One of the Gospel stories that I often have had to struggle with, is the Easter story of how Cleopas and his companion are walking along the road to Emmaus, and encounter our Lord but do not recognize him. In the church where I grew up, there was a beautiful window over the font that showed that story with the words “And did not our hearts burn within us as he talked with us on the way?” In the Lady Chapel here in the Cathedral another window telling that story stands beside the Altar. How could these faithful followers not get it? How could they not recognize Jesus on that Resurrection Day? These are the sort of questions that often have plagued me each time I have to preach on this passage.
Now for much of my adult life, my sister has told me that I am the most dense individual that she knows. Its one of those things that only a sister can say to you, but she is actually quite right. So often, subtle is completely lost on me. I just miss those cues. I think God would also agree with my sister, because it usually takes a less than subtle experience for me to truly get it.
A few weeks back, I was at St. James’ Cathedral in Toronto for the funeral of The Most Rev. Terry Finlay. There was a huge crowd gathered for the funeral, and I think that word had certainly gotten out to the local poor because there were almost as many panhandlers out as there were people coming to remember and celebrate the life of the Archbishop.
Since returning from Amazonia with my black ring that reminds me that I must be the sort of person who doesn’t simply walk on by, but rather stops to help, I hold myself to the discipline of sitting down with the people who ask me for money and talking with them rather than simply dropping the loose change for which they ask. it is a way of giving them the gift of affirming their human dignity.
On that late March day, it was chilly and drizzly in Toronto, and I had to park a fair distance from the Cathedral. As i walked to the church, I was met by the first request. I sat and talked with the man for a few moments, and then gave him what change I had in my pocket and then hurried on to get to the service on time.
When the service had ended, I was famished, and decided to try to find something int he downtown area that was open and that would have something available that was gluten-free. I found only one such place. As I entered that place there was a man dressed in ragged clothing warming himself in the cover of the doorway. As I waited for service, the owner of the place burst out of the back of the Restaurant and completely blew up at the man telling him he had to go, he was driving away her customers. He protested “I’m just trying to get out of the rain long enough to warm up.” She continued to yell until he headed his way. I thought to myself, “if he’s not welcome here, than neither am I.” and so I left. As I passed him along the way I reached into my pocket and pulled out a five dollar bill, almost the only cash I had left, and gave it to him and took him into Tim Hortons where he could get a coffee and a place to sit and warm up.
I decided then that I would just walk back to my car and get back to Kingston, where i could make myself a late lunch. As i was crossing the street toward the place where my car was parked, a homeless man in a wheelchair called out to me. Mistaking the purple piping on my Decanal vest for the mark of a Bishop, he called out, “Hey, Bishop! BISHOP! COME HERE.” I crossed over to sit and talk with this man. I first explained to him that I was not a Bishop, but rather a Dean. He smiled a smile that seemed to say, “Yeah… so what.” I reached in my pocket before the conversation got going too far, and relinquished the last $5 of actual cash that I had to my name.
His name was Gerry, and he had lived an extremely varied life. His story had many ups and downs. But as we talked, he first began to turn the tables and instead of letting me find out more about him, he began to ask questions and learn about me, then he began to turn things around again to talk about Spiritual things. Finally, he said, “I guess Religion is just a necessary evil.” I replied, “No. Religion is perhaps the worst thing that humanity has ever brought upon the face of this world, but faith is God’s greatest gift to humanity.” Gerry thought for a moment, but then said, “What you have said is very true.”
As he said this, I found myself thinking, “Gerry really looks like a sculpture I once saw called Jesus of the Streets.” I had no more than thought it than Gerry said to me, “It just happened. I saw it in your eyes.” I asked what he meant, and instead of answering my question, he asked me a question instead. He asked, “What does he look like in your eyes.”
We talked for quite a while longer with Gerry insisting on continuing to refer to me as Bishop, (perhaps because he could see me visibly flinch every time he said it) but there were two things that happened for me in that moment. First of all, Gerry said, “Did you notice that the rain has stopped?” and second, me realizing that just like Cleopas and his companion, I had met the Risen Jesus, and I had talked to him on the road. And like Cleopas and his companion, my heart had burned within me as we talked on that road. And then when I got into my car to return to Camden East, I did so with an urgency to get there and to call loved ones and declare to them “I have seen the Lord.”
I had desperately wanted to preach about this experience on the third Sunday of Easter, only to discover that I would be in Chicago at the North American Conference of Cathedral Deans on that Sunday . For the time, this little blog post will have to be my declaration of my Emmaus Road experience. But nonetheless, it reminds me that “Alleluia! Jesus Christ is Risen! The lord is Risen indeed! Alleluia!”
