On August the ninth, 2010, Ed Stafford went for a swim. Ed strolled along the beautiful beach of the seaside town of Marda, Brazil. He stepped past the upscale holiday makers to the water's edge and plunged into the crystal blue Atlantic Ocean. A few moments later, refreshed by his dip, he waded back to dry land.
Popped open a bottle of champagne and celebrated. Truth be told, ed looked a bit outta place that day and he became the object of puzzled looks by the upscale holiday makers. They had all taken taxis from their luxury hotels. Ed however, walked to the beach and his starting point wasn't a luxury hotel.
His walk began on Nardo Mis Me Mountain in the Peruvian Andes 4,200 miles away. That peak is the birthplace of the mighty Amazon River. It begins its life as a tiny stream of rainwater babbling down the mountainside. Now, 860 days later, Ed's journey with the Amazon ended at the ocean, ed Stafford possesses that ancient spirit of exploration.
Why did he walk the entire length of the Amazon? Because no one else had he braved deadly snakes, 18 foot crocodiles, exotic tropical diseases, and many other challenges that had forced previous adventurers to leave the forest floor and board boats. But Ed Stafford carried on walking. His method was simple.
Keep the river on the left and walk downhill.
He started out with a companion, but he wasn't made of the same granite that Ed was chiseled from. And he retired after just three months. But as he journeyed through the forest, ed was joined by others, uh, local people. He met along the way who kept him company for a while and then returned home and he had one other companion, one eternal ever present.
Reassuring companion. Now, if you are thinking it's church, so he must be talking about God. I'm actually talking about another companion. This one, guarded and guided. But was also mysterious holding secrets and dangers beneath its facade. Ed Stafford's 4,000 Mile companion was of course, the river itself, always in his sights, ever on his mind.
Keep the river on the left and walk downhill. That's all there is to it.
It was only seven miles to Emmaus, but it felt like 4,000 to Clear Pass. And his friend. Every step was painful. Every yard was raw. You see, every step took them away from Jerusalem, every yard removed them further from the place of hope. Where do you go when you lose your savior? Well, you go to em, Emmaus, the desolate friends, trudge those seven miles from Jerusalem with shattered dreams.
It's still Easter Day, but they don't yet believe the resurrection. A week ago, it had been so different. Jesus was the one they believed. God's chosen, the one who would usher in God's kingdom, but things had gone terribly wrong that weekend. Their conversation is full of if only and what ifs and how could we have got it so wrong?
Jesus was, they say, a mighty prophet in deed and word, but the 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. We had hoped. And so they walk, look at them. They don't have the same focus and resolve as Ed Stafford on his walk.
I'm not even sure they have a goal in mind. No one knows why they're going to a Emmaus or what they'll do when they arrive. They just go keep the river on the left and walk downhill. Every step is down into the valley of dry bones. But as they walk into their sunset, they are joined by a stranger. They don't recognize him.
Maybe it's their grief that prevents them from truly seeing him, or maybe it's because their fellow traveler is hiding his true identity. Whatever the reason for not recognizing Jesus. One thing is certain, he knows a lot of Bible. He quotes it as they walk the road together, explaining some of the prophecies of old and showing how Jesus was really the one.
There's something about this man. His words burn in their hearts. They are drawn to him. They are compelled to hear more, and so they ask him to stay with them. When they reach the village, he agrees, and as they sit and eat, the stranger takes some bread and breaks it. And in that act of hospitality, that sacramental breaking of bread, clear pass and his companion have their eyes opened.
And Jesus vanishes as mysteriously as he had joined them on the road. He'd been with them all along and they never knew it. How little disciples have changed in 2000 years? Because this is our story, isn't it? At least it's mine. Have you been to Em, Emmaus? I know you have. I've visited some of you there.
I've been privileged to share that seven mile journey with you. You have set out from the city of resurrection and gone to the village of Desolation. Some of you have even joined me on that road. We all know that highway to Emmaus, we had hoped Jesus was going to redeem us. We had hoped that things were going to work out differently.
