Sermon video: On Our Way to Emmaus

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Sermon: On Our Way to Emmaus

Luke 24:13-35

On Our Way to Emmaus

James Sledge                                                                                                   April 26, 2020

On the day of that very first Easter, two disciples headed to the village of Emmaus. No one knows exactly where that is. Various places have been suggested, but none is certain. Maybe it’s just as well.

In our day, Emmaus has become a metaphorical destination, one associated with spiritual awakenings. You can find spiritual retreats described as Emmaus walks, and there is an intense, three day retreat for spiritual renewal and formation called Walk to Emmaus, a Protestant adaptation of the Catholic Cursillo movement.

But in Luke’s gospel, I don’t know that Emmaus is really a destination at all. It may simply be a place to spend the night on the way somewhere else. A stop on the way to some place that isn’t Jerusalem, that isn’t about pain and betrayal and loss.

Those disciples aren’t on a spiritual journey. They’re on a journey away from the cross and the grave. Their hopes have been dashed. They’re shocked and stunned, still  grieving their loss. They don’t know what they need but they know it isn’t in Jerusalem.

Some of you know that I’m one of many mourning the death from COVID-19 of singer-songwriter John Prine. A line from one of his songs that I’ve played a lot lately could easily have been uttered by these two disciples headed for anywhere but Jerusalem. “Just give me one thing that I can hold on to. To believe in this living is just a hard way to go.”[1]

Curiously, these two disciples have already heard the report from women who visited the graveyard early that morning. They heard of an empty tomb and angels who said Jesus was alive, but it had not mattered. I don’t know if that was simply about men not believing women or if their sense of grief and loss was so overwhelming nothing could break through. Whatever it was, they were headed to Emmaus, to anywhere but Jerusalem.

Love Your Neighbor. Wear Your Mask

I went for a run this morning along one of the many trails we are blessed to have in the DC area. I was far from alone. There were a good many people out walking, running, biking, roller blading, etc. I was not surprised by the numbers, but I was a little surprised at how few of them were wearing masks.

I’m sure the reasons for this were varied. They are a little inconvenient. I find them especially annoying for running. They interfere with my breathing (though perhaps this simulates altitude training?). But I’ve read of one study showing how the slipstream effect causes runners to leave a trail of droplets floating 30 feet in their wake. For cyclists, it’s 60 feet. So I wear the mask. I would hate to unknowingly infect someone else.

I imagine there are still those who don’t yet understand that masks are not for protecting you but for protecting others. However I see people online proudly broadcasting their refusal to wear a mask, couching it in terms of personal freedom that won’t be taken from them. Curiously, some of these same people claim to be conservative Christians, yet there is something profoundly un-Christlike about elevating one’s personal freedom above the good of the other.

Jesus is clear that following him involves self denial. He is just as clear that loving God is inseparable from loving your neighbor as yourself. To declare, “My neighbor be damned; I’m not wearing any mask,” seems fundamentally at odds with the core of the Christian life.

If anything, wearing a mask in these days of pandemic is a relatively easy and painless way to embody love of neighbor, to enflesh Jesus’ call to faithful discipleship. Do good. Love your neighbor. Wear your mask.

Sermon video: Unfinished Business

More sermons and worship can be found on the FCPC website.

Easter sermon: Unfinished Business

Matthew 28:1-10

Unfinished Business

James Sledge                                                                                       April 12, 2020, Easter

“Unfinished business lingers in every graveyard—broken promises, betrayals, countless secrets left to perish with the departed.”[1] That quote really resonated with me when I first read it years ago. I suspect that it is true for most people. There’s always something that should have been said but wasn’t, a conflict that wasn’t resolved, a wound that still festers, a chance for reconciliation lost.

 I once heard about a woman who could not get past the unfinished business with her late husband. After his death she learned of a terrible betrayal by him, and it poisoned all her memories of their life together. She was able to move on only after following her pastor’s suggestion of going to the cemetery to have it out with her husband. I presume that he remained silent for this “conversation,” but through it she was able to deal with some of her hurt and anger, some of the unfinished business from her husband’s death.

In a Jerusalem graveyard all those centuries ago, unfinished business lingered. The followers of Jesus were left to contemplate how they had abandoned him in his hour of need, deserting him when he was arrested. For Peter, that included cursing and swearing that he did not even know Jesus. Peter had wept bitter tears afterward, but they had not washed away the horrible memory. 

And then there was their disappointment and anger at Jesus. How could he have let this happen? He put up no fight at all. Maybe he was not who they thought he was, who they hoped he was.

Perhaps all this unfinished business is the reason that only two women go to the tomb that first Easter morning. For others, memories of abandonment, desertion, denial, failure, disappointment were too fresh, too raw. Visits to the tomb would have to wait.

Sermon video: Palms, Passion... and Lament?

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Sermon: Palms, Parades... and Lament?

Matthew 26:14-21, 36-46, 27:11-23, 35-46

Palms, Parades… and Lament?

James Sledge                                                                                       April 5, 2020

I’m sure that I’ve spoken before about my experiences of Easter as a child. I say Easter because for me as a young boy, Palm Sunday was simply the pregame show for Easter, a big celebration that prefigured the bigger celebration to come. My brothers and I I already had our new Easter sport coats, my sister her new Easter dress, and we had already dug out our Easter baskets. 

On Palm Sunday, we got to march around the sanctuary waving palms. On Palm Sunday, we had a celebratory parade, a grand, rah-rah moment. On Palm Sunday we left the church with shouts of “Hosanna!” echoing in our ears; just a week to the even grander celebration.

As a child, I never heard the term Passion Sunday. This was Palm Sunday. Period. No thoughts of betrayal and a cross, of suffering and death. No thoughts of despair and darkness.

I’m not sure when I first encountered Palm/Passion Sunday. It’s possible it wasn’t until I attended seminary. Oh I knew about Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, and the cross. But they didn’t intrude much into Sunday worship. I could go from one parade to another, not bothering with the cross and the darkness of Good Friday.

Passion Sunday intruded into the rhythms of Holy Week and Easter I learned as a child. It was something of a downer. Who wants to mourn when you could just celebrate? But can we really go straight from “Hosanna!” to “He is risen!” without the cross?