“Belief cannot argue with unbelief,
It can only preach to it”. [1]

But sometimes we find it hard to believe,
Because we cannot see.
Therefore, if we cannot see,
We feel as though we cannot preach.

In our collect of the day it says, “Open the eyes of our faith.” In this, we pray for belief in what we cannot see. To be kindled by things of the past that have been seen, or by things expected to be seen. Preaching is simply the middle ground, the recalling and expectation of those moments.

For one man named John Sherrill, his belief was rekindled, and his preaching related to something he saw in the past. Sometime in the late 50s, there he stood, waiting for his train to leave the station, in a rustic town in New Mexico. Beside old Locomotive number 2436, he had time to watch one of the last of the old coal-burners, as it prepared for its trip west. He admired its heaviness; its solid iron body. Amazed that anything could generate enough power to move the massive wheels. Steam came out of the sides every now and then. Bags were being loaded and travelers were boarding. He was seeing what anyone else would have seen. An ordinary day. A common trip. An old train. Nothing much to tell others about.

He waved to his wife ahead, who reserved their seat while he made sure their bags were properly stored. He was about to get on, when out of the great chimney came the first puff of smoke, w loud whistle blew, and then something unexpected happened. He saw here and there, this black soot lightly falling from the sky. Some landed on his shoulder. As he went to wipe it clean, he was immediately transported from the shadow of the Rockies in the southwest, back in time to his hometown of Louisville, KY. The smell of the coal and the sight of the falling soot triggered him to remember something he had not thought of in years.

Shoveling heavy black lumps of coal into the furnace of his house, he remembered a childhood chore. For a moment he beheld a forgotten memory of his mother. Armed with water, pail and sponge, he remembered how she constantly cleaned house, the windows in particular, where black soot from the fire collected.
He felt the loving presence of his mother and felt a joy like never before. We marvel at the gift of memory, when vanished places and forgotten voices are reborn.

J.M. Barrie once wrote, “God gave us memory so that we can have roses in December”.[2] As you heard last week, there was some difficulty among the disciples, as they tried to put together the past with the present.
They could not see the promise of a rose, growing right inside the December of their hearts.
You may recall, it was Thomas who was singled out, having a hard time believing the story of the resurrection. “How can we continue on, believing in what we cannot see”, he argued. He first needed to touch the hands of our risen Lord. Here in today’s Gospel, we find another marvelous witness. It is here on this road heading west to Emmaus that we find two disciples of the disciples. They are preaching their belief. Passing along the resurrection story to anyone who is within earshot. Seven miles from the empty tomb, these two are walking along this stone-laden highway. Passed on one side by mule-drawn carts, perhaps by Roman soldiers escorting a diplomat. On the other side they walk by merchants selling water or fruit.
On this walk they share the remarkable story told that very morning by the two “Mary’s.” Preaching about the miracle of the empty tomb, they are overheard by another walker. “Who is this person you talk about”, he asked. Puzzled by this foreigner they replied, “Where have you been? Everybody around here knows about Jesus.” After listening to them tell the story further, the man begins to tell them stories of his own. On the walk, he traced the days of old. Telling them things about Abraham, Isaac, and Jacob. Elijah and Moses, Joseph and David. Telling them in such a way they had never heard before. “Each of these stories point to the present miracle you speak of,” He tells them.

Arriving at Emmaus, he finished his last story and he bid them goodbye. Opening the scripture as he did, that which was old, was made new. A rabbi, a teacher to be certain, they asked him to stay for dinner. He was made comfortable and they asked him to say the blessing. So, he took the bread, and blessed it, and broke it. An ordinary dinner. A common practice. But it was the manner in which he spoke, the action of how he broke the bread, triggered something within. They no longer saw something just ordinary and common.
Made present before them, the eyes of their faith were opened to see the true author. This must be the same man who the “Mary’s” saw at the empty tomb. And then within a moment, like a train leaving the station, He disappears down the tracks. Out of great excitement, they immediately get back on the same road. They walk. No perhaps they ran, to Jerusalem. They look for him every step of the way, slowing down to preach to anyone along the way, curious about their claim. Finding the “eleven,” they share their story with Simon Peter who also saw Jesus that same day. They didn’t argue their belief. They preached it.
God gave his Son, Jesus Christ to be the true intersection of all life that is past, all that is present, and all that remains in the future.

For all of us who need to rekindle our belief, who need to see the roses spring forth in the December of our hearts, we can rest assured that he is found in some common places. Through our walk together into the Word and Sacrament, Jesus is revealed again and again. Here, we too can rekindle the world as we preach together, “The Lord has risen indeed, Alleluia”[3]

[1] Karl Barth, Church Dogmatics, 1932 via Clark H. Pinnock, Karl Barth and Christian Apologetics (journal article in Themelios)
[2] J.M. Barrie, “Courage,” Address at University of St Andrews, May 3, 1922
[3] Go back to story about John Sherrill. I have opted to change the number of the locomotive to #2436 to point ahead to Lk 24:36, not included in this lectionary. It is the account of when Jesus miraculously reappears to them at the breaking of bread.