Sam Bush, “What You See Is Not All You Get”

The comedian Jim Gaffigan says that in this golden age of television and unlimited content there’s one show he particularly loves. “The characters are so complex,” he says, “the story lines are surprising, the heroes and the villains are replenished everyday.” In case you’re wondering, the show he’s talking about is the news. He tries to rationalize his obsession - telling himself it’s his civic duty to stay informed - but, admittedly, he says, “I’m just here for the drama.”

Now, to be clear, I personally think awareness is a good thing. It’s important to be able to see the world as it actually is. At the same time, I can’t help but think that we are addicted to awareness. There seems to be a correlation to our modern age being called both “the age of information” and “the age of anxiety.” We may say “Knowledge is power,” and, yes, knowledge may help us solve problems, but the Bible tells us that humanity’s very first quest for knowledge - to know the difference between good and evil and to be like God - is exactly what caused all our problems to begin with. We may know more than we have ever known, but that hasn’t exactly made the world a more loving place. On the contrary, living from headline to headline can often leave a person in a lingering state of panic or a mild depression.

In today’s gospel reading from Luke, we encounter two of Jesus’ disciples who are distressed by their own current events. They’re walking from Jerusalem to a village called Emmaus, processing Jesus’ death two days ago and the rumor that he has been raised earlier that day. And who should come along, but the man himself, Jesus. He’s incognito; it says “their eyes were kept from recognizing him” (he’s wearing his groucho glasses, apparently). When he asks these disciples what they’re talking about, Luke poignantly says, “They stood still, looking sad.” These disciples, you see, have gathered all the facts. They know the things that have taken place and yet they are  merely spectators on the world’s stage, powerless to make their situation any better.

The disciple named Cleopas responds, saying, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there?” In other words, “Have you been under a rock the past few days?” to which Jesus could have responded, “Well, actually, more ‘behind a stone,’ but, more or less, yes.” But Jesus plays the fool. “What things?” he asks.

In their ignorance, they tell Jesus his own story. “He was a prophet mighty in deed and word ….We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.” Considering that these were his disciples and that they were coming from Jerusalem, it’s possible that they had witnessed his flogging and crucifixion. As such, you can hardly blame them for giving up hope that he would redeem Israel after seeing his mangled corpse taken down from the Cross. If what you see is what you get, they go away empty handed. 

Finally, mercifully, Jesus starts to show his own cards. He says to them, “Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe.” It’s interesting that he doesn’t say “slow of mind,” but “slow of heart.” It implies that the bodily organ that powers and sustains belief is not the mind, but the heart. As Blaise Pascal said, “The knowledge of God is very far from the love of Him.” 

You see, you may have all the facts, but miss the truth. You may be the most informed person in the room, but be blind to what is actually going on behind the scenes. You may be quick-witted, but “slow of heart to believe.” You may know everything there is to know, but this story shows us that whatever we know about God is whatever God has chosen to reveal to us.

As they walk to Emmaus, Jesus walks these disciples through the entire Old Testament and shows them how all of Scripture ultimately points to Jesus’ suffering and death on the Cross. In fact, the words he cries out on the Cross - “It is finished!” - translate to “It is fulfilled.” These disciples were missing the forest for the trees, specifically, the tree on which Jesus was crucified.

What does this mean for you? It means what you think you know about the world or about other people or about yourself is incomplete and can only be fully understood in light of Jesus’ death and resurrection by which the world and other people and you have been redeemed. It doesn’t click for Cleopas and his companion until Jesus sits down at their table later that night when the roles are reversed. He is no longer the clueless vagabond, but the dinner host. He takes the bread, blesses it and doles it out and only then are their eyes opened. He is not the wandering stranger, but the risen Lord. Strangely he vanishes after they recognize him - he pulls a David Copperfiled - but he only vanishes after giving them what they need: the eyes of faith; the gift of being able to trust God.

As Christians we walk by faith and not by sight. If you walk by sight you will see very little other than pain and sorrow and injustice and anger and death. If what you see is all you get, you will not get by, at least for very long. You walk by faith, even in the midst of sorrow you will be given hope, even in the midst of perplexity you will be given peace, even in the midst of loneliness you will have the love of God. 

In this golden age of television, one of my favorite shows is the romantic comedy, Catastrophe (which has such foul language and so much adult content that - let the record show - I do not recommend this show from the pulpit). It stars Rob Delaney who recently came out with a book called A Heart that Works that chronicles the diagnosis, treatment and death of his third born, two-year-old son. There’s a great article about it on the Mockingbird blog. In interviews, Rob Delaney has been extremely candid about his grief process. When he started out writing the book he said he felt so angry he wanted to pummel someone. “I started writing in anger,” he says, but then over time this book and my experience have become more and more about love.” In an interview with Stephen Colbert, he says this tragedy helped him become more comfortable with mystery. “You see deeper,” he said, “you see through the veil, things that are much bigger and more powerful than what’s happening in the day to day. You put your hand on the pulse of something much more majestic … and terrifying … and beautiful.”

When Stephen Colbert asks, “What is that thing, if I may ask?” he says, “I mean it might be love.” And then, Rob Delaney, who is an avowed atheist says, “The big problem for me is that my faith organ or whatever has actually been growing in the years after Henry’s death.” And to think that he titled his book A Heart that Works which is taken from a song lyric that reads, “A heart that hurts is a heart that works.”(or as we know it, a heart that lives by faith). 

I’m grateful to say that while he was still writing this book, Rob and his wife had another child, their fourth son. They have said they hope this book reveals, even through the grief and anger that they still experience on a daily basis, “how grace still can appear in even the darkest of times.” 

I can’t help but believe that Rob Delaney’s story is the work of God, a God who revealed himself most clearly in the death of his own Son.

The gospel is not mere information, nor is it simply news. It is good news for a hurting world. It is not the kind of news that we can comprehend on our own, but, rather, news that compels us to trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding. The fundamental response to news, if it's true, is to trust it. Trust Jesus, then. Trust him with your whole life. Trust him because he is trustworthy because he loves you and gave himself for you. 

As we’re seated, let us once again pray the collect of the day: O God, whose blessed Son made himself known to his disciples in the breaking of bread: Open the eyes of our faith, that we may behold him in all his redeeming work; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever. Amen.