Christ is Risen! Whether you see him or not. ~ Luke 24:13-32 (Easter 2026)

 

When I was a graduate student, I attended a Psychology seminar and was asked to watch a short video. In it, a group of people are passing basketballs back and forth. My task was simple: count the passes made by one team. So I leaned in. I focused. I tracked every movement carefully. I didn’t want to miss a single one.

 

And when it ended, I was confident. I had my number. But then the presenter asked a question I wasn’t ready for: “Did you see the gorilla?”

The gorilla?

They showed the video again—this time, not to count, but to look. To widen our gaze. And sure enough—right there in the middle—someone in a gorilla suit walks through, stops, beats their chest, and walks off.

 

And I missed it. Completely.

Psychologists refer to it as inattentional blindness. It’s the idea that it’s hard to see what you’re not looking for. Even when it’s right in front of you. And that human beings are far less aware of our world than we often think.

And church—can I say it like this? Sometimes faith feels like that. Sometimes life feels like that. Sometimes God feels like that.

Not because God is absent. Not because God is silent. Not because God is gone.

But because we’ve been looking somewhere else. Or we’ve been taught not to look at all. Or we’ve been hurt so deeply that we stopped expecting to see anything good again. And slowly, quietly, without even realizing it… we became a little blind.

But I want to tell you this morning—Easter is an invitation to look again, to widen your gaze, and find a resurrected Jesus who loves to wear disguises.

Because the good news of Easter is not just that Jesus rose… It’s that Jesus is alive. Alive and well. Alive and working. Alive and walking with people—whether they see him or not.

Our story today comes from the Gospel of Luke, chapter 24. Two disciples are walking on the road to Emmaus. And let’s be honest—they are not walking in joy or victory. They’re walking in grief.

 

They’re on the road of “we had hoped.” Do you know that road?
The road of disappointment. The road of heartbreak. The road of “God, I thought You were going to show up differently than this.”

And while they’re walking, while they’re hurting, while they’re confused—
The resurrected Jesus comes near.

Don’t miss that.
They didn’t find Him—He found them.
They didn’t recognize Him—but He recognized them.
They didn’t understand Him—but He came anyway and spoke with them.

And maybe somebody needs to hear this today:
Say it with me in your spirit:
“He’s with me… even when I don’t see Him.”
“He’s with me… even when I don’t feel Him.”
“He’s with me… even when I don’t understand.”

Now, they don’t see. And yet—He lovingly stays.

He doesn’t rush them. He doesn’t shame them. He doesn’t say, “How dare you not recognize me?” No—He walks with them. He listens to them. He loves them right there in their confusion.

So here’s the first thing that the Resurrected Jesus oddly wants you to see. You don’t have to.

One time my wife, who's French, was leaving a department store in Paris when she noticed a man approaching pushing a stroller wearing sunglasses and a hat. She quickly got out of the way and held the door for him. As he walked by he said, "thank you," sparking a sense of recognition. As she looked up at the man she realized it was Brad Pitt. Now, friends, even if Marianne hadn't seen Brad Pitt, he would still exists. Even if she hadn’t seen Brad Pitt, she could  still enjoy his movies, but wasn’t cool to see him. Listen. God loves you no matter what. And whether you see him or not, Jesus rose from the grave. He conquered Satan, sin, and death. He reigns on high and doesn’t need your vote, your recognition, or even your worship in order to be resurrected.

But oh… when your eyes begin to open—
when you catch a glimpse of Him—
when your heart burns with recognition—
there is a deeper healing, a deeper wholeness, a deeper joy that begins to rise up in your life.

Because it’s one thing to be loved… It’s another thing to know you’re loved.
It’s one thing for God to be near… It’s another thing to see Him near.

And Jesus wants both for you. Easter reminds us he’s loving you already and that he’s already won—and He’s inviting you to see it.

So how do they begin to see?

