Jewish mystics tell the story of the Tzadikim Nistarim (Hebrew: צַדִיקִים נִסתָּרים, the “hidden righteous ones”), thirty-six individuals who walk the world with exceptional humility, selflessness, and anonymity, justifying the existence of humanity before God on account of their pureness of heart.[1] It is said that the Nistarim rise each morning to greet the Shekinah, the Spirit of God, and walk in her presence daily with unusual clarity and focus.[2] Rabbi Abbaye, a 4^th century Jewish sage from Babylon, says, “The world has no fewer than thirty-six righteous people in each generation who greet the Divine Presence every day, as it is stated: “Happy are all they that wait for Him.”[3] These individuals, sometimes called the Lamed Vavnik, arise in each generations from all the peoples of the earth – there could be righteous ones amongst us in this very place – but there is a catch: they do not know one another or know that they are the righteous. The mystics say that, should the Nistarim become aware of their status, that they would cease to be righteous, and that as long as even one of them walks the earth, that God will continue to allow humanity to flourish.[4]

Spoken of in whispers and hushed tones, Jews sometimes speak of the unknown righteous when tasked with greeting strangers, offering hospitality, or understanding the person that appears to be Other. In essence, the legend says to love your neighbour, for that stranger may holding the very world on their shoulders. This line of thought has a long history within Judaism and Christianity; when we welcome strangers, we may very well be hosting angels. Consider the story of the ageing and childless Sarah and Abraham who welcome three strangers by the oaks of Mamre, only to realize that it is God sitting at their table.[5] Similarly, the author of the book of Hebrews in the New Testament also represents the same Jewish exhortation to welcome the stranger abundantly; “Keep on loving each other as sisters and brothers. Don’t forget to show hospitality to strangers, for some who have done this have had angels in their homes without knowing it!”[6] The ethical imperative of this spiritual tradition couldn’t be clearer: love strangers as family, as if each person carries the weight of the world on their shoulders with the power to change the world.

Weight. The two disciples Emmaus bound must have felt the weight of the world like Atlas carrying the globe on his shoulders. A few short weeks before, hope was seemingly everywhere, springing up like the wildflowers of the field! This Jesus would free the people from the occupation of empire, overthrowing Rome and reestablishing the long-lost kingdom of Israel. A symphony of resistance had been swelling around the rabbi from Nazareth: people, energy, and organization had fomented into a tune the rebellion of a generation. Oppression was losing its grasp, and it seemed that the people might have a chance at freedom. But then came the arrest, the torture, and the mockery. Empire and religion conspiring together to crucify the righteous walking among us. Just when it seemed that it couldn’t get any darker, they nailed him to a cross – a death fitting for a common criminal. Granted, there had been a few rumours that some of the other women had found an empty tomb, but these words seemed to be an idle tale, hard to hear, and even harder to believe still.[7] But now only this road remains; the road to Emmaus, some Podunk hot spring town a few miles outside of the so-called “City of Peace.”[8] (Think Harrison Hot Springs.) “At least the warm waters will feel nice on our sore feet, on our battered souls,” I can imagine the disciples thinking as they approached town, as the day began to wane.

As they walk the road of broken dreams, back to the daily grind and away from hope, a man joins them in conversation as they walk the final stretch of road.

“What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?” he asked. They stood still, looking sad. Then Clopas answered him, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?” With a blank look the stranger asked them, “What things?” The two travellers 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.” The stranger pauses, but then boldly responds, “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.[9] Clopas and the other disciple do not know that they are speaking to Jesus – but even so, most strangers would have the decorum to respond with some level of sensitivity! (Side note: the next time someone is mourning the death of a beloved, try to speak to them like Jesus: just try and see how calling them “foolish” and “slow of heart,” followed by a scripture lesson goes for you.). But strange things can happen when walking a broken road. A reminder: Don’t forget to show hospitality to strangers, for some who have done this have had angels in their homes without knowing it![10]

Nearing the village of Emmaus, with the day waning short and night waxing long, the two disciples begin to watch their conversation partner walk ahead. Perhaps out of a concern for his welfare (thieves abound in the night) or perhaps wanting to keep the warmth of conversation kindled in their burning hearts,[11] the two disciples beg the stranger, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is nearly over.”[12] Initially, Jesus refuses – this is the polite custom of ancient Jews,[13] but also a test of their faith, to see if they will insist on hosting him:[14] Don’t forget to show hospitality to strangers, for some who have done this have had angels in their homes without knowing it![15] Persuaded of their good intentions, the stranger accepts their invitation to stay the night and become their guest. But when they get to the table, stranger no longer acts the part of the guest: he picks up the bread, blesses, and breaks it for them to share – something that only the head of the household would do![16] (Imagine if you welcomed a stranger home from Okanagan avenue on Easter Sunday, only for them to sit down at the head of the table and carve the roast beef! The audacity!). Molly Marshall provides insightful commentary here, “Hospitality expresses deep vulnerability; welcoming a stranger is always risky, and the tables might be turned, for good or ill. It is not readily apparent who the guest really might be. Jesus becomes the host at this meal, which becomes an expression of thanksgiving and deepened faith.”[17]