We had hoped we are on the road and every step of those seven miles hurts because it takes us another foot away from the dream we had and the hope we treasured. It's another step towards the bleak future that we think awaits us in Emmaus. Keep the river on the left and walk downhill and it's a long way down.
But just as we know that terrible trudge to the village, we know that he was with us all the time and we never knew it. Looking back, we can see that he really was there. And although it seems so bleak and hopeless, we now know that he was by our side urging us on and bringing us a last relief and newness.
We thought we'd hate Emmaus. We thought we'd die there, but it was there that our eyes were opened and we saw the Messiah. We thought that he would save us, and he did.
Jesus does a lot of breaking in this passage. He breaks the word and opens the meaning of the scriptures. He breaks bread and opens the meal of Revelation. And he breaks the scales that had covered the eyes of the friends and stopped them from seeing him too early. Three Breakings Word, sacrament, and journey.
This is a really Anglican or Episcopal story, and I bet you are in it. St. John's is this glorious tapestry of traditions and convictions woven together to bear testimony to a God who loves diversity, but cherishes unity. We are reformed, but also Catholic and also mainline, and we glory in our theological diversity.
So where are you in this story? If you think of yourself as reformed or evangelical, then for you, Jesus opens the scriptures and reveals himself. If you identify with the Catholic stream of our tradition, then Jesus speaks your language too. When he breaks open the bread, the sacramental bread and reveals himself.
If you see yourself as not very Catholic and not very reformed, but somewhere in the middle, Jesus breaks open the journey of honesty and integrity and reveals himself. So this story reminds me that we need each other. Many of you know that my story of faith started in the reformed or evangelical stream.
It was only as an adult that I came to understand and appreciate The other two streams, the Catholic sacramental stream and the mainline centrist stream. The road to Emmaus makes me grateful for my roots, and especially Uncle Dennis. I never got to tell Uncle Dennis what he meant to me. That was a shame because I probably wouldn't be in this pulpit or any other pulpit if it were not for him.
Uncle Dennis was my dad's brother, a devout and serious Baptist, as was all my father's family, their father. My grandfather had been a strict Baptist pastor in Devon. Now strict Baptists in England have a deep love of scripture. Coupled with a culture of austerity and self-denial, think Southern Baptist, but not as wishy-washy and liberal.
But amid the austerity of his church, uncle Dennis stood out as a man who possessed warmth and friendliness. He lived many miles from us and I didn't know him very well, but he still had a profound influence on my childhood. Every month from when I was around nine or 10, uncle Dennis would send me Bible reading notes, uh, like forward, day by day, but less Episcopal.
I can't tell you the name of those notes. I can't even tell you anything I read in them or any of the Bible passages they led me to read. But that wasn't the point. It was like the difference between the words and the music. I didn't get the words, but the music was strong and soothing. The music touched my soul.
It said, the Bible is important, so important that I, your uncle, whom you rarely see am sending you these notes. And so I grew up with this conviction that if Uncle Dennis believed in the Bible so much that he sends me notes to encourage me to read it, then it must be very important. And since then, the scriptures have been my Amazon, my 4,000 mile journey has been in the company of the Bible, keep the river on the left and walk downhill.
Uncle Dennis died in the year 2000, and I never told him how much those Bible reading notes influenced me. I wish I had, it would've given him so much joy. I did get the chance though, to tell the rest of the family there at his funeral. I stood in the pulpit, his nephew in a Church of England collar in the pulpit of a Baptist Tabernacle, and I told my family that if it had not been for the man they loved, I would not have been standing there wearing that collar.
Who opened up the scriptures for you? Who told you about the sacraments? Who showed you by their life that the journey to Emmaus can be a hopeful one. Don't be like me. Don't wait till they're dead to thank them. Get on the phone this afternoon or send them an email and if they are dead, tell them anyway that you are the Christian.
You are. Partly because they opened for you. The scriptures, the sacraments, the journey. So let's keep going. Keep the river on the left and walk downhill. Amen.