First—He opens the Scriptures. He says, “Look at my book.”

He starts telling his story from Scripture – all the way back.
Not as rules. Not as a multiple-choice quiz. Not as (beat your hand) “stop doing that thing I told you not to do!”
He reads the Bible as an epic love story . . .

A love story of a God who keeps coming, of a God who keeps rescuing, of a God who refuses to give up on people and suffers for them.

And something starts happening inside them. They later say, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?” They still didn’t see Him—but something was stirring. Something was waking up. Something was coming alive.

And can I say this gently? I know that the Bible can feel complicated or even painful. Maybe it’s been used in ways to hurt rather than heal, to harm rather than help. But listen. The Resurrected Jesus invites us to lovingly look again at the Bible and bring our whole selves to His story. So . . .

Bring your questions.
Bring your doubts.
Bring your intellect.
Bring your wounds.
Bring your anger.
Bring your curiosity.

You don’t have to shrink yourself to read the Bible. You can bring your full, uncensored self to it. Jesus waits there in disguise and wants to talk about it.

And he’s not afraid of your questions. He is not intimidated by your doubts.
He is not put off by your pain. He meets you in it. He walks with you through it. The Bible is His book so take another look.

And when we read Scripture not as a weapon—but as a window… not as a burden—but as an invitation with Jesus in mind… our hearts will begin to burn as well and we will begin to see him in places we never expected.

But the story doesn’t end there.

Because the breakthrough doesn’t come just in conversation about Scripture—
it comes through the invitation to welcome the stranger.

They get to the house, and Luke tells us, Jesus doesn’t just dress up but likes to pretend. In vs. 28, we’re told, “Jesus continued on as if he were going farther.”

 

He creates a choice: Will they let Him walk away? Or will they lean in?

Will they stay closed? Or will they open the door? And they say, “Stay with us.”

They make room. They set the table. They offer hospitality and eat a meal. And church—boom - right there, in that simple act of love— their eyes are opened.

They see Him. They really see Him.

When you love your neighbor— you start to see Jesus.

When you welcome the stranger— you start to see Jesus.

When you forgive, when you serve, when you make room at your table— you start to see Jesus.

Because the Resurrected Christ is always loving us… always coming toward us… always showing up—often in disguise.

In the stranger. In the friend. In the hurting. In the unexpected moment.

And He keeps whispering:
“Will you recognize Me?” “Will you walk with Me?”  “Will you make room for Me?”

“Will you eat with Me?”

When I was at the University of California, I had an atheist friend who loved to argue. He approached me one day and said, “Okay, prove to me that God exists.” I looked at him and frustratingly said, “No. Belief in God isn’t about some indisputable fact, like God’s some math problem to solve. It’s a knowing that comes from love and engagement. Proving to you that God exists is as silly as trying to prove that I love my wife – every fact can always be disputed and all that does is cheapen the relationship.”

But then I thought about it, took a breath, and said. “Wait a minute. If you want to see if God exists come to church with me.” And then he responded frustratingly, “No.”

“That’s the problem,” I said. “You think that this question can be answered in the abstract, as if Jesus, God, the resurrection are problems on a white board. You need to meet strangers who are struggling with the Bible, who have stories of encountering Jesus. You need to wrestle with things Jesus said. You need to hang out with people over dinner, listen to their stories and share your own. You need to understand that seeing Jesus is more like falling in love than learning facts. So that’s what I’m inviting you to. Because the Resurrected Jesus isn’t simply a person to be believed. He’s a person to be encountered, welcomed, loved, and seen.”

“And like any relationship, you don’t come to know someone from a distance. You come to know them by stepping closer. By listening. By sharing space. By staying open to the possibility that they might be closer than you think.”

Friends, here’s the invitation today.

What if Jesus is already walking with you?
What if He’s been there all along?
What if the reason you haven’t seen Him… is not because He isn’t there… but because He’s been showing up in ways you didn’t expect? What if you’ve been counting passes and he’s the gorilla?

