While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him.

And they had much to talk about and discuss, didn’t they?

Changes had come to them.

As they do to all of us, whether or not we like it, the changes came sweeping through their lives, and suddenly the world they knew wasn’t the same anymore and it never would be again.

They didn’t know what to make of it. That which seemed certain just a week earlier had become a bewildering, confusing set of events: the arrest on Thursday night, the trial in the pre-dawn hours of Friday, the agony of the cross, the crashing waves of sorrow on Friday night, the long silence of the Sabbath, a glimmer of something on Sunday morning in the women’s words of angel sightings, but no real evidence to back it up.

They thought that they were on to something with this Jesus, but now he was dead, so there was nothing left to do but to go home to Emmaus.

Back to whatever it was that Cleopas and his unnamed friend were doing before the circus came to town. There was nothing left for them in the big city, the holy place. As with Elton John, Cleopas “finally decided my future lies Beyond the yellow brick road” So they trudged the seven miles toward Emmaus, tired, saddened and discouraged, they were almost ready to give up on all that had gone on.

But not quite.

Because they continued to talk to each other, they continued to discuss all of the changes. And as they talked and discussed, as they walked in the weariness and sorrow and confusion, Jesus was there with them.

That’s how it works, he was not back in Jerusalem the Holy Place, nor was he waiting at home for them. He comes to them on the road, right in the middle of their journey as they are feeling overwhelmed by their physical and emotional and spiritual emptiness, as they spoke with each other, Jesus was there.

While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him.

So many directions to go with this today.

Women of the Guild, you know what they were feeling, don’t you?

How many decades have you struggled and served to hold together as friends, disciples, servants of Christ, daughters of God?

You saw the changes, the motion of Easter, working as Easter always does to change things and people, and they weren’t good changes for groups like the Guild. And I am sure that there were times when you felt tired and discouraged and sad as you watched your numbers and energy and enthusiasm dwindle.

Today, as we thank you and honor you, we recognize that our earthly traditions and structures, however holy they may be, are always temporary, while the heavenly things will last forever. But that doesn’t diminish the value of our earthly work on God’s behalf. It is no exaggeration to say that this Church would not be here were it not for the holy work done by the Women’s Guild to sustain and often carry this congregation through some of our dark days, financially and spiritually.

I was asked why I thought the Guild, as an organization, had reached a point of saying “we’re done”. I think the answer goes back to the late 1960’s. Up until then the Reformed Church in America was guilty of the sin of not allowing women to serve God in the offices of Elder, Deacon or Minister of Word and Sacrament. The Guild was a way that women could respond to the love and blessings that God had given them, a way to live out the life that God had created them for and to love God not only with their hearts, souls and strength, but with their minds as well. They might not be allowed to serve on Consistory, but God’s call on people can never be contained or controlled by organizational structures, like grass through the cracks in the walkway, God’s servants will always emerge. So through the Guild the voice and gifts of women helped to shape the life of God’s people.

And then in the late ‘60’s, even before it was allowed by the Reformed Church, this congregation elected Ruth Lane and Peg Van Doran to serve on Consistory, defying the Classis and the rest of the denominational structures. It was a Clover Hill way to end the rejection of the gifts of more than half of the members.

However, as wonderful and right and holy as it was to open the ordination process up to women, it was also the beginning of the end of groups like the Guild. As a result of the leadership of Ruth and Peg the women of the Church, today, do not need an alternative way to serve and lead God’s people, they do it on Consistory. None of us saw that clearly at the time, but it is so often the case with the presence of Christ in our journey, we don’t see what is really happening around us.

While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him.

And a slightly different direction, today is Mothers’ Day.

And with no disrespect at all to my mother - those of you who were around when she was alive know how deeply I loved her and can probably guess at how often I think of her and the things that have happened since her death that she would have enjoyed - however, I have been blessed with many, many mothers! That is to say I have been blessed by many people who did the same thing, at one time or another, that Christ did with Cleopas and his buddy.

Jesus asked them what they were talking about, for it was obvious that they were engaged in a deep and intimate conversation. And his question – and their sorrow – stopped them dead in their tracks.

And with the loving nurture of a mother, Jesus listened to them before he spoke to them.

And when he spoke he defined all of the changes they were going through in terms of scripture. He placed all of their sorrows, all of their fears, all of their disappointments in the light of God’s love. He got them to start moving forward again, one foot in front of another, still talking, but moving, as he let them follow their faith.

We aren’t told which scriptures he spoke of, which stories he reminded them of, we don’t need that, we only need the reassurance that God working through the people we travel with in life, will provide that when we are honest enough and trusting enough to talk to others. He will get us moving again when sorrow and failure have stunned us to a halt.

And then Christ shares a meal with them.

How many potlucks do you suppose the women of the guild shared? Christ was there.

How many times did someone take you out, or have you over for a meal, when you were dragging on rock bottom? Christ was there.

How many times did our mother’s wisdom come to us over a shared meal? Christ was there, in all of those moments

I will say it again, as I have so many times, the presence of Christ in the sacrament that we share here, at this table, is of no ongoing value if we can’t discern that same presence at our kitchen or dining room or picnic tables, for it is in the simple symbolism of shared, broken bread that Christ is revealed.

       And then he is gone.

       As my mother is.

       As so many of our mothers in faith are.

       As the Guild is from our Church life.

       As all of us will be one day.

       Jesus was gone, again.

       And they knew they had to be gone as well.

So now, these two guys, who were so concerned about getting into the house because it was late and the roads were dangerous at night, up they jump and off they race, seven miles back to Jerusalem to tell the others what they had just seen and heard. Why? Because you can’t help it! News this good needs to be shared! When we are blessed with God’s blessings, when we watch marriages grow stronger in a culture that does everything it can to weaken them; when we hold a baby and just imagine the wonders and joys that will open up in that child’s lifetime; when we see children become teens and teens become adults with a comfortable grasp on their faith and their identity; when we watch adults in those middle years keep chopping away at jobs and relationships and faith expressions; when we watch those who are in – or approaching – the benediction years of life do so with grace and trust and joy, we need to tell those stories! They are the stories that allow us to discover Christ in our own personal journeys.

While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him.

He is there even when we can’t recognize him.

And if we hang on to our relationships with each other, if we talk and discuss, he will be there in all of the changes that Easter brings to our world.

Of that I am certain.

Just as I am certain that my mother is there when Debi and I teach her great-grandchildren how to sing “Take me out to the ball game”, in the same way she taught our children, and I hear her laughter echo in Michaela’s voice.

Just as I am certain that the great and wonderful women of the Guild, who have already gone on ahead of us, are here on the Sundays when the pews are not crowded and at the meetings when we realize that the dollars aren’t stretching far enough, and someone will say “It’ll be OK, we’ll figure it out.” And I will hear the echoes of Ruth and Peg and Mary and the others.

Just as I am certain that, however necessary the death of Osama Bin Ladin was, I was not the only one who felt a discomfort with all of the chest-beating celebrations, knowing that God takes the death of each of her children, even those who have sinned and wandered far from home and the life that God planned for them, very seriously and we should as well.

Most of us wish, as those disciples did, that things would turn out the way that we hope in life. And sometime they do, but most of the time they don’t, they turn out different. But if we keep talking and discussing with each other, if we make our journeys of sorrow and of joy, if we let strangers into our lives, our meals and our hearts, we will know the presence of Christ in our lives and we will find that things turn out just as God intended, however long the journey might take.

While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him.