God is a Suprise!

3 Easter, Year A
Luke 24:13-35

Life has been full of surprises lately.

About a week ago I happened across a Ted talk by a woman named Tania Luna who studies the phenomena surprise.  She claims that surprise is incredibly important because when we are stopped in our tracks, we are naturally able to focus on the moment in front of us.  If we are paying attention, surprise is an alert that things didn’t happen as we expected, so it can help us to learn and grow and live more joyfully and even connect more deeply with others.  Little kids are great at this.  You can watch a baby or toddler’s surprise when they discover something new – bubbles or water or an animal.  But as we get older, many of us work to keep surprise out.  We don’t want to look like we don’t know what is going on; we want to be in control; we are reluctant to change our minds or be vulnerable.  And so we explain away things that surprise us with reason, or we avoid them altogether.   But, as Luna points out, “[i]f we are always reasonable, then it will always be unreasonable to do the things that make us come alive.” Luna suggests trying to be more open to surprise and see where it leads.  When we come across something that seems surprising, when we find ourselves uncertain or confused or facing change, rather than retreating or trying to take control of it with reason, Luna says to try saying instead, “I don’t know.  I wonder….”

So that’s what I’ve been up to this week.  Trying to wonder more, pay more attention to the things that make me stop in surprise.  A few days ago I was surprised when a friend that I thought had been unfairly treated showed a forgiving graciousness to her wrongdoer.  She told me later that she had learned so much from the situation, and been so touched by the love of people standing up for her, that she was able to let it go.  It was a beautiful thing to behold, and hopefully emulate.  And I can’t help but wonder what the ripple effect of her good will might be. 

And then Friday night I was here for the Day School art show and saw a family waving to me that I didn’t recognize.  I was surprised, and found my initial instinct was to pretend I didn’t notice, but decided to walk over to them instead and it turned out their daughter recognized Maya from art class and she is starting school here next year and could be in Maya’s class and the parents were great.  And afterwards I had to smile to myself and wonder if they might end up being good friends someday.

Then another day while waiting on one of those perfect days for my daughter to finish her piano lesson, Maya and I were killing time in her teacher’s yard.  We started out playing tag and then I noticed some of those helicopter seed things and I taught her how you can throw them up in the air and watch them whirl down.  One of them whirled down on a little bug world, so we watched a worm zigzagging his way under the grass and ants scurrying in a line and little roly poly bugs.  And I was surprised by how much I felt like I was Meg Murray meeting Sporos the farandolae in the mitochondria of her brother Charles Wallace in A Wind in the Door, and for a few minutes was lost in the wonder of the world.

But my biggest wondering this week has been in thinking about our Gospel story for this morning.  I love this story and it’s reminder that God can turn up anywhere, unexpectedly.  That at any given moment we can turn and see Jesus walking beside us, though often in some form or fashion that we don’t initially recognize.  And when we do, anything is possible.

            That hopefulness isn’t very present at the beginning of our story.  It is Easter afternoon, but the two followers of Jesus who are walking the 7 mile slog from Jerusalem to Emmaus haven’t yet let Easter into their hearts.  They are “sad,” we are told, but we can see the true depth of their sadness when they say: “but we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.”  “But we had hoped…” In those four words lies so much more than just sadness over Jesus’ death.  They are speaking of a future that is no longer; they are mourning the death of a dream; they are grieving a promise that has proved to be false. Their despair isn’t just over the present tragedy, but includes the cavernous hole of all that could have been.  We’ve probably all lived in that moment in our own lives.

            And so there they are, slogging along the dusty, 7-mile road to Emmaus.  Back to the status quo – back to the comfortable familiar of fishing nets or tax booths or old friends or whatever else came before.  Back to what makes sense.  Emmaus isn’t so much their geographical destination as the place these followers are going to escape their despair and disappointment and confusion.

            And then, suddenly, a Stranger enters.  Someone unknown starts walking along the path with them, sharing their journey.  They stop in their tracks, the story says, but they don’t yet understand who He is or what He might mean for their lives.  Something tells them there is something surprising about this stranger’s entrance along their journey.  And in that moment, they face a choice. 

They could keep going on that dusty road that they know leads back to Emmaus, the road that feels normal and relatively safe.  They could ignore the stranger on the road, or hide their fears and sadness from him, or let him continue on the path when they turn in for their evening meal.

            Or they could take a risk, be vulnerable, share their story and even their sadness with the stranger, invite him into their lives, and open themselves to the possibility of something new.

The two followers of Jesus on the road to Emmaus don’t immediately recognize Jesus, but it seems like they are open to the surprise of this stranger turning up.  They keep walking alongside him, opening their hearts and their home to him.  And then the scales fall away from their eyes and they recognize Jesus in their midst.  They feel their hearts burning and they rush headlong back to Jerusalem to share their good news and live into the wonder of their experience.

What about us?  What choice do we make?  We are told that one of the two followers on the road in this story is named Cleopas, but the other is unnamed.  That’s Luke’s invitation to us, to you and to me, to think of ourselves as part of this walk.  So what will we decide along our own road to Emmaus, or wherever it is we find ourselves heading?  Will we ignore or explain away or be too busy to notice the moments of surprise and wonder?  Or can we learn to open ourselves to the possibility that any moment could turn out to be a God moment?

            Where might God be walking alongside you today, or tomorrow, or the next day?  I don’t know.  I wonder….