 

What if He’s been in the conversation?
What if He’s been in the question?
What if He’s been in the kindness of a stranger or the quiet tug on your heart?

And what if today— you just took a second look? Not with pressure. Not with fear. But with openness.

 

Maybe that means exploring the Bible with others. Join us. Let’s have an authentic conversation.
Maybe that means coming back, sitting at the table, and engaging with others over a meal. Join us. Share your story. Eat with us. We’re all ears.
Maybe that means trying small acts of love and watching what happens. Join us. Help us offer Salem the goodness and welcome of God.

Because seeing Jesus is a lot like falling in love. You don’t do it from a distance. You do it by drawing near. And we are a people trying—imperfectly, honestly, together— to walk with a Jesus who wears disguises and loves us, no-matter-what.

A Jesus who is alive. A Jesus who is loving us right now. A Jesus who is inviting us closer. So come walk with us. Come wonder with us. Come wrestle, come question, come hope – with us.

Because He’s already on the road in disguise. He’s already beside you. And if you look again, if you widen your gaze— you just might see Him as he lovingly looks at you. Amen.

 

A Shattered King (A Palm Sunday Poem with Notes) ~ Luke 19:28-44

 

Brothers and sisters,

Pay attention – heed my words

Our story comes – through rhyming blurbs.

It all started with an ironic parade

With colt and cloak and shouts of praise

A worship band and with hands raised

Here comes the king

Let’s sing his praise

He blessed comes – to rule and reign

And we will win and glory gain (pause)

And all our foes will be subdued

Our national shame will be removed

These Roman invaders – crushed and killed.

We’ll sing and dance, a Patriot’s thrill

For it’s either us or them – us or them – us – NOT them. (pause)

But now here comes a troubled few.

Who worry rightly of this political brew

Shut them up – these leaders say

For you are not king as your disciples pray

Shut them up – for the Romans may hear.

Shut them up – a riot we fear.

Shut them up – this heretical cheer.

For politics doesn’t belong

And you are not our king. (pause)

And then he stops – this would-be king

And he finally speaks: “If they didn’t sing –creation would croon, the rocks would ring – for I am.” (pause)

And he rode on, this donkey king

And came upon the city in Spring

With peasants working, markets churning, children playing, women praying, soldiers marching, new life starting, elderly dying, people striving, people stirring, people – so many people - trying

And then . . .

And then it says in verse 41 . . .

Brothers and sisters, Jesus wept.

He bawled. He cried his bitter tears. He sobbed and coughed, face smeared, eyes red . . .

We worship. He weeps.

Some want a king to conquer foes. He weeps.

Some want no part, fine with the status quo. He weeps.

And here I want to pause, to ponder,

to wonder in silence, to let our minds wander.

Take a moment – which person are you? (pause 15 seconds)

We worship. He weeps.

And whispers gently – “You do not know the way of peace.”

You do not know though you have heard

You do not see you think it absurd

That the king is here

And love is law

Forgiveness policy

Nonviolence the operation of shock and awe

And the platform that God is not against you, not against them, not mad at you, nor partisan for them

So which one are you?

Which problem do you have?

Do you want a kingdom without a cross? (pause)

Are you like the crowd? You want to win, to vanquish foes, to bless only kin, to drop the bomb, to wield the woes, to chant the slogans, and deal the blows –rejecting suffering, without love for enemies. You refuse - to be shattered.

Or do you want a cross without a kingdom? (pause)

Are you like the pharisees? You want a religion nice and tidy, with rules and order from the Almighty, redemption for yourself but without pity for those who languish in the city – without justice or public contention. You refuse - to shatter things.

Brothers and sisters, of every color, this Palm Sunday,

Reflect on this

Jesus declared himself to be king of this world.

And not some petty tyrant to tyrannize with law or hate and without grace

He came to establish God’s kingdom of peace, allowing himself to be shattered and battered, worn and torn. He is the shattered king.

