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Third Sunday in Easter, Year A
April 10, 2005
Christ Church, Covington
“Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him” (Lk. 24:31).
In ancient legend and folklore, it’s not uncommon for the gods to appear
to mortals in disguise. But the encounter of the disciples with Jesus in
our Gospel today is unlike these other stories in that Jesus is not
disguised, but simply unrecognized. They encounter him on the road to
Emmaus on the evening of Easter Day, yet they do not know him. It’s as if
the two who encounter the stranger are suffering from amnesia; as if the
crucifixion has not only extinguished Jesus’ life, but their own memory of
him.
Memory is what makes us who we are. We have experiences, and we reflect on
them; the process of reflection helps us to connect with ourselves now.
Memory is triggered by events in the present that call us back to things
that were not accessible before. When they become accessible, the memory
makes us more aware. It’s as if we’re scattered here and there in the
great hall of memory, until we re-collect ourselves. We can remember that
we have forgotten, that we’ve misplaced something in the great hall,
without recalling the thing itself: a reminder of what a strange thing
memory is.
Memory and forgetfulness is part of the human condition. These two
disciples on the road to Emmaus are like us: though they remember what
happened to Jesus, they’ve forgotten what he was all about. They can’t
recognize him. They’ve not only lost touch with him, in memory, but
they’ve lost touch with themselves. They were his disciples: what are they
now? Nothing more than scattered and lost. For our part, we’ve forgotten
so much, intrinsic to who we are supposed to be. That’s part of what our
Gospel is about. We’ve forgotten faith, hope, and love, for starters; the
reality of grace, for another; our origin and destiny, as well.
So what’s the trigger? For the disciples in our Gospel, it’s the moment
when the stranger breaks the bread. It connects them with Jesus at the
Last Supper, just a couple of days before; it connects them with the
moment when he broke the bread and said, “This is my body, which is given
for you. Do this in remembrance of me” (Lk. 22:19). They recollect Jesus;
they re-collect themselves. They had been scattered; now they are
gathered. They remember.
“You have shown yourself to me, O Christ, face to face. I have met you in
your sacraments.” That’s Saint Ambrose, describing the experience of
breaking bread with Christ. When we gather at the Eucharist, we are in the
presence of Christ, and connected to him. He is alive, not dead, for God
has raised him and we encounter him. We remember who he is, and we
remember who we are. It’s our trigger. This event in the present, this
Eucharist, calls us back to the things that we’ve forgotten. But that’s
the trick with memory: we can remember that we’ve forgotten something.
We’re not struggling in the great hall of memory to remember Jesus,
because he is present now, but to remember who he is and what he means to
us.
We can remember ourselves, as well, recollect who we are, by encountering
him now. He breaks the bread, and we know him and ourselves as well. What
have you forgotten? That’s part of what we are supposed to take away from
this Eucharist: a restored memory and a reminder of the things that we’ve
forgotten. Down in your deep memory is the knowledge of these things, and
the risen Christ who stands in our midst bids us to do this so that we
will remember.
The Rev’d John Bauerschmidt is Rector of Christ Church, Covington.
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