I have pedestrian habits.
I like to walk, or run, or hike, sometimes ride a bike. I can feel and taste the air and the light.
I see things that I miss otherwise, see other people, buildings, plants, animals.
I saw two possum the other morning. I stopped and watched them wander around.
They almost came right up to me, one never saw me. They are pretty much blind. I did scare the other one and it climbed a baby dog wood, it got about four feet up and tried hiding behind a little leaf. It was playing possum.
Blind and hiding in plain sight.
We’re a lot like possum, not seeing much, hiding from something, but not very well.
The road to Emmaus, two of Jesus followers were headed out of town, getting away from the death of Jesus, hiding from the violation, hiding from the disappointment, hiding from the revelation that the world is just nasty, nothing is sacred.
Where do we hide? Where do we run to?
And Jesus walked up and walked with them, they talked of scripture, of the deep meaning of scripture, that the death of a suffering messiah reveals the way of that is truth and life.
Blind as possums they never recognized him.
The sacred, the holy, the holy one, walks with us, yet we do not see.
God is the stranger who walks with us.
The disciples invited him in to stay, invited the stranger.
They shared a table together and that is when their eyes were opened.
At table with the stranger who broke the bread and then they saw the Risen Lord and he vanished. The vanishing Lord.
The journey, the pilgrimage, the walk, along the way we come to know God, to see God, to welcome God, to proclaim the good news of God.
On the walk, along the way, our eyes are opened and we catch fleeting glimpses of God’s presence in the world.
When our eyes can’t stand being open, when we are hiding, then God finds us, the resurrection touches us for a moment, and we can go on and share the message that God is present, that the sacred does fill this world, that darkness does not carry the day. That Jesus lives.
Without that vanishing presence of the God who is the stranger, we are just a bunch a blind possum, wandering around, hiding in plain sight.
But when we walk the walk, when we listen, when we invite the stranger into our lives, when we share bread, then our hearts burn with the Easter fire.