So that finally God might be understood: God is love – willing to suffer what he should - and cry.

Let us not act as if his story is private - for it’s about cities, factories, mentalities, everything – do you see?

Let us awaken to the reality - that this week brings.

We worship. He weeps.

He is the shattered king.

                                                                                                                    

Palm Sunday is not a comfortable celebration. It’s a both/and-story of pain and praise.

Because on this day, Jesus does not quietly drift into Jerusalem unnoticed—he stages a prophetic moment. He deliberately acts out the hopes of Zechariah: a king arriving on a donkey. The crowds shout their praise. He does not silence them.

But then—he weeps. That is the tension we must not resolve too quickly.

Palm Sunday forces a question that cannot be avoided: What kind of king are we actually welcoming?

Because the crowds were not wrong to celebrate—but they were profoundly wrong about how Jesus would reign. They wanted victory without vulnerability, power without sacrifice, a kingdom that looked like every other kingdom—just with God on their side.

And Jesus rides straight into that expectation… and weeps.

He weeps because they cannot see that the way of peace is often the way of suffering. He weeps because they are about to reject the very kingdom they are praising. He weeps because their vision of salvation is too small, too violent, too self-protective.

And if we’re honest, ours often is too.

Palm Sunday is not just about what they misunderstood. It exposes what we still resist.

We still want a kingdom without a cross.

We want Jesus to fix things quickly, decisively, and preferably in ways that confirm our side is right. We are drawn to versions of faith that promise control, influence, and visible success. We baptize our agendas and call it the kingdom of God. But the king on the donkey refuses to be weaponized. Jesus’ authority does not crush enemies—it absorbs violence and transforms it through forgiveness and love.

But there is another temptation, just as dangerous.

We also want a cross without a kingdom.

We reduce faith to something private, internal, and manageable. We speak of forgiveness but avoid justice. We celebrate grace but resist disruption. We want a Jesus who comforts us but never confronts us - the systems, assumptions, and loyalties that harm our world. We admire his suffering but hesitate to follow him into it.

Palm Sunday challenges both distortions: a kingdom without a cross and a cross without a kingdom.

Because the king who enters Jerusalem is both confrontational and cruciform. He challenges the powers and chooses suffering on our behalf. He declares a kingdom and embodies a sacrifice for us and our salvation.

This is why we return to this story every year—not merely for the sake of tradition, but because we so easily forget.

We forget that the clearest picture of God is not found in domination, but in self-giving love. We forget that divine power is revealed not in coercion, but in nail-pierced mercy. We forget that when Scripture says “God is love,” it is not offering romantic feelings—it’s describing a reality that looks like a man riding toward his death, fully aware, and unwilling to turn back.

Palm Sunday reminds us that the kingdom of God is not established by making others suffer, but by entering into suffering for others.

And that means this is not just a story to believe—it is a way to follow.

·       to lay down not just palm branches, but our assumptions about power.

·       to release not just praise, but control.

·       to move beyond worship that celebrates, into a life that also participates.

Because the question Palm Sunday asks is not simply, “Do you praise this king?”

It is: Will you follow him where you may not wish to go?
Will you trust his way of peace when it costs you?
Will you love when it would be easier to win?

Will YOU worship AND weep. And follow the shattered king. Amen.

A People Who Remember “Amen”: Welcoming the Stranger in the Way of Jesus (Series Summary) ~ Deuteronomy 27:19

 

Introduction: What These Stories Have Been Doing to Us

Over these past weeks, Scripture has not simply given us answers about immigration—it has been forming us, shaping us into a people capable of faithfulness.

We’ve listened to stories—some strange, some uncomfortable, even unsettling. But God often forms people not through rules or arguments, but through story—through memory, imagination, and wisdom lived out in real lives.

