I saw Jesus. He was stealing money from the Coffee Hour kitty.

This past Sunday (May 4, Easter III), the Gospel reading was Luke 24:13-35, the story of the meeting on the road to Emmaus.  Two followers of Jesus (not Apostles) were walking down the road , discussing the Crucifixion and Resurrection and met a man who asked them what they had been talking about.  Flabbergasted that anyone would not have heard, they basically said,  "What cave did you just crawl out of?”   It was Jesus, but they didn’t know Him until much later when, after they had asked Him to stay for supper, He broke the bread. Then he disappeared.

Bummer!

Often the sermon based on this passage deals with how we fail to recognize Jesus.   He is everyone, of course, and the sermon points out that we usually fail to recognize him in the “marginal” people – the poor, the homeless, the mentally ill.  The preacher may tell a story about how he or she recognized Jesus in such a person (or didn't and felt bad later).   

We leave church feeling guilty (“I really should be more loving and sympathetic toward others.  I must be an awful person.”), indignant (“The church wants too damn much!  We’re doing the best we can.  We try and try and it still isn’t enough.”), or indignant and guilty (the same as the preceding reaction with a sheepish ‘Sorry, God’ tacked on at the end).

I realize that a sermon is supposed to make you think, but do you have to feel bad to come to a good conclusion?

So here is my Emmaus story.  (Maybe I was a preacher in prior life.)

I was huddled in a chair at the ophthalmologist’s office, mentally in a fetal position, hoping no one would say anything to me and trying to look engrossed in some magazine.  (I think it was Newsweek.  No Peoples, unfortunately.)  Several weeks ago, I had come in to find out why I had seen a double moon, expecting that I would just need stronger glasses.  My old doctor had retired, and the new one said, “Well, your cataract is bigger.”

This came as a surprise, to say the least,  since my former doctor had very sensibly decided to wait to tell me until it was ready to be removed.  Now, after a lot of worry and internal drama, I was back to book the operation.  People who had had “the work done” (That sounded trendier than “the operation.”) told me it was “no big deal.”  I knew they weren’t lying, but it was hard to believe them.  And, of course, there are always exceptions.

I did not want to talk to anyone.  The waiting room was full of people who were probably as scared as I was.  For some people, the best thing to do in such a situation is to keep talking so you won’t start thinking.  I’m not one of them. 

A few chairs away a little old lady was fiddling with her cell phone.  The woman sitting next to her, who was not with her, offered to help.  The lady’s son had given it to her recently and she hadn’t quite figured it out.  The other woman diagnosed the problem, explained it to her, and then chatted until the old lady was called in.

I did not think of it in those terms, but I had just seen Jesus in a woman wearing nice clothes who could afford eye care.  I thought she looked like a social worker or perhaps even a minister.  (I realize this is occupationist.  She could have been a corporate defense attorney.)  He is not just in the outcasts.

Seeing Jesus can be recognizing other people being kind.   And when we do, it can inspire us to try to be more Jesus-like ourselves, instead of making us feel angry, frustrated, and guilty.  Then maybe someone will see Jesus in us!

By the way, a cataract operation really isn’t a big deal.  It beats a colonoscopy and you get better vision and free sunglasses!