Luke 24:13-35

Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. And he said to them, “What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?” They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?” He asked them, “What things?” They replied, “The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place. Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him.”Then he said to them, “Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?” Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures. As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” So he went in to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. They 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?” That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were saying, “The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!” Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

Some of you ladies were at the first Uniting Women conference back in 2014 at the MLC school in Burwood. The keynote speaker for that conference was a tattooed up Lutheran pastor and writer called Nadia Bolz Weber, who is the pastor of a church called House For All Sinners And Saints – a deeply inclusive church for all manner of people. One of the things that distinguishes this church from really any other church, is what she says to any newcomer. A couple of times a year, Nadia hosts a brunch for any newcomers, and everyone goes around the room saying what drew them to this community or what keeps them here. And then Nadia gets up and she always says how great it is to hear all that affirmation, but that she needs them to hear something: that this church will disappoint them; that she will fail to meet their expectations or she’ll say something stupid and hurt their feelings. It’s not a matter of if; it’s when. Welcome to House for All Sinners and Saints.  We will disappoint you.

There is a verse in Romans 5 that says “And not only that, but we also boast in our sufferings, knowing that suffering produces endurance, and endurance produces character, and character produces hope, and hope does not disappoint”. Sometimes that is hard to relate to, since we have all had hopes that have ended in disappointment, so sometimes it’s easier not to hope at all, rather than to risk starting with hope and ending with disappointment.

In our passage this morning, a few days after Jesus’ death, a couple of disciples were walking the road to Emmaus, trying to make sense of what happened in Jerusalem: the triumphal entry on Palm Sunday, the intimate meal, the betrayal, the arrest, the trial, and the crucifixion. As they discussed all of this, a stranger walked up (spoiler alert – it was Jesus) and asked what they were talking about. The disciples didn’t recognize him, so told the story of Jesus’ life, ministry and death, at which point they then speak what are maybe the three saddest words in scripture: We Had Hoped. We had hoped Jesus was the one to redeem us. Instead, Jesus is dead and it is we who are defeated. Those two disciples started with hope and ended with disappointment.

We had hoped. We had hoped that the time and money spent on a Masters degree would mean we’d have a job by now. We had hoped that our parents would love us unconditionally.   We had hoped that by this time in life we would be married, or be parents, or would have a meaningful career or would be able to retire, or we would feel like we at least knew what we were doing. We had hoped that our families would stay and Lent Event would stay ours and our church would just grow and grow and grow. And that didn’t happen.

Because hope as a starting point looks like Palm Sunday; it looks like the crowds entering triumphantly into Jerusalem shouting Hosanna. But Palm Sunday always turns to Good Friday eventually. Betcha bottom dollar it does.

One of things I really hate is when I’m in emotional pain or experiencing loss, and some well-meaning Christian says something to the effect of, “well, when God closes a door, He opens a window.” You know what I do? I start looking around for that open window to push said person out of it. For me, the idea of ignoring the difficult reality of our lives in favour of some blind, cheerful optimism, is delusional. You know, forget your troubles, come on, get happy. Smile, though your heart is aching. Dance your troubles away.

So, yes, it feels like hope can be risky.

But maybe the way suffering produces endurance and endurance produces character and character produces hope (which never disappoints) is that suffering, endurance and character actually free us from the burden of having to be naively optimistic. Maybe if hope isn’t a very reliable starting point, then hope is not something we strive to muster up for ourselves. Maybe real hope is always something we are surprised by. Maybe real hope is that which is left after all else has failed us. And that is an Easter hope. It is real and sturdy and tangible and Biblical.

There’s a fantastic Uniting Church prison chaplain in Melbourne who defines hope in this way: “hope is an encounter that captivates our imagination, so we can’t help but become more than who we thought we were, and find ourselves living for something that is all at once preposterous and impossible”.

We, as followers of the resurrected Jesus Christ, want real hope, not naïve optimism. We seek hope that finds us living for something that is all at once preposterous and impossible and yet the most real and honest thing we know.

That is to say, we seek God.

Because a hope that does not disappoint looks less like being idealistic about ourselves and more like being idealistic about God’s redeeming work in the world.  It’s a hope that comes not from naïve optimism, but from being wrong, and falling short, and experiencing betrayal, and being a betrayer, and denial, and suffering, and the grave, and what feels like a night from which dawn could never emerge, and then how God reaches into the graves we dig ourselves and each other, and again loves us back to life.

The Easter hope we have, brothers and sisters, the hope that never disappoints has nothing to do with optimism or the avoidance of suffering. It is a hope that can only come from a God who has experienced birth and love and friendship and lepers and prostitutes and betrayal and suffering and death and burial and a descent into hell itself. Only a God who has born suffering Himself can bring us any real hope of resurrection. And the Christian faith is one that does not pretend things aren’t bad. This is a faith that does not offer platitudes to those who lost children this week to famine or domestic violence or war. This is not a faith that produces optimism; it is a faith that produces a defiant hope that God is still writing the story and that despite darkness a light shines, and that there is no hell from which resurrection is impossible. That is our hope.

Having said all that, being hopeful people is hard work. Being resurrection people is much harder than being tomb people. Why? Because so often we habitually expect failure and sorrow when we have been promised victory and joy. So often we wake up and head for the garden tomb expecting a corpse. So often we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, and make it even darker ourselves by closing the blinds and unscrewing the light bulbs and snuffing out the candles. They say misery loves company, and we see it all the time: one baby starts crying and all the rest in the maternity ward follow suit. In the workplace, one person complains and others join in. In the family, one person vents a grievance and then all unite in their shared sense of hurt at the hands of another family member. In the church… well, you fill in the blanks.

But to be truly hopeful is to say NO to negativity, pessimism, bitterness and unfounded hopelessness, and a loud YES to the presence of the Risen Christ walking by our side. In the words of the amazing poet Wendell Berry, to be hopeful is to be joyful, though we have considered all the facts. We are called to CHOOSE joy over cynicism, to CHOOSE grace over prejudice, to CHOOSE love over fear, to CHOOSE community over gossip, and to keep making those choices every day, as followers of the risen Christ. That is part of the cross we bear.

At those church brunches for Nadia Bolz Weber’s newcomers, after they’ve told them to not use idealism or hopefulness as a starting point, when they’ve been honest about how they will eventually be disappointed, Nadia asks them to decide if they are going to stick around after that happens.  Because, and I quote, “if you leave because we’ve disappointed you, you will miss the way that God’s grace fills in the cracks left behind from our brokenness.  It’s not something to miss.  Welcome to House for All Sinners and Saints.  We will probably disappoint you. But we don’t think God will and in this and only this do we confidently place our hope.” Amen.