So today is not about revisiting every text. Instead, we gather around a deeper question: Who are we becoming as we listen to Scripture and welcome strangers? And who is God calling us to be?

Across Scripture, we don’t find a policy so much as a pattern—a way God consistently acts and calls God’s people to live. Scripture calls this way blessed, and its refusal is called "cursed"—not because God delights in punishment, but because turning from God's way harms us, others, and the world.

Our passage from Deuteronomy brings this into focus. The people are warned (that's what is meant by "cursed" in Scripture) to uphold justice for the foreigner and to respond with a simple word: “Amen”—a word that means to be firmly planted.

So in these next moments, I invite you to reflect on where this journey of welcoming the stranger has taken us. And if you sense something true—something the Spirit is stirring—then join your voice with God’s people across generations and say: “Amen.” Let’s explore six “amens” together.

1. God Often Reveals Himself Through Strangers - What we fear or overlook, God may be using to protect, bless, and save. ~ Matthew 2:1-12

The gospel begins, not with familiarity, but with strangers and strangeness.

In Matthew 2, some of the first people to recognize Jesus are not insiders, not the religious authorities, not those fluent in Scripture—but foreigners, pagans, Magi from the East. They come from far away. They speak differently. They practice a different religion. They study the stars. The truth is that much of what they do would have been viewed with deep suspicion by faithful Jews. And yet—they see what others miss and show up with unexpected gifts.

From the very beginning, Matthew insists that God’s revelation is not protected by borders, purity, or proximity to power. Strangers are not obstacles to God’s work. They are often the ones who recognize it first and protect it best.

The contrast is stark:

• The Magi outsiders respond to the birth of Jesus with curiosity, generosity, and courage.
• Herod, the royal insider, responds with fear, control, and violence.

Same news. Same child. Different posture.

This pattern will repeat again and again in Scripture: Fear closes in. Curiosity opens. And God keeps showing up in strange ways, with strangers who bear incredible gifts.

2. Stories Restore the Humanity Fear Erases - When we listen to real lives instead of labels, compassion becomes possible. ~ Ruth 1:1-10

If Matthew teaches us where to look, the book of Ruth teaches us how to see.

Ruth illustrates the way many immigrant stories begin: with famine, with instability, with people crossing borders because staying means death - because home is the mouth of a shark.

And Scripture refuses to leave people as labels. It gives them names. Naomi. Orpah. Ruth. Immigration stops being abstract when confronted by people with stories and names.

Ruth—the Moabite widow, the excluded foreigner—becomes the moral center of the story. God never speaks. No miracle breaks the sky. Instead, God shows up entirely through chesed—fierce loyalty, compassion that acts. It’s often translated “loving-kindness” and two-thirds of its usage in the OT is solely used for God’s love. But in Ruth, chesed is revealed not through insiders, not through law—but through two foreign women from a despised nation.

This is not sentimental. It is theological. Ruth teaches us that when we assume we already know someone’s story, we stop listening—and when we stop listening, cruelty becomes reasonable.

And the shock is this: God’s redemptive future—David, and eventually Jesus—runs straight through the life of an immigrant woman most people thought God had already judged.

3. Scripture Grounds Welcome in Our Identity, Not Sentiment - We care for the stranger because we remember our own fragile history—and who welcomed us.~ Exodus 23:9; Leviticus 19:33–34; 1 Chronicles 16:19–24

We discovered that the Torah does not command hospitality because immigrants are vulnerable. God commands hospitality because people are forgetful. We all share an immigrant identity. When we talk about immigrants as “them,” Scripture keeps interrupting us with “you.” God keeps telling us:

“You know how it feels.” “You were foreigners.” “Remember when you were few.”

Biblical ethics are not abstract. They are remembered practices of personal identity. To mistreat the immigrant is not just a moral failure—it is spiritual amnesia and self-harm. To forget the immigrant experience was to forget their own story of God’s grace and mercy. Care for the stranger is not optional kindness. It is how God’s people stay alive to their own salvation story of grace.

