CHECK YOUR FUEL GAUGE

Between Philadelphia and the Jersey shore a common, familiar route is the Atlantic City Expressway.  By my standard it’s just not that far; nonetheless, along the express toll way there’s a service area, and as you approach there’s this sign: “check your fuel gauge.”  No doubt it’s a good practice.  No doubt many a driver has been “caught out” along the way to the shore not remembering to “check the fuel gauge” until after passing the service area.  But the fact is, it’s just not that far from the service area to the next exit (less than 7 miles)—and it’s only a few more miles to Atlantic City!  Though I’m sure it happens a lot, I just don’t get the urgency.  It’s not like rural Nebraska where there were signs and reminders like this: “next exit, 81 miles.” 

The gospel this week takes us from Jerusalem to Emmaus (about 7 miles) and from Emmaus to Jerusalem (about 7 miles).  Two of Jesus’ followers were traveling to Emmaus (it seems like they were going home from the festivities in Jerusalem) and they end up making the journey with Jesus himself (though their eyes were prevented from seeing that it was Jesus).  The story seems to blossom when Jesus is invited to stay with the followers, and the jig is up when Jesus breaks bread for the supper and they recognize him immediately.  Mysteriously, Jesus then vanishes and his followers head back to Jerusalem to make a full report of their experience. 

This week I’ve been reminded of just how far 7 miles can be and what it might mean as news reports have again circulated regarding the horrific damage sustained in southern states, including Arkansas.  I lived in Arkansas growing up and later served a congregation in Hardy.  I know the names and places of lots of towns—even the small ones that don’t make the news unless something awful happens—like Mayflower and Vilonia.  Fercliff Camp and Conference Center, where I attended many a church and camp function, reported damage from the storms was less than 7 miles to the west in the Brushy Mountain area.  Ferncliff itself was unscathed. 

Better check your fuel gauge—believe it or not, 7 miles makes all the difference.  I can’t explain it.  I still remember the sinking feeling in my stomach driving along the highway in Nebraska witnessing perfectly undamaged and healthy corn on the left side and totally ravaged, hail-destroyed stripped stalks on the right side. 

For Jesus’ followers, their mission objective changed quickly.  They made a sobering trip home only to turn around and make an excited return trip to Jerusalem back-to-back—with barley any time to eat!  For the last couple of days it’s felt like that as storms have made their way across the country leaving a path of death and destruction and lives that won’t ever be the same.  And 7 miles can make all the difference! 

This week, “check your fuel gauge” seems to mean something a bit different to me.  If we’re in a position where we have plenty of fuel, we would do well to share with those who have been caught out.  As one of my friends reminded me a couple of tornado stories ago, “people need your prayers, but even more, that extra $20 you’ve been saving for something special.”  And while the call to “check your fuel gauge” is a call to help those who have been harmed or damaged by the weather, it should also be a reminder to consider those who struggle every day though no thunderstorm has supplanted them.  “Check your fuel gauge”—not with regard to what you might need; but with regard to what you already have to share. 

If you have fuel to help, Presbyterian Disaster Assistance responds immediately to afflicted people in the United States and around the world and is often the first (or one of the first) agencies responding when need erupts; they can use it.  You can find more information about PDA, including how to make a donation by clicking HERE. 

Remember, Jesus’ followers—not knowing they were traveling with Jesus—invited and implored the stranger (who ended up being Jesus, and who seemed content to continue his journey) to “stay with them” at least for a meal.  A meal that ended up making all the difference.  You’ve asked Jesus to “stay with you.”  There are people who need us to “stay with them,” too.  Now, more than ever.  

Road Trip!

I call the week after Easter the “post-Easter euphoria.”  It’s mostly because Lent and Holy Week—in particular—seem the busiest times for pastors.  And now that I have school-aged children, it just so happens that Spring Break is also Holy Week—which means, of course, that my kids spend most of their Spring Break father-less.  So for the last few years, we've been practicing an Easter Monday Adventure.  It’s a hold-over from my time serving churches in small communities where taking a break necessitated “getting out of town.”  So, in the post-Easter euphoria we leave town. 

I feel like we’re in good company.  Because by one gospel story or another that’s exactly what happens for Jesus’ followers—at least, that’s what’s SUPPOSED to happen.  The message of the angel on Easter morning is: “go quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.” 

