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Text: Luke 24:36-49Speaker: Joel Miller

When this congregation formed in the early 60s they wanted to have a common statement they could all affirm.  It was a way of committing, and re-committing each year to their faith and one another.  The words have changed, but the practice remains.  As Jacqui mentioned, we’ll be lingering with these words throughout the next month.

This first Sunday of that series happens to be the last time I’ll be preaching before a Sabbatical.  I’ll be here through next Sunday, worship leading as new members join.  But then I’m off to a cabin in a favorite spot in southern Ohio, the Arc of Appalachia, for a three day retreat to start the Sabbatical.

This morning I want to talk about story.  Story is one of the framing ideas in the Commitment Statement.  We have story around the practice of Sabbatical.  One of my favorite thinkers makes a distinction between what he calls right story and wrong story.  Our scriptures come to us primarily as story. 

This will be a bit longer than the average 16 ½ minute sermon, and then you won’t have to hear from me again until August.

Aside from a few verses about Jesus’ ascension into the heavens, today’s reading is the end of Luke’s gospel.  It’s a continuation of last week’s Emmaus Road story.  Those two travelers have hurried the seven miles back to Jerusalem to tell the other disciples about encountering the risen Jesus.  And now Jesus, pierced hands and all, appears to all of them, with the words we still pass to each other each week, “Peace be with you.”

And like the Emmaus story, Luke tells us Jesus went through the whole arc of the scriptures with them, from Moses through the prophets.  We don’t get many details of how Jesus interprets this…

Text: Luke 24:13-35   Speaker: Joel Miller

The hardest part of preaching on the Emmaus Road story isn’t finding something to say, but choosing what not to say.  The passage takes place on a single road between Jerusalem and the village of Emmaus, but it feels more like a hundred different story lines, all converging on this one dense path.  Which ones to follow and which to leave unexplored for another time? 

This is exactly as the gospel writer intends it.  This story occurs in the final chapter of Luke and serves as a summary of Luke’s message.  It’s his way of bringing his story to a climax, weaving together themes he’s been developing from the beginning.  It’s the gospel in miniature.  We are on a journey, together, confused and disoriented.  Jesus comes and walks alongside us, only we don’t recognize him for who he is.  The scriptures are opened and illuminated.  Hospitality is extended around a meal.  Bread is blessed, broken, and given, such that everyone has enough.  We, the travelers, have our eyes opened to Christ, are transformed, and go and share it with others. 

There it is, the gospel in one narrative sweep. 

Emmaus Road is a resurrection story.  It takes place on the same day the women visit the tomb and find it empty.  Easter Sunday.  “Now on that same day,” the story begins.  These two travelers who had been followers of Jesus are walking from Jerusalem to a town called Emmaus.  We’re told it’s about a seven mile trip.  Some of you commuted about that far to church this morning.  So if you want to have a biblical experience today, you can try walking home.  Pretty nice day for it.

Walking away from Jerusalem means they are walking away from the center of the universe, at least in Luke’s world.  Away…

Text: Luke 24:1-12Speaker: Joel Miller

When I say Christ is Risen you say Christ is Risen Indeed.

Christ is Risen.

Christ is Risen

The writer Anne Lamott was once asked how the meaning of Easter has changed for her.  As might be expected, of a writer, she wrote out her answer.  It’s a story from her life, in the form of a poem.  This is how it goes:

When I was 38,my best friend, Pammy,died, and we went shoppingabout two weeks before she died,and she was in a wigand a wheelchair.

I was buying a dressfor this boyfriend I was trying to impress,and I bought a tighter,shorter dress than I was used to.And I said to her,“Do you think this makes my hips look big?”and she said to me, so calmly,“Anne, you don’t have that kind of time.”

And I think Easter has been aboutthe resonance of that simple statement;and that when I stop,when I go into contemplation and meditation,when I breathe again and do the sacred actionof plopping and hanging my headand being done with my own agenda,

I hear that, ‘You don’t have that kind of time,’you have time only to cultivate presenceand authenticity and service,praying against all oddsto get your sense of humor back.

That’s how it has changed for me.That was the day my life changed,when she said that to me.

The words of Anne Lamott. 

It’s not hard to imagine a similar scenario with the same kind of shopping trip, the same dress purchased, the same question asked, even the same response given –  you don’t have that kind of time – but not registering as one of those life-changing moments. 

I think it’s no coincidence that “the day my life changed” as Anne Lamott puts it, happened at the edge of life and death.  This wasn’t just any other day.  It was an outing with a…

I begin this sermon as sermons typically begin, by stating the following: I do notcare for the movie The Princess Bride. Mine is not a popular opinion. My father-in-law routinely brings up my disdain for the film, and though he does so in ajoking, loving manner, I suspect he cannot reconcile his love for the movie with thedisgust I’ve expressed. He has—more than once—hinted that this opinion of minemakes him question my sense of humor, and perhaps even my character.

I saw The Princess Bride too young. I simply could not make sense of thecontrasting energies swirling throughout the film and among those of us watching.Was this a love story? A thriller? An adventure? A mystery? A tragedy? None?All?I watched The Princess Bride through my youthful, literal lens and washorrified…the Rodents of Unusual Size were truly terrifying…would I know howto survive forest quicksand, or an energy-sucking machine…is true love actuallyrealized while rolling down a hillside together, in near-calamity?

It was not until my late thirties (yes) that I realized (or, rather, Josh told me) thatThe Princess Bride is a satirical film, akin to Robin Hood, Men in Tights or Best inShow. Though William Goldman, author of The Princess Bride book did notnecessarily intend to create a satire, his work and its subsequent film have beenreceived as such.

Understandably, this realization changed my entire life.

A film that lived in my memory as horrifying and strange became, with a smallshift in perspective, a ridiculously silly social commentary on unchecked politicalpower and mythologized love stories. It no longer seems absurd that the filmattracts the following that it does, because it satirizes works of fiction and aspectsof reality with humor: while on the surface it may be a non-sensical fairy tale, thereis more lying just below, more that bubbles upward following the laughter. If ThePrincess Bride were…