

            story of faith and revelation, a story of remembrance and recognition.  While we may

            long for a special moment of revelation, a datable time of being saved, a heightened

            experience of God’s presence – this story from the first Easter day reminds us that faith is

            not so neatly captured.  Would the disciples have recognized Jesus at the table if he

            hadn’t opened the scriptures?  Was revelation in the slow-walking journey as surely as in

            the breaking of the bread?

 

Our eyes open to Jesus not once and for all,

          but over time …

                   that’s why when you first read or heard this story

                             your experience of it was different than today’s hearing.

 

At least I hope it was –

          because that’s how we grow in faith.

                   It’s not enough to be “born anew” once –

                             we also need to grow up, to mature, in faith.

 

My colleague Susan Andrews once wrote an article for Christian Century

          about this story, and she called it “Holy Heartburn.”

                   I really wish I had thought of that!

 

The two disciples said to each other,

            “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road,

            while he was opening the scriptures to us?”

 

Our Methodist brothers and sisters quote John Wesley’s famous phrase

          “hearts strangely warmed” –

                   and that’s what the two disciples are saying.

                             It was their hearts that Jesus touched

                                      before he got to their heads.

 

What we believe isn’t so much what we think

          as it is “what we give our hearts to.”

 

Cleopas and his companion aren’t “household names” in the church.

          Unlike Mary Magdalene and the other women,

                   unlike Peter, John, Thomas, and even Paul,

                             they aren’t mentioned anywhere else in the New Testament.

 

They’re not saints of the church;

          they aren’t counted among the apostles.

                   Which makes them a lot like us:

                             Jesus appears to them in the midst of their journey,

                                      he becomes known to them through the scriptures,

                                                he breaks bread with them,

                                                and slowly, gradually, they come to know him.

 

They can point to moments along the way –

          hearts burning at hearing the scriptures in a new way,

                   eyes opened in the sharing of the bread.

                             But the coming to see and know the risen Christ

                                      lasts through the whole journey,

                                                and even, perhaps, after the destination is reached.

 

The understanding of the scriptures is partially “head” understanding,

          but the “aha!” moments are “heart” moments.

                   Lives lived in reverent fear,

                             hearts “burning within,” “strangely warmed.”

                                      Faith isn’t an intellectual exercise:

                                                faith involves our whole self.

 

“Now that you have purified your souls by your obedience to the truth …

          love one another deeply from the heart.”

                   We are born anew through the living and enduring Word –

                             even Jesus Christ our Lord.     Amen.