Christ Comes to Us Walking

“Jesus came up and walked along with them.” I like to walk. At this time of year, you can find me trudging up the hilly streets of my neighborhood almost every morning. Whichever route I take, I’m sure I’m walking uphill all the way! I’m beginning to wonder if it’s worth it to drive to the bike path just so I can walk on level ground. In nasty or cold weather, you’re likely to find me on the treadmill at OU’s Wellworks or the indoor walking track at the Athens Community Center – definitely second rate to walking outside.

Jesus must have liked to walk too. Actually, in the ancient world almost everyone walked if they had to get somewhere. In contrast to the pious pictures of the Flight into Egypt, the truth is that only the wealthy could afford a wagon and animals to pull it, or even a single animal on which to ride. If you read the gospels carefully, you see that Jesus appears to have walked almost everywhere: all over Galilee and from Galilee to Jerusalem – a trip he made at least twice according to John. Those of us who participated in the Lenten study series and read Adam Hamilton’s The Call learned that Paul travelled great distances on foot, for almost all of his missionary journeys.

So it should not surprise us that, in Luke’s account of one of Jesus’ first post-resurrection appearances, Jesus comes up alongside Cleopas and his unnamed companion and meets them walking to a village about seven miles from Jerusalem. Perhaps so that we too can feel included in the story, we haven’t heard of a Cleopas before in the gospel stories. Moreover, the unnamed companion could possibly have been a woman, and, unlike other places mentioned in the gospels, scholars have yet to agree as to whether “Emmaus” actually existed, and, if so, where it was.

Be that as it may, this story still has plenty to say to us. It was still the day of Resurrection. Late afternoon perhaps? Dispirited, discouraged, deeply disappointed, perhaps even fearing for their own lives, Cleopas and friend trudge along a dirt road. Up comes a stranger, robed and hooded perhaps like a Star Wars Jedi knight. Even though they aren’t sure who he is, Cleopas and his companion befriend the stranger. Or rather, the stranger befriends them. He hears their sad story and takes in all their pain and grief. Then, amazingly, he helps them understand in a new way what they have experienced. The wise stranger helps them to get beyond their preconceived ideas, to think outside the box, and to see their history, traditions, and Scripture in new and fresh ways.

Cleopas and friend return the favor by extending their hospitality once again to the stranger, inviting him to share a meal with them after their long walk. In the act of sharing bread, Jesus the guest miraculously becomes Jesus the host. When he breaks the bread, when he repeats the familiar pattern of taking, breaking, blessing and giving, actions he had done so many times for his disciples, Cleopas and friend finally see who their mysterious companion on the way has been. Then Jesus vanishes, on the move again, perhaps now walking with someone else. Cleopas and friend are overwhelmed by joy, and they run the seven miles back to Jerusalem, to share their experiences with the others.

“Jesus came up and walked along with them.” Christ comes to us walking. He makes himself known to us at his table, as we share the Eucharist with him and with each other. But Christ also comes to us walking, in the midst of our lives. For some of us, Christ comes to us when we are literally walking. I am not alone in liking to walk in the mornings. Other people in my neighborhood also trudge up the hills. Most of us, myself included I’m sorry to say, walk with earphones. At least I listen to Richard Rohr’s sermons or podcasts of “On Being,” in which journalist Krista Tippett interviews spiritual teachers and writers! In addition to being wonderful exercise, morning walks can also be a good time to pray. Methodist pastor Bruce Epperly also likes a daily morning walk. He tells us, “I often use the time for intercessory prayer and personal centering, taking in God’s energy of love and sharing it with others.”1 There is even a form of very slow meditative walking, where we pause with every step to listen for God’s whisper or savor God’s presence in the world around us. I once was taking my morning walk on a country road – without earphones. I passed a cluster of very small white fungi popping up out of the earth. As I knelt down to look at them more closely, I suddenly had a deep sense of my connection to them and of our shared life in God, both of us as God’s beloved creatures.

Have any of you ever tried walking a labyrinth? We actually have one at the Procter Center, our diocesan camp and conference center in London, Ohio. Many churches and retreat centers have them – there’s a very famous one on the floor inside the great medieval cathedral at Chartres, France. The church where I served as a seminarian, St. Alban’s in Bexley, has one. Most labyrinths are outside. They are large stone circles, with concentric paths inside them that eventually lead to the center of the circle and then back out again. They can only be walked in one direction. Many people who walk labyrinths do so with a prayer intention. They carry the intention with them as they walk inward, stop in the center to stand in God’s presence, then move outward again, usually with a renewed sense of connection with God.

And then there are pilgrimages. Pilgrimages are perhaps the most famous way to meet Christ walking. Of course, pilgrimages are not unique to Christianity. Many other faith communities stress the importance of literally walking as a way to deepen one’s relationship with the divine. Pilgrimages were especially popular in medieval Europe. That’s what The Canterbury Tales are all about: stories told on a pilgrimage to the shrine of the martyred St. Thomas a Becket at Canterbury Cathedral in England. Today you can still walk one of the most famous of the medieval pilgrimage routes, the Camino de Compostela, from southern France, across northern Spain, to the cathedral of St. James of Compostela, where legend has it that the remains of the apostle James are buried. You can walk the entire route, a little less than 500 miles. I young man I know did just that and met Christ in the faces, voices, and hands of his fellow pilgrims. You can also walk a short segment of the Camino, just a week perhaps, and still experience the power of a walk with Christ.

You can even take a metaphorical pilgrimage. The writer Christine Valters Paintner has a lovely book entitled The Soul of a Pilgrimage. In it Paintner describes eight stages of the pilgrim’s way – from hearing the call to coming back home. For each stage she describes scripture stories of great biblical journeys and suggests practices of prayer, writing, and photography to deepen the pilgrimage experience. And, in a sense, our daily lives can be pilgrimages. Don’t we often describe the spiritual life as a pilgrimage or journey? If you are ready to come together with other seekers, if you are ready to befriend strangers, if you can share the realities of your life with those around you, and if you are ready to welcome God wherever God shows up, whenever Christ comes up and walks alongside you, then you are on pilgrimage.

Christ comes to us in the breaking of the bread. But Christ also comes to us walking, whether our eyes are open to see him or not. God is always on the move. God calls us to join God on the open road, spiritually, ethically, and, for those who can, physically. And we are on the road with him. As this parish transitions to a new priest, perhaps you may wonder about the destination and future of St. Peter’s. Can we relate to the Emmaus story? We believe the good news, but perhaps you wonder how the good news will be made known here in the weeks, months, and years to come.

So heed Jesus’ words: don’t be afraid. Wherever we are on the road, Christ comes with new energy, new possibilities, and new life. Stay faithful, but keep moving. Keep envisioning new ministries, new liturgies, and new ways of serving God’s people. Rest assured, Christ comes to us walking. He will always be beside us on the road.

1. “The Adventurous Lectionary – Third Sunday of Easter – April 30, 2017.”