1
Sermon by Lori Erickson
April 6, 2008
That very day, the first day of the week, two of the disciples were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. And he said to them, "What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?" They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, "Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?" He asked them, "What things?" They replied, "The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place. Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him." Then he said to them, "Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?" Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures. As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, "Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over." So he went in to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, "Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?" That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were saying, "The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!" Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.
Luke 24:13-35
To get to the lecture described below:
A couple of weeks agoa friend sent me a link to a lecture about the brain given by a scientist named Jill Bolte Taylor. I clicked on the link butfrankly didn’t expect that I would listen to all of her speech, especially when I saw that it was 20 minutes long. But after a short time I was hooked. Taylordidn’t speak about the brain from the viewpoint of an academic. Instead she told the story of what happened to her eight years ago when she suffered a massive stroke.
With a mixture of humor and clinical detail, she described her experiences over a two-hour period, of waking up with what she thought was a bad headache and of the gradual disintegration of her consciousness. She recalls losing her ability to read, of her arm becoming paralyzed, of not being able to speak or walk.She remembers the moment when she realized she was having a stroke, and of how fearful she was. And she remembers when she realized as well that she was being given a unique opportunity. As a neuroanatomist she had devoted her career to studying the brain, and now she was being given the chance to observe the brain in a way she had never had before. From the inside out.
Because of where the bleed was occurring in the left hemisphere of her brain, Taylor describes how her awarenessbegan to shift to the other hemisphere. The left hemisphere, the one that was being damaged, is primarily concerned with rationality, with thinking about the past and the future and making decisions based on a wide variety of input. As that failed, her right hemisphere became dominant, the part of the brain that takes in sensory data, the part thatlives only in the present moment.
As that shift happened, she looked at her arm and realized that its boundaries had become indistinct. She couldn’t figure out where her body ended, for it seemed to be expanding, its molecules blending with the wall she was leaning against. As she looked around her, she saw that the world had changed as well, and that everything around her pulsed with energy. And then a wave of peacefulness and beauty and expansiveness flowed through her, as she saw that she wasn’t separate from the world.
At this point in her lecture, this highly educated, rational scientist, this articulate woman who up to now has been both entertaining and educational, is so moved by what she is describing that she has difficulty talking about it, even after eight years. That experience of oneness, of unity, she said, is why she refers to what happened to her as a stroke of insight. Though she would spend eight long years recovering from her stroke, what she experienced during those moments changed forever how she viewed the brain, the world, and herself.
For any student of religion, her description is likely to sound familiar, for it is similar to experiences reported by mystics from many faith traditions. Through prayer, meditation, fasting, and other devotional practices, many seekers have felt that ineffable sense of peace and expansiveness, that sense that the world is infused with divine energy and that they are connected to all around them. St. Francis,Julian of Norwich, St. John of the Cross, Brother Lawrence, and William Blake are just a few of the witnesses who have reported this. So it is curious and intriguing to hear a scientist talk of such matters. An atheist would likely say that such experiences are simply the result of a malfunctioning brain. But as people of faith, I think many of us have the opposite reaction: perhaps this is part of all of us, an ability that we have been given by God, and that perhaps someday we can experience it. Hopefully not through a stroke, but perhaps through prayer or meditation.
On a personal note, I happened to see this video clip just before I heard the news of the Sueppel tragedy on Easter Monday. For a long time I couldn’t figure out why Taylor’s words kept coming back to me. In the midst of my grief and sadness, I would remember her experiences. I’ve come to believe there is a connection between the two, and that’s what I want to talk to you about this morning.
I didn’t know the Sueppel family personally, but I live in the LongfellowSchool neighborhood, and in the days after their deaths, almost everyone I spoke to had some personal connection with them. Several friends had children who were in the same classes as the Sueppel children at Longfellow. Others knew Steve or Sheryl or their parents or siblings. As the days went on, the web of connections grew. Even for those of us who didn’t have a personal tie, a weight of grief pressed down on us.
I think what we were feeling—what perhaps some of you are still feeling—is related to what Jill Bolte Taylor spoke about in her lecture. We think of ourselves as autonomous, separate individuals. But half of our brain knows something else: we are connected. We are one. And because of the shock and magnitude of what happened, we have been jolted out of our ordinary consciousness in a way that helps us see that web of connection.
In the Gospel reading for today, we hear the story of the risen Christ walking on the road to Emmaus with two disciples who do not recognize him. As they walk, he opens their hearts and minds in a way that astonishes them. Perhaps part of what he said then, part of what he told to others in subsequent days, relates to this way of seeing the world. We are not separate from God and from one another. In the words of St. Paul, we are no longer Jew or Greek, male or female, slave or free. We are one with our brothers and sisters and one with the Risen Christ. In this new world, all divisions disappear as we live in the light of Christ.
If we truly live as Easter people, if we agree to walk with Jesus on the road to Emmaus, I don’t think that means that pain and grief are taken away. It means, in fact, that at times that pain will weigh even more heavily on us, because we know that when others suffer, we are hurt as well. And so in these past two weeks, as we have seen the family and friends of the Sueppels bear grief upon grief upon grief, we bear a portion of that sorrow as well. This is not a burden we should refuse. This is a sign that we sense at some level the bonds that unite us.
It is in our nature as human beings that too often we learn a lesson only through pain. It takes a medical crisis like a stroke or a tragedy like the Sueppel family to teach us deeper truths. That is why all the great spiritual teachers counsel discipline and routine: that’s why we need to pray even when we don’t feel like it, and show up week after week in church even when it’s easier to sleep in, and give to otherseven when we’d rather be doing something for ourselves. That steady shaping of our souls prepares us, we hope, forthe stroke of insight that comes out of the blue. In an image used by Martin Luther, it is as if we are walking in darkness through a valley when a lightning bolt suddenly illuminates the path before us. Even when the darkness descends again, we now know that the path leads up the mountain.
Like many of you, I would guess, I have spent the past two weeks trying to make sense out of something that can never be made sense out of. There is so much that is a mystery here. But in this season that celebrates the triumph of life over death, of joy over pain, I think we need to remember the words spoke by Sheryl Sueppel’s brother at the funeral last week. He said that he and the rest of the family truly loved Steve, and that their love would not change. He said that probably the easiest thing he had to do that week was forgive Steve. And he said these words in front of a family that sat united in love in 0the pews before him.
I don’t know how you explain such forgiveness and generosity of spirit, but I do believe this: it must surely involve grace, for I don’t know how else it would be possible.
So all of us must choose how we are going to walk the path before us. We can live as if we are completely separate andautonomous, as if this world is only what we see and hear in our ordinary round of existence. Or we can live in the light of Christ, knowing that we are one in the Spirit, and that love surrounds us and fills us and bears our burdens when we cannot bear them by ourselves.