At the moment of recognition,[18] when “their eyes were opened, and they recognized him, he vanished from their sight.”[19] Bewildered, Clopas and friend looked at 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?”[20] With renewed hearts, without fear of thieves on the road, they got up that same hour and made the last leg of the journey into Jerusalem, immediately sharing with the other disciples, “The Lord has risen indeed,” and what had happened on the road and in the breaking of the bread.[21]

Notice the trajectory of faith here: Jesus shares stories from scripture, rooted in cultural awareness, shows up in presence and in Spirit, but the most profound act that draws the disciples to him is sharing bread at the table. The resurrected Christ’s first act is consistent with his earlier ministry:[22] he breaks bread to nurture a broken faith.[23] But ultimately, it is through sharing a table with strangers – through eating, rather than through logic, that the disciples are deepened in their faith in Christ. I understand that feeding people, sharing a table, and welcoming the lonesome stranger is also deeply embedded into the culture of First Community. Some may say that such ministry in the United Church means that “we’re a social club,” but Jesus reminds us that the work of feeding the stranger runs much deeper, rooted in the table ministry of Christ.

Returning to the ancient world, the first-century listeners of this story would have seen in Jesus the subversion and echoes of a much darker tale. In The Life of Romulus the philosopher-historian Plutarch shares story about the founder of Rome that bears similarities to the Emmaus Road encounter. In this story, Romulus (founder and first King of Rome), has appeared resurrected in the flesh after his death before one Julius Proculus. Listen for the differences between his words and Christ’s actions:

At this pass, then, it is said that one of the patricians, a man of noblest birth, and of the most reputable character, a trusted and intimate friend also of Romulus himself, and one of the colonists from Alba, Julius Proculus by name, went into the forum and solemnly swore by the most sacred emblems before all the people that, as he was travelling on the road, he had seen Romulus coming to meet him, fair and stately to the eye as never before, and arrayed in bright and shining armour. [Julius], then, affrighted at the sight, said: “O King, what possessed thee, or what purpose hadst thou, that thou hast left us patricians a prey to unjust and wicked accusations, and the whole city sorrowing without end at the loss of its father?”

Whereupon Romulus had replied: “It was the pleasure of the gods, O Proculus, from whom I came, that I should be with mankind only a short time, and that after founding a city destined to be the greatest on earth for empire and glory, I should dwell again in heaven. So farewell, and tell the Romans that if they practise self-restraint, and add to it valour, they will reach the utmost heights of human power. And I will be your god.[24]

In life, Romulus himself says that he came to establish “a city destined to be the greatest on earth for empire and glory.” Rome will crush all others. In death, Romulus decrees that, “I will be your god.” Nowhere does Jesus promise empire, oppression, or demand that people worship him as a deity; but the spirit of Romulus sure does! In fact, the spirit of Romulus appears to be more alive than ever before: this week the American President has repeatedly shared AI generated memes of himself depicted as Christ. Trump stands before us, like Romulus before him saying, “I will be your god,” a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Where Jesus quietly teaches, sets the table, blesses, breaks bread, and extends the table to strangers, the spirit of the anti-Christ (Romulus, Trump, so-called “Christian” nationalists) does the exact opposite. They break communion. They block the table. They deprive the people of nourishment, and they promote fear of the stranger. Their false gospel proclaims, “don’t provide hospitality to strangers, for there are certainly no angels among them,” while they pin Christ to the cross in our midst. But Jesus will not stay put, always rising in Easter hope, resurrection, and glory, taking us with him.

