Luke 24:13 - 35
Our gospel story for this third week
of Easter is an appropriate one. The two disciples are downcast;
they say, “We had hoped…” And for many of us those sentiments
are applicable to us. We had hoped that maybe by now we would have
seen the light at the end of the tunnel, when things get back to
normal; we had hoped that by now someone would have found a treatment
for the coronavirus; we had hoped that maybe an old anti malaria
medicine would have miraculously been found to be effective; we had
hoped that our churches would have been opened..
When our hopes are dashed, our
instinct is to seek a safe place. The apostles sought to shelter in
a locked room; the disciples on the way to Emmaus were going home,
back to the familiar little town outside of Jerusalem.
And there on the dirt road, Cliopas
and his companion encounter a stranger. I think it’s interesting
that Jesus, fresh from conquering death and sin, appears to these two
disciples in the guise of a stranger. No fanfare, no showing of his
wounds, no saying “Peace be with you”. He puts himself at their
level, and meets them in their disappointment. He draws them out,
and they articulate their sadness, they put it into words. “We had
hoped,” they say. “We had hoped that this Jesus would be the one
to save Israel.” It’s interesting that these two disciples not
only experienced the disappointment, but also have heard the good
news -- from the women, from Peter and John who visited the empty
tomb; they’ve heard about angels and a stone rolled back and the
burial cloths neatly folded -- but they choose not to believe. I
sympathize.
After Jesus encourages the two
travelers to put their sadness, their sense of betrayal, their loss
of hope into words, he does something remarkable -- he retells the
story in the context of the big picture -- the story of God’s
faithfulness to his people, of God constantly calling them back from
apostasy, of God keeping his promises. And as they see their own
experience in context, they experience their hearts “burning within
them” as hope is rekindled and as faith once again wakes up a
little.
And when they reach their destination
Jesus keeps on walking. In that moment they can choose whether to
allow themselves to be changed, or to remain in their unbelief, in
their loss of hope. Jesus never compels us; he always respects our
freedom. I wonder if these two were the only followers whom he
encountered, or if he met with many who did not invite him to stay
with them. I wonder if that is still the case today, when Jesus
quietly accompanies us for a little while, inviting us to see our
sufferings in the context he offered his apostles more than once:
“If anyone wishes to save his life, he must lose it…” and “If
you would be my disciple, you must take up your cross and follow me.”
He told us “Blessed are those who are persecuted for the sake of
righteousness, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” And he
perhaps reminded them that the passion,death and resurrection had
been predicted by Jesus himself. Saint Louis Martin, the father of
Saint Therese of Lisieux, questioned his pastor along these lines:
“How can I hope to be a saint if I am not given suffering?” And
he spent his last years suffering and rejoicing that he had been
given this gift. He saw things in the context Jesus offers.
But the climax of this story is when
Jesus sits with them and shares their meal. He takes the bread,
blesses it, breaks it and shares it with them, and in that moment
they realize who has been with them the whole time. And of course
they rush back to the Apostles and share the good news.
But the climax of the story is the
breaking of the bread. Did they recognize Jesus then because of the
familiar gestures, words -- but it’s not clear who was at the Last
Supper -- it seems to have been the apostles only, because the whole
theology of the priesthood implies that the apostles received that
grace when Jesus told them to do this in memory of him. More likely
Cleopas and his companion were given a revelation at the moment, and
then Jesus disappears from their sight.
And I think Emmaus continues to
happen; I think Jesus joins his disciples -- that’s you and I,
especially when our faith is weak, when our hopes die down, when we
are tempted to become bitter and resentful. Our loving savior comes
to us in disguise, reminds us that our misery can be redemptive, that
our mourning can be turned into dancing, our grief will become joy --
all promises made by our God and recorded in our scriptures, by the
way. And he still reveals himself in the breaking of the bread.
One thing I’ve learned from this
long fast from the celebration of the Eucharist is that there is a
joy in joining my fellow Christians as we allow ourselves to listen
to the word of God, to have an opportunity to see how our lives can
be transformed by this, and to break the bread which is at once the
food Jesus provides and his real presence. I hope we all will never
again be tempted to take this for granted -- this summit and
substance of the Christian life.
