LCM.Coeur d’Alane – April 19, 2026 (Quilt Blessing Sunday)
Luke 24:13-35

“We had hoped,” wow does that phrase resonate with me. We had hoped that progress could continue in this country and that we all agreed on what progress looked like. We had hoped that after the pandemic, people would return quickly to weekly worship patterns. We had hoped that national, state, and local leaders would care for all of their constituents and not be influenced by out-of-state money. We had hoped that our kids would never have to worry about another school shooting ever again. We had hoped that social media could be a place of real connection and not a place where people use hateful rhetoric. We had hoped the diagnosis would be different. We had hoped the marriage would not end.
Being a guest preacher is an honor, but it is also an odd experience because I don’t know your community in the same way I would if I was shepherding you week after week. I don’t know what you had hoped for, but my guess is you have had hopes unmet. Today is the third Sunday of Easter. Just because we live as Easter people, followers of Jesus who celebrate the resurrection, does not mean all heartbreak is gone, all hopes suddenly fulfilled. And yet, Easter does change everything, for those travelers on the road to Emmaus and us.
I think what is most challenging to me about this story is the important place of memory and remembering. Jesus, who they at first do not recognize, goes back through the scripture and reveals things to them. Memory can be powerful.
But it can also be manipulative, because when we tell myself a story of how something happened, sometimes it is accurate, and sometimes it is not—that’s human nature. I can romanticize a story about myself. I can also demonize a story—making it worse than it was. We do this to make sense of our lives.
But when we tell stories as the church, as the people of God, we do it most faithfully like Jesus and the two on the road to Emmaus—we do it in community. Jesus said, “Where two or three are gathered in my name, there I will be in the midst of them.” I am all for individual prayer, individual reading of scripture, and individual acts of charity. But the church is the Body of Christ, not a single member. We remember and discern best together. Even the early desert fathers and mothers who spent months in solitude came back to community. This is why I am so excited for next weekend’s Synod Assembly. It’s why I am so grateful for the grant our synod received from Wartburg Seminary for rural ecumenical experiments, which is funding a rural ecumenical gathering the last Saturday in June in Sandpoint, Idaho!
One of the things we do when we are together in worship is remember, as Jesus and the two disciples did. This deep, faithful remembering is not the same as nostalgia. Webster defines nostalgia as a wistful or sentimental yearning for a return to or the return of some real or romanticized past period or some irrecoverable past condition or setting.
But to remember God’s faithfulness is at the center of worship and actually at the center of the life of faith. In the center of our story today, we read, “Then [Jesus] said to them, ‘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[e] 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.”
Worship is not an exercise in nostalgia. It is faithful remembering set within a conversation between the assembly, you, and God. The words the presider speaks before we feast on the bread of life and cup of salvation are words of deep and long memory—from creation to the Exodus, through the lives of the prophets to Jesus’ own life, death, and resurrection, and finally God’s activity through the church empowered by the Holy Spirit. God’s faithfulness is sure.
In weekly worship, we move straight from the Words of Institution to the Lord’s Prayer. That prayer also helps us remember so much. We remember how we ought to pray and for what. We again remember God’s gifts to us of daily bread, forgiveness, new life, healing. And sometimes we might remember the company of saints, all the people who have prayed that prayer down through history and pray it each day around the entire globe.
What is all of this remembering good for? It helps you treasure religious experiences in retrospect. Further, remembering God’s activity throughout all of history helps you recognize God’s presence, elusive or fleeting as it might be, in our own lives. We get better at distinguishing between happy coincidences and God’s presence. We begin to live with more gratitude. And then, in worship and prayer, we give thanks for God’s real presence in our lives.
The practice of remembering God’s presence throughout history also reminds you that the experience of the presence of God is not a private gift. It is never for us alone. It is not something to be horded. Neither in the discovery of the empty tomb nor in the discovery of the fellow traveler to Emmaus is there the familiar command to go and tell, that is typical of other resurrection appearance scenes. Nevertheless, in both instances the recipients of the revelation immediately and spontaneously return from the liminal tomb to share their experience joyfully with others.
Finally, remembering God’s presence in history and in your own stories, prepares you to perceive God’s fleeting presence in real time. There is so much that can keep us from this activity. Our lives are filled with distractions, information, data, competing stories, nostalgia, shouting, advertising, promises of what will fulfill us. We are programmed now to skim and scan and breathe shallowly rather than to drink deeply from the water of life—Jesus Christ.
Worship, prayer, meeting our neighbors, serving those on the margins, we do all of this to remember the God of history and to prepare to perceive God’s fleeting presence in real time. We do this, as Jesus did with those two disciples, most often around the meal of Holy Communion. The meal redefines the disciples’ understanding of Jesus. Jesus takes, blesses, breaks, and gives the bread to them (Luke 24:30), the same sequence of actions we recall from his final meal (22:19).
Holy Communion is more than bread and wine. It is a means of God’s grace. It is an event in which we receive forgiveness and new life. As we return to this table again and again, I really do believe we build our capacity to perceive God in our other places, to perceive forgiveness, grace, and new life in daily encounters. Most often we will name it later, that was a grace moment, that was God’s love, that was God’s mercy, that was life given from God. And we give thanks.






