From Jerusalem of the cross and grave back to the shores of the Sea of Galilee—where the disciples first met Jesus—is about as far as it is for my family and I to get to the seashore from our home in suburban Philadelphia.  I imagine the disciples and those following Jesus would have appreciated the Atlantic City Expressway in their day, too! (OK, maybe not).  But my point is that come post-Easter Monday, they were on the road, too.  The post-resurrection stories differ in the details, but my best bet is that at some point, in the days following Easter, Jesus’ followers “went home”—to Galilee and the water. 

It’s a bit anti-climactic.  Mark’s gospel ends with the stark reality: “So they went out and fled from the tomb, for terror and amazement had seized them; and they said nothing to anyone, for they were afraid.”  The gospels end without any real resolution beyond Jesus being raised.  There are some appearance stories, but then what? 

For me, Easter Sunday simply gives way to the “Post Easter Euphoria.”  Followers get on the road again, and Jesus continues to show up.  Us too. 

For some, this seems surprising.  When we see Jesus die, we aren’t ever quite ready for the stark reality that he lives again.  I’m thinking about the disciples on the road to Emmaus—whom Jesus surprises in the breaking of the bread in Luke; or the disciples in John’s story when Jesus simply walks through the closed, locked, doors. 

But for me, I seem more eager to discover where Jesus is showing up in my world.  And the road seems the perfect place.  Where someone else makes a meal for us.  Where we bask in the beauty of the natural world.  Where our family has time together.  Where we learn something new.  Where we find interesting things.  Where we share in God’s love. 

Where are you seeing Jesus in his resurrection?  What kind of journey out of your normal routine gives way to our Lord’s presence in your midst?  And do you ever go and tell others of us, that we can see him, too?  

Between Bethany and Jerusalem

This week, we’re between Bethany and Jerusalem.  Bethany, of course, the site of last week’s gospel reading where Lazarus was raised; and Jerusalem, where Jesus enters the city in this week’s gospel story, also where Jesus will die.  

It’s just not that far from Bethany to Jerusalem—the Bible says about two miles.  I’ve been thinking about that thinness—as I walked a 5K this week (about 3 miles) and most mornings I try and walk at least 5 miles.  It’s only about 7 miles from my suburban home to Center City Philadelphia.  It’s just not that far—but so much goes on in between!  

I’ve been thinking for the past week about the distance between the church world I grew up in (of the 1980’s and 1990’s) and the realities of the world the congregation I serve today faces.  It’s the wrestling between technical change and adaptive change; and it comes in the form of the temptation to tweak what we have going on, or to try and adopt “best practices” from other churches that appear more successful rather than simply embracing who we believe God calls us to be.  Deep down, we all have some sense of why our faith is important and the things we want our faith to accomplish.  But we don’t always know this shouldn’t just be another church program.  I grew up seeing how church changed lives.  Some days it seems like a small gap from then till now; other days it’s a chasm.  

Spiritually, this week seems huge.  On Sunday Jesus marches forthrightly into Jerusalem, his face fully intent, his chin seemingly chiseled, his nerves steeled for everything that’s coming.  But he’s just emerged from raising the dead to life!  Surely Jesus doesn’t raise Lazarus to life only for him to die again.  

For Lent, one of invitations for our congregation has been to identify “the things we’d like to leave behind” when Lent is over.  More intentionally, the things we’d like to be met by Jesus in the resurrection so that we are unburdened of them, they are removed, and we are left to live in the new life Jesus promises.  As a part of our liturgy on Sunday we will march these “leavings” into Jerusalem with Jesus on Sunday.  We will give them up, hand them over, and in an act of seeking release from them we will release them ourselves and ask God to release us from them.  

The new world we face isn’t that far away from the old one.  But like the gospel itself, the new world challenges us to live in new ways.  It’s not about “giving up something for Lent.”  Having walked that road, we know small sacrifices or larger ones have the potential to radically change us.  As we walk into Jerusalem with Jesus, how resolute will we be about the things that we know need to change?  How chiseled can we carry our chin?  How committed to the real work of the gospel truths?  And do we remember we are bringing with us not the stench of death, but the sweet smell of resurrection?  

On to Jerusalem.