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We lose our vitality. We become dull. We continue to go through these life-affirming, Christ-honoring motions, but our hearts are no longer in it.

The regression is rarely dramatic. It's not sudden. We start out with life, life, life, and more life. God is primary and present in all we do. But then while we're happily and innocently going about our work, our feet get tangled up in those cords of Sheol, those ropes of death. It is so casual at first that we hardly notice. But then one cord gets attached—who knows how?—to an ankle by a double half hitch. Then there's another and another. Before we know it, we are regressing. We are hobbled. We become less. We lose the immediacy, spontaneity, and exuberance of resurrection life.

Interestingly, this often takes place at the same time we're becoming successful in the eyes of our peers, associates, employers, or congregations. But the life is leaking out. God and life have become disconnected.

I want to build something of a dike against some of the forces that erode our resurrection identity. I think this is the most important thing we can be doing. But American Christians are conspicuously inattentive. We have this rich, rich tradition of formation-by-resurrection—why are so few interested? I've been a pastor for forty-three years now, and I'm appalled by my brother and sister pastors who are just not interested. There are so many more exciting things to do. But this is patient, cumulative, careful, artful work that needs constant attention, and we're not giving it the attention it needs.

I want to try to snip some of these life-hobbling cords of Sheol off our ankles by giving attention to resurrection meals. Jesus' resurrection is twice revealed in the setting of a meal. Two of our Gospel writers, Luke and John—insist on the importance of resurrection meals. The unimaginable transcendence of resurrection is assimilated into the most routine and ordinary of actions, eating a meal. We have a long tradition among Christians, given shape and content by our Scriptures, that practices the preparing, serving, and eating of meals as formational for living the resurrection. A culture of inhospitality forebodes resurrection famine.

Luke's meal was eaten on the day of the resurrection at the end of the seven-mile walk from Jerusalem to Emmaus (see 24:13-32). Two people, Cleopas and a friend (or, as some people think, his wife) were joined by a third person they did not recognize. The unrecognized stranger picked up a conversation with them.

The subject of the conversation was, of course, Jesus. It's probable that it was a long conversation, of which we have only a summary. My guess is that they walked and talked for two, maybe even three, hours. I calculate that from my experience in walking with my wife, Jan. When we walk together and don't dawdle too much, we go at a pace of about twenty minutes a mile, or three miles an hour. Conversation usually slows us down to something more like two miles an hour. Jan and I usually have binoculars, and that slows us down even more. But, if Jesus joined those two within a mile or so of setting out to Emmaus, and they walked and talked together for about six miles, that comes out to roughly two or three hours. That's enough time to go into things in considerable depth.

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April (Web-only) 2006, Vol. 50