It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining; it was warm; magnolia trees were beginning to open their magnificent blooms, and birds were singing their spring songs.

So the two friends decided to go out for a walk along the Charles River … maybe their walk would carry them across one of the bridges to Cambridge. As they strolled along, they conversed about the all the events of the previous week – the debate about stem cell research; the issues of life and death raised by the case of Terri Schiavo; the legacy of the Pope, and, perhaps most remarkably, the event of the Pope’s funeral.

While they were talking and discussing, a man came up behind them. He asked if he could join them.

The two friends welcomed the stranger. He asked them what they were discussing. One of the friends explained that everyone was abuzz with the enormity of the Pope’s funeral. He noted that the funeral had sparked a global conversation about the Pope’s teachings as well as the very nature and future of the Roman Catholic Church. He explained that the world was also still talking and arguing about what happened with Terry Schiavo as well as the promise and perils of stem cell research.

The friends described how confused they were by the conflicting perspectives and strong passions each of these aroused. They spoke of their sadness and despair over the cultural wars and religious divides … between Catholic and Protestant, conservative and liberal, northern hemisphere and southern hemisphere, Muslim and Jew, patriarch and feminist, soldier and pacifist. Cultural wars and religious divides: so many of them, and so deep.
Then the stranger said to them, “Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow to comprehend what your faith has revealed to you.” Then, beginning with Moses and the prophets, he interpreted to them what the scriptures said about these things.

Now, you are probably expecting me to complete the story by relating what it was that the stranger, Jesus, said about these things. Surely you are curious about Jesus’ position on the right to die and on embryonic stem cell research. Surely you are curious about Jesus’ perspective on the Pope and about the masses of people who attended his funeral. I would like nothing better than to satisfy your curiosity. But I can’t do that. Let me tell you why.

One of the most striking features of this story from Luke’s gospel is what is not there. The story claims that Jesus opened to them all the scriptures … but there is not a single word, not one jot or a tittle, of what Jesus is supposed to have said.

This absence of content, this silence is not unusual in the gospel stories. In a recent essay, author Garret Keizer¹, notes that the life of Jesus is marked as much by what he didn’t say as by what he did say. He tended to answer questions with parables or more questions. He spoke by indirection and, typically, was more cryptic than forthcoming. Sometimes, as before Pilate, when asked a direct question, he responded with silence. When asked, “Who is my neighbor” he responded with the parable of the Good Samaritan, and then concluded by turning the question back to the questioner. When the rich young ruler asked him about salvation, he referred the questioner to the Law of Moses … in effect saying, “Go look it up.”

The gospel writers tell us that, “He did not speak to them except in parables,” and “He answered them not a word.” Mark’s gospel, the oldest and earliest of the four gospels, contains almost no teaching at all. That Gospel is in equal measure tantalizing and frustrating. Mark informs the reader that Jesus taught as one with authority; he informs us that everyone who heard him speak was astounded by his teaching. At the same time, Mark fails to convey the content of that teaching.

This behavior, this reticence is in striking contrast to most other significant religious leaders. Think of Confucius, the Buddha, Mohammad, Mary Baker Eddy, or Joseph Smith. They were verbose speakers and/or prodigious writers; they each freely pronounced on many subjects. By contrast, in terms of quantity, what we have from Jesus in the synoptic gospels is negligible indeed: a handful of parables and the Sermon on the Mount (which is likely a collection of sayings and excerpts artificially strung together by the gospel writers).

Yet, this is precisely what is so compelling and significant and different about Jesus. He doesn’t make great pronouncements about the events of the day. Instead, he tells a story, makes a reference, asks a question and sheds light. He invites people – he invites us – to struggle, to listen, to learn. He doesn’t tell us the meaning of a thing. Rather, he invites us to prod and poke at it, to look at it in different angles under a different light. By so doing, he encourages us to develop and shape our own faith and understanding, informed, not only by our experience – not only by what we ourselves know to be true – but also by the lives and experiences of others, by what others know to be true.

Let me tell you a story against myself in which something I thought to be true, turned out to be false.

About 15 years ago, I was living in a second floor apartment in Hartford, Connecticut. The apartment’s windows overlooked a street that had become rather poor and bleak. I saw a lot out of those windows: arrests, arguments, parties, children playing, drunks reeling and families out for walks.

One evening I noticed a young woman walking rapidly past my apartment. She was being followed by a car. The driver was talking to her, or shouting. The woman hurried on, looking away. The car kept pace, driving just behind her. I ran down the stairs and onto the sidewalk, running to catch up with her. “Can I help?” I asked. She paused and looked at me. I glanced at the car and back at her. “Can I help?” I offered again. “Would you like to use my telephone?” Then a warm smile appeared on her face and she relaxed. “Thank you so much,” she said, “but the people in the car are my friends and we are just looking for number fifty-six on this street.”

Without even realizing it, I made assumptions that informed what I saw … but my assumptions were wrong. Sometimes we are simply wrong about what we think we understand.

On the road to Emmaus the two followers of Jesus expose the assumptions on which their views are based. They assume that the crucified Jesus is gone forever. They assume they know who he was: a prophet. They assume that they have an informed perspective on the events of the day. After all, they are insiders, followers of Jesus. They assume they have a pretty good handle on what has transpired. When he appears by their side, walking and talking, their assumptions prevent them from seeing who he is. In the course of the conversation, however, we learn that they are simply wrong. They are mistaken about many things. Where they had seen only death and defeat, Jesus showed them resurrection and hope.

I have wondered about this story in the light of the myriad events of recent days: in light of the arguments over stem cell research, the right to die or the right to life, and the legacy of the Pope … each of them so fraught, so personal, so nuanced, so informed by culture, education and experience.

We, who together inhabit this small and fragile planet, we are so deeply and painfully divided. We look out of our windows – or more accurately – we look through the windows of our television screens or newspapers.

We are all looking at the same events – whether we are Roman Catholic or Protestant, whether we are hale and hearty or suffer from Parkinson’s disease, whether we are an Islamic woman behind a burka or an Orthodox rabbi, whether we are an Iraqi father or an American mother.

We all look upon the same events, but we see them with different eyes, so we give to them different meanings.

As we engage together in the struggles and trials of this our world – as we seek meaning, perspective and understanding of the events of our time – it is well for Christians to ask: What would Jesus say? Yet, let us also beware: there are those who presume to answer such questions with certitude; they believe they know what Jesus and the Bible have to say about each of the issues of our day.

But … I submit that those who are inclined to make dogmatic pronouncements … those who presume to speak for Jesus with unblinking certitude … have failed to understand and to honor Jesus’ own reticence: his respect for nuance and perspective, his silence, and his invitation to us to wrestle together with the difficult and important issues of our time.
What he offered, what he gave, what he taught, had less to do with words. He was neither didactic, nor ideological, neither dogmatic nor long-winded. His power and influence, his authority and the astonishment with which people greeted his teaching – these were derived from what people experienced in his presence. What they experienced in his presence was a gift beyond words: they experienced grace, mercy, forgiveness, acceptance, hope and welcome. In his presence, death became resurrection; despair was transformed into hope, and rejection and judgment into welcome and mercy.

So, instead of asking: What would Jesus say? Perhaps we should ask ourselves: What do people experience in our presence and in the life of this church? Do they see us handling nuance, looking from different angles, listening with interest, learning through questions. Do they see us facing the world and the people of the world with open hearts and open minds?

May it be so. Amen.

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 1 “The Reticence of Jesus: Slow to Anger,” by Garret Keizer, The Christian Century, April 5, 2005.
 
 

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