It felt like walking uphill.
The two on the road may have been
walking downhill from Jerusalem to Emmaus below. But in their hearts it felt like an uphill
climb. They were tired. The events of the last three days had
exhausted them. Despair and confusion sapped their strength. Hopelessness filled their hearts.
They had hoped.
But their hope was gone, died on the
cross, was buried in the grave. And that
grave was empty – whatever that meant.
There’s nothing left for them but
this long uphill walk back home.
Can’t you just imagine being on
that road?
Trudging along, quiet at first, each
one deep in their thoughts. Then slowly they start to talk, trying to make
sense of it all.
“But… I really thought… I was so
certain… Wasn’t he the Messiah?”
“I thought so too. But how could
God’s Messiah.die before he did what he came to do? We’re still under Roman
rule.”\
“Could we have been mistaken?”
They had hoped.
Their how was especially poignant,
their despair exceptionally crushing. You
see these two were from Emmaus. And people from Emmaus had more cause than most
to hope for Messias. Emmaus had a glorious history as a center for Maccabean
revolt, and strategic location for generals defying the Roman Empire. Which
meant that by 4 BC, shortly after Herod the Great’s death, the Roman army had
enough of Emmaus and burned it to the ground.
Perhaps they were old enough to
remember that day. Certainly they would’ve heard stories about that day of
destruction, and the work to rebuild.
Imagine being a resident of Emmaus.
They had hoped Jesus would be the one to redeem Israel - would be the one to
free them from Roman rule. It was a bright white hot hope their hearts.
Imagine now the deep despair of
crushed hopes as Jesus hangs on the cross and is laid in the tomb.
They had hoped.
Now hope was gone.
All that is left is the long walk
home.
Enter the stranger on the road. He
asked to join them, to walk with them for a while. And they have absolutely no idea who he is.
In this uphill journey they are blinded by the mountain of despair in front of
them
“What were you talking about when I
came up to you?” he asks.
They can’t believe it. How could he
not know? The enormity of their grief, their despair is so overwhelmed them
that it consumes them. Surely the whole
world is talking about the events of the last three days! How could he not know
these things?
“What things?” With two simple words Jesus invites them to
share their grief and despair. And it
all pours out – their dashed hopes, their pain, their confusion.
Jesus gently leads them through the
Scripture, reminding them of things they know, showing them that they don’t
need to despair just because the future they imagined was not the same as the
future God has for them.
Plans to give them a future and a
hope. That’s what Jeremiah said to the children of Israel in exile: Jeremiah 29:11 For surely I know the plans I have for you, says the LORD, plans for your
welfare and not for harm, to give you a future with hope.
As they listen to Jesus, their hearts
begin to burn within them. That’s hope being born again, rising from the grave.
It’s late when they reach Emmaus - starting
to get dark. It’s much too dangerous for a lone man to be walking the roads.
They invite him in.
Jesus comes in and they sit at the
table. When he breaks the bread, their eyes are opened. They know him and hope springs alive.
Just as they recognize him, Jesus
disappears. But the hope remains.
Despite the lateness of the hour, the
darkness and danger outside, they can’t wait. They run back to the
disciples – seven miles – uphill - in the dark. It’s news too
good to wait. Too good to keep to themselves
They have hope.
The hope of the resurrection. The promise of the empty tomb. God's yes to
life.
I’ll admit –
it’s exactly this part of the story that I’ve wrestled with the most this week.
I understand the road to Emmaus. I’ve been there. I’ve walked that road where despair
and confusion sap my strength. Where hope lays cold in the grave, three days
dead.
Have you been
there?
Sure you
have.
I don’t know
about you, but it’s in those moments, that I want something more than the promise
of resurrection.
Because those
are the moments when promises ring hollow, and despair swallows all hope.
So I’ve pondered this week – what does resurrection look like today? How do we see Jesus revealed in the breaking of the bread? What would he say to us on the road?
And I think the something more I’ve been missing is that Jesus meets us
on the road in the first place.
Jesus meets us on our road to nowhere – our own Emmaus of no hope. God
cares too much about us to let us walk that road alone.
Jesus walks with us on the road to Emmaus, that road through the valley of the shadow of death - as long as it takes.
Sometimes it seems like it’s a long, uphill climb. Jesus walks with us and comforts us with the
word. Sometimes he has to talk a long
time before we begin to hear what he says. Sometimes it takes a long time
before the despair and confusion begin to lift, and our hearts begin to feel
alive again and hope burns gently within us.
Sometimes it takes us a long time to let go of the future we thought we
had, that future that will never be, so we can see that future and hope God has
planned for us.
However long it takes, Jesus is there, slowing revealing himself in the
Word, and the bread and the wine, in the invitation to share our grief and despair.
You see those
two on the road to Emmaus didn’t experience the resurrection – they didn’t
recognize Jesus – until the end of their journey, until they were gathered
around the bread and wine, until they had shared their burdens with another,
until they had experienced companionship on the road. Until they went back to Jerusalem to the
gathered community, and Jesus appeared among them.
Just like the
two on the road to Emmaus didn’t experience resurrection until the other side
of despair and that deep valley, often we don’t experience resurrection until
we too can look back on the valley behind us.
In the
meantime, we know Jesus walks with us.
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