4. Obeying God Sometimes Means Resisting the Law - We honor authority, but we obey God first, especially when the vulnerable are harmed. ~ Exodus 1:15-21 & Romans 12:21–13:7

Pastor Caitlin reminded us that Scripture calls Christians to honor governing authorities. But it never calls us to idolize them.

She reminded us that the Hebrew midwives disobeyed Pharaoh—and God blessed them. That Daniel disobeys and keeps praying. The apostles disobey and keep preaching. Even Paul himself is arrested and executed by the state whose authority he affirms.

She explained that Romans 13 only makes sense when read with Romans 12:
“Love must be genuine.”
“Pursue hospitality to strangers.”
“Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good.”

The pattern is clear: We honor authority—but we obey Jesus first.

When laws protect the vulnerable, we rejoice.
When laws restrain evil, we support them.
When laws harm the stranger, Scripture calls God’s people to wrestle, to advocate, and sometimes to resist—not because we reject the law, but because we love who the law is meant to serve: foreigners, widows, the marginalized, and oppressed.

5. Scripture Can Be Used Faithfully—and Still Be Misread - Even sincere faith can wound when fear becomes the interpreter. ~ Nehemiah 13

We also learned that Scripture can be a cautionary tale. Nehemiah loves God. He rebuilds the walls. He restores order. He helps the poor. And then—out of fear—he reads Scripture narrowly and uses it to justify violence, exclusion, and family separation.

The Bible is unflinchingly honest: You can have a mouth full of Scripture and still harbor a heart shaped by fear.

Nehemiah forgets Ruth. He forgets Israel’s immigrant beginnings. He forgets that God’s covenant was always meant to bless the nations.

And Scripture does not hide this failure—because God wants God’s people to grow wiser. The lesson is sobering: Faithful people can use the Bible to harm others when fear becomes the interpreter.

That is why Scripture must always be read:

• in conversation with Scripture,
• through the life and teaching of Jesus,
• and in light of God’s expansive mercy.

6. Jesus & Paul Make Welcome Provocative, Urgent, Costly, and Non-Negotiable - Following Jesus means publicly crossing boundaries with courage, goodness, and provocative love daily, without harming a soul. ~ Romans 12:9-21

When Jesus stands up in Nazareth in Luke 4, he does not offer a theory of justice but a daily practice.  He says: “Today the poor are experiencing good news, the prisoner – freedom, the blind – sight, the oppressed – liberation. Not someday. Not eventually. Not when it’s safe. Today. And then he reminds his hometown that God’s mercy today has always crossed borders—blessing foreign widows and enemy generals.

That is when they try to kill him. He’s not rejected for being too harsh. He’s rejected for being too merciful. And if Jesus’ very first sermon about God’s love for foreigners, could provoke attempted murder, then maybe we should stop assuming that faithfulness to Jesus’ mission will always feel safe, affirming, or polite.

And Paul insists that those who follow Jesus must also fight like Jesus:

not repaying evil for evil,
not surrendering to hatred,
but overcoming evil with good.

This is not passivity. It is courageous, creative resistance that refuses to let fear and violence disciple the church.

Conclusion: Who We Are Becoming

Across Scripture, strangers and foreigners are never peripheral. They are a mirror.

They ask:
Do you remember who you are?
Do you recognize where God is at work?
Do you trust fear—or the expansive mercy of the gospel?

The immigrant is not a threat to the church. They are a theological gift, calling us back to memory, humility, courage, and Jesus himself.

The final question is not simply: “Will we help?”

It is: Will we remember ourselves, our strange story, our immigrant identity, our stranger God?

Because we were once strangers. And we were welcomed. And we are saved by a Savior who crossed every boundary to come to us.

May we be that kind of people.
May we welcome in that way.
May we live that strange gospel—today. Amen. Amen. Amen.