The encounter on the Emmaus Road teaches us that, as disciples of Jesus, that we need to root ourselves in the time-worn practices of scripture, looking for the presence of God amongst friend and stranger, and sharing our table with those who walk the way with us. It is through practice that we prepare ourselves for the divine downbeat, the moment when the music starts to play. As one commentator reminds us, “…the Emmaus story serves as a transition between the ambiguous reaction to the empty tomb and the ultimate appearance of Jesus to all of the disciples.”[25] We are tasked to carry that message of Easter hope and freedom forward. Through spiritual preparation, we develop the skills to see where God is moving in our communities, nations and globes. Like Christ, the disciple Clopas, and her friend, we are tasked to say, “stranger, stay with us,” in anticipation of the one who greets us at the table of God. We have work to do, here in Salmon Arm, removing barriers and providing access so that those not yet present at the table can find a place to eat. We have work to do to welcome strangers with hospitality, so that we might welcome angels among us, and be transformed in turn. We have work to do within us, to prepare ourselves so that we can recognize the signs of where God is moving in Shuswap country, so that we can come along and join in the work of the Spirit. And we have work to do in preparing food: good food, food that feeds bodies and souls. Angels walk among us, and the time for hospitality has come to loudly proclaim with heart and action, “Stranger, stay with us,” for the table of Christ is open to you. Amen.

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[1] See, https://medium.com/@mkressel/36-days-of-judaic-myth-day-36-the-lamed-vav-the-thirty-six-hidden-righteous-f83666781feb.

[2] See, https://medium.com/@mkressel/36-days-of-judaic-myth-day-36-the-lamed-vav-the-thirty-six-hidden-righteous-f83666781feb.

[3] Sukkah 45b:6, https://voices.sefaria.org/sheets/593652.2?lang=bi. Note reference to Isaiah 30:18.

[4] See, https://jewishlink.news/so-who-are-the-lamed-vav-tzadikim/.

[5] For one of the more unique accounts in the Torah, see Genesis 18:1-15, where the Lord visits Sarah and Abraham as three men by the oaks of Mamre.

[6] Hebrews 13:1-2 (my translation, adapted from the NLT and NLV).

[7] See Luke 24:8-11 (NRSVue).

[8] Emmaus may derive from the Hebrew ḥammat (Hebrew: חמת) meaning “hot spring,” about 60 stadia outside of Jerusalem – well within Judea, exact place unknown. See, NIV Cultural Background Study Bible, p. 1798.

[9] This section contains scripture and paraphrase from Luke 24:13-27.

[10] Hebrews 13:2 (my translation).

[11] Luke 24:32.

[12] Luke 24:29.

[13] NIV Cultural Studies Bible, p. 1800.

[14] See Genesis 19:1-3

[15] Hebrews 13:2 (my translation).

[16] See, NIV Cultural Studies Bible, p. 1800.

[17] Molly T. Marshall in Feasting on the Word, Year a Volume 2, p. 422.

[18] Also known as an anagnorisis, or “recognition scene,” a common Greco-Roman spiritual-literary trope.

[19] Luke 24:31.

[20] Luke 24:32.

[21] Luke 24:33-35, paraphrased and abridged.

[22] See Luke 9:16, the Feeding of the Multitudes; Luke 22:19, the final Passover meal before the Crucifixion.

[23] Shannon Michael Pater in Feasting on the Word, Year a. Vol. 2, p. 422.

[24] Plutarch, Life of Romulus 28:1-3, https://lexundria.com/plut_rom/28/prr. Adapted for aural clarity in preaching, last line paraphrased from “And I will be your propitious deity, Quirinius.”

[25] Donald Senior in Feasting on the Word, Year A Volume 2, p. 419.

Spend any time in the Pacific Northwest and eventually someone will inevitably bring up “the Big One.” Just the mention of “the Big One” is often enough to turn pleasant conversation anxious: if ever you want to get out of a conversation at a Vancouver party, just discuss “the Big One” and you’ll soon find yourself alone by the punchbowl. It turns out that most people who live in a province bordered by an ocean that harbours the seismic Cascadia subduction zone and sleeping volcanic mountains that hide the Pacific “Ring of Fire” don’t love the thought of “the Big One.” Talk about being between the devil and the deep blue sea. Bear with me a moment longer: for those who may not know, “the Big One,” is a predicted magnitude 9+ earthquake that occurs in Cascadia approximately every two-to-eight hundred years, last occurring around 9pm on January 26th, 1700, according to the records of early European settlers. If you did your math correctly that means “the Big One” gets even better; many scholars agree that we’re nearly two-hundred years overdue, and the late fees are beginning to pile up.

First Nations too, remember the earthquake; Indigenous people from Haida Gwaii to central California pass down aural stories that preserve their memories of the earthquake. In 1922, one ageing Alfred Carmichael, a Canadian settler of Scottish origin who had lived on the lands Nuu-chah-nulth in the early 19th century, wrote an account one of these earthquake legends that he heard while living among the Tseshaht and Hupacasath peoples, in the area that would later be known to colonizers as Port Alberni on Vancouver Island,

“One time ‘the Great One’ Quawteaht, desiring to destroy the mighty Thunder Birds, entered the body of a whale, and swimming slowly approached Howchulis shore. The Thunder Birds espied [the whale] from their high retreat, and sweeping down made ready for the fray. First one attacked and drove his talons deep into the whale’s back, then spreading his broad wings he tried to rise. Then Quawteaht gave strength to the great whale, which sounded, dragging Tee-tse-kin (Thunder Bird) beneath the waves. Up came the whale; a second Thunder Bird with all his force drove his strong claws deep into the quivering flesh. Then Quawteaht a second time gave strength and down the mammal plunged dragging with him the second Thunder Bird. A third was drowned in manner similar. Thereat, the fourth and last Tootooch took wing and fled to distant heights, where he has ever since remained. This is the story of the Thunder Birds.” Alfred Carmichael, Indian Legends of Vancouver Island (Toronto: Musson Book Company, 1922), 29-30.

In many Pacific Northwest coastal Indigenous traditions, the world rests on the back of the great whale, with the Thunder Birds representing the intermingling power of nature and the Creator. This last great Cascadian earthquake is remembered with divine imagery: flashes of lightning, surges of waves, a cosmic struggle between wind and wave. But it also ends with the final Thunder Bird keeping a watchful eye over the Great One – an invitation for each of us to also watch where God is moving in the world.

Considering cultures the world over, the presence of the Divine is commemorated with such displays of natural and supernatural power, otherwise known as theophanies. In the first-century Jewish context of Roman-occupied Palestine, the Gospel writer Mathew likewise connects the events of the first Easter with the power of God.

After the Sabbath, as the first day of the week was dawning, Mary Magdalene and the other Mary went to see the tomb. And suddenly there was a great earthquake (σεισμός), for an angel of the Lord, descending from heaven, came and rolled back the stone and sat on it. His appearance was like lightning and his clothing white as snow. For fear of him the guards shook (ἐσείσθησαν), becoming like dead men.

Jesus has died. Two of his closest disciples, Mary from Magdala and “the other Mary” (possibly his mother, or possibly a window for the listener to hear themselves in the story) have faithfully risen as early as Jewish law permitted on the first day of the week. Arriving at the tomb, an earthquake suddenly rocks around the two Mary’s; flashes of lightning radiate from the angel of the God descending before the women, like Thunder Bird dropping from the sky. Rolling back the slim disk that seals the tomb, the Angel sits on the edge of the stone, another supernatural feat that would take several grown men to achieve.

And what of the men? Like all men who guard their power with pointy sticks, the Roman guards posted at the tomb “shook, becoming like dead men,” when confronted with actual power. The Greek word that is translated as shook is actually closer to the older English “quaked” (eseisthesan/ἐσείσθησαν), drawing a parallel between the weakness of the men and the power of the divine earthquake (σεισμός), Chattering themselves to the ground, as always it’s the men who are nearly scared to death – not the Indigenous women, they who speak truth to power.

But the angel said to the women, “Do not be afraid, for I know that you are looking for Jesus who was crucified. He is not here, for he has been raised, as he said. Come, see the place where he lay. Then go quickly and tell his disciples, ‘He has been raised from the dead, and indeed he is going ahead of you to Galilee; there you will see him.’ This is my message for you.” So, they left the tomb quickly with fear and great joy and ran to tell his disciples.

Like the angel who appeared before Mary to announce the pregnancy of God, or the angels who appeared to the shepherds to proclaim the birth of the Messiah, once again it is an Angel who proclaims, “Do not be afraid” before the women. But the women aren’t quaking and chattering to the ground like the men – they have seen the power of God, they have felt it in their bodies, and they know that the actions occurring before their very eyes means liberation for them, as for the oppressed the whole world over. What was an empty tomb of death, has been transformed into a womb of rebirth. With the same heady mixture of fear, joy, and hope that accompanies the birth of new life, the women run forth to tell the other disciples, to shed little light on the new day dawning.

Running from the tomb, on the road to far Galilee, the women are unexpectedly met by the resurrected Christ,

Suddenly Jesus met them and said, “Greetings!” And they came to him, took hold of his feet, and worshiped him. Then Jesus said to them, “Do not be afraid; go and tell my brothers and sisters to go to Galilee; there they will see me.”

“Chairete/Χαίρετε, Greetings!” the saviour exclaims, when he suddenly appears before the first female apostles. We often translate his first word as “greetings,” but it actually means, “rejoice.” Greeting someone with a call to rejoice is to the Greek language what shalom or peace is to Jewish culture – being both a welcome and a calling to peace and joy. Risen from death, executed by empire, Christ connects joy with not being afraid: “Rejoice, do not be afraid!” The hope of Easter is that joy overcomes fear and all powers of death: although we die in Christ, we also rise in his resurrection.

It shouldn’t be lost on us that Jesus entrusts the subversive hope of Easter to two women on the side of a highway. In his day, as in ours, there were widespread cultural forces that were designed to silence women. Throughout all levels of most ancient societies, women were portrayed as untrustworthy of bearing profound spiritual truth and testimony. Take for instance, the opinion of the Romano-Jewish historian Josephus, writing on the intersection of women, law, and spirituality, “…But let not the testimony of women be admitted, on account of the levity and boldness of their sex…on account of the ignobility of their soul; since it is probable that they may not speak truth, either out of hope of gain, or fear of punishment” (The Antiquities of the Jews, 4.219, abridged). But the resurrected Christ, fresh from the womb of rebirth, does not see it so. It is the women that are commissioned to tell the men – the men who have given into the despair of death and stayed at home, the men who quaked before the supernatural power of God, the men who run the world down to the ground.

Before disappearing, like a bird on the wing, like Thunder Bird taking to the sky, Jesus commissions the women, “go and tell my brothers and sisters to go to Galilee; there they will see me.” Go to Galilee, go to where the story began, says Jesus. From humble Galilee, the Chilliwack of Israel, the boonies out yonder there you will be sent to the world. There begins the quiet revolution and hope of Easter: a voice for the oppressed, a repentance for the oppressors, inclusion for the outsider, a vision for the world that is not like the one we know.

We know what a world marked by violence, death, and perversion looks like. Ours is a world that allows the elite of society to assault at-risk girls and then allow the Epsteins to walk free among us, because rich pedophiles sit atop monstrous hordes of power, money, and wealth. Ours is a world that destroys Gaza, while the sitting President promises to rain hell down upon a battered nation, crying “glory be to GOD!” This is a heresy, a perversion of the faith of Jesus that turns the life-giving balm of Gilead into a bomb of death, all to serve the great god of the economy, on whose alter, left unchecked, we would all die. But the hope of Easter is that Christ dies before empire, religion, economics, and occupation, and rises in life, dragging us out of the tomb. The way of Christ is built upon holy subversion, Divine Love, inclusion, loving your neighbour as yourself, care for the planet as care for the community and individual soul. To paraphrase one my mentors, we know what the world we live in looks like – can’t we just give this Jesus thing a real chance?

Lord, I want to be like the Mary’s: standing at the tomb, hearing the word, and then fleeing forth to rejoice and share the good news – Christ is alive! I know that my redeemer lives! My shortcomings, my sins, the petty patterns of sickness and death that I wear into the floor overcome me, but in Christ, life is reborn. From the womb of God, we are born anew – to serve from the core of love that is our birthright, rather than to act from the distortions and conditionings of the world. That love is in your heart: share it with the world, as only you are able. That is the hope of Easter, if only we have the eyes to see the earthquakes of care that God will raise to get our attention. That is the hope of Easter, if only we will see resurrection and proclamation of new life from the people and places we least expect. That is the hope of Easter, if only we burst forth in joy from Gilead to Galilee, from Galilee to the world, disciples to a world that craves Easter loving.

There is only justice to be done by Renee Good, as she faced down not just ICE, but one of the great evils of our times. Sometimes I feel there is so little I can do as the world goes wrong. But I can do my part, with the life I have.

I will never set foot in America again, and I will stand for justice in my communities here in Canada. Consider this my prayer and pledge to uphold my faith, music, and leadership to the cause of intersectional, compassionate, inclusive, and accountable witness in memory of her: “Truly I tell you, wherever this good news is proclaimed in the whole world, what she has done will be told in remembrance of her” (Matthew‬ ‭26‬:‭13‬ NRSVue).

May the Father have judgement and mercy on those who murdered her, for I cannot find it within me to forgive them, or anyone else associated with fascist America, after the witness of Renee Good. May we stop striking the face of the immigrant, the queer, the racialized, the vulnerable, crucifying the ever-othered Jesus over and over again with every blow. May the Spirit receive her into peace and rest, where the kingdom is full, where it is only partial and distorted now. And may the one God, the Mother of us all, comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable until the reforms of love end all this hate. Amen.

———

When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain, and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. And he began to speak and taught them, saying:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth.

Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled.

Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy.

Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God.

Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God.

Blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.

Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”

(Gospel of Mathew 5:1-11, The Beatitudes, NRSVue).