Emmaus

I love the story of the two the disciples on the Road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13-32).
Two men are walking on a road from Jerusalem to a town called Emmaus.
Two days after the Crucifixion.
As Frederick Buechner says of these two, “There was nothing left to do that Sunday but get out of town.”

That Sunday? It is not hard to imagine the gamut of emotion they struggle with as they walked a dusty road. All the hopes and dreams that came with following Jesus. Watching Him heal and set free. Hearing Him speak to thousands, yet know He is speaking directly to you. The thoughts. The emotions. The tears.

So they went to Emmaus. And where was Emmaus and why did they go there? Emmaus was a place of short-lived military victory for the Jewish people of Jesus’ day. Judas Maccabee won a battle there in 166 B.C. BUT it was no place in particular really, other than it was some seven miles distant from a situation that had become unbearable.

I have walked that road with them. Emmaus can be a renting a flick just for the sake of seeing a movie or to a pub just for the sake of the beer. Emmaus may be the mall, with its many ‘treasures’ or a new car or eating more candy than you really should or more food than you want, or reading a second-rate novel or even writing one. Emmaus may even be going to church on Sunday. Emmaus is whatever we do or wherever we go to make ourselves forget that the world holds nothing sacred, and numb the pain that echoes off the piles of broken dreams that mark all of our lives.

Maybe those two men went (fled is probably a better word) to Emmaus to try and forget about Jesus and the great “failure” of his life.

Sometimes we focus so hard on success, particularly spiritual success, that most of us do not know the first thing about what to do with failure.

But tonight as I sit here contemplating...and trying to feel through what it would have felt like to watch all I had to live for bleed and suffer on the top of a mountain, nailed to two pieces of wood...

I realize that the first mood of Easter was despair. By every account Jesus had failed, and these two men did what I know I have done at times in my life. Leave. Flee. Avoid. Run. Move on...and move on fast.

The story continues with a stranger joining the men on their walk. We, as readers, are told it is Jesus, but the two men walk all the way to Emmaus and still don’t recognize Him. Even though He does what they have seen Him do hundreds of times...He reframes who He is and who they thought He would be. But they don’t get it...until they reach Emmaus. They sit down to eat after Jesus breaks the bread and blesses it, the lights come on. They recognize him. And as soon as they do, he disappears.

Strange story.

All the stories about how Jesus appeared to people after his death are strange and maybe the strangest thing about them is how normal they are. How little fanfare there is attached to them.

I think I connect with this story because of where it happens: Emmaus.

The place of escape. I find it profoundly moving to realize that on my road to Emmaus, He has been walking with me, challenging me, pushing me, arguing with me, pulling me, engaging my heart, and reframing who He is and how He loves. And I am deeply moved to realize that I have often not recognized Him because of my own selfish anger. Anger directed at a world that has obviously been created to thwart ME and MY dreams. Anger that covers my pain because I do not understand the ways of Jesus and will never understand why He doesn’t DO SOMETHING.

Martin Luther said once, "If I were God, I'd kick the world to pieces." I know that feeling.

And so, I slow down to drink a coffee and allow my heart to still. I watch the sun rise, or set. I listen to the wind in the trees. I reflect on who I am and who I long to be. And the lights come on.

Jesus keeps re-entering my world in grace to help me realize that His heart is big enough. He pushes towards me, as He pushes towards all of us...with grace, and peace and hope. He meets us where grace and suffering intersect. On the road to Emmaus.

We all have an Emmaus in our lives...My prayer is that you would have eyes to see and ears to hear so that you may meet with Him there, cuz He is probably already there.

J

At the foot of the Cross
Where grace and suffering meet
You have shown me Your Love
Through the judgment You received

And You've won my heart
Yes You've won my heart

Now I can

Trade these ashes in for beauty
And wear forgiveness like a crown
Coming to kiss the feet of mercy
I lay every burden down
At the foot of the cross

At the foot of the cross
Where I am made complete
You have given me life
Through the death You bore for me

I'm laying every burden down
I'm laying every burden down
At the foot of the cross.
Kathryn Scott

Holy Saturday

Was just reading some thoughts of Henri Nouwen's this morning...which is never a good idea if one wants to remain the same. :)

He reminds me to be quiet today...to rest...to lay silent and still. why? Because today is the day in which God's voice was silent...the living Word lying cold and broken in a tomb.

I'm struck by how little of this season's rhythm i've grown to live in. The whole world knows it's Easter...but few of us absorb the meaning of these days. The season of Christ's passion is easily engaged on friday (in corporate 'celebrations' of his sacrifice) and on sunday (when our worship and liturgy announce his resurrection). But saturday...well...it's just saturday, isn't it?

Holy Saturday is a day of passion...but a quiet, subdued, broken pathos. Jesus' family, friends and followers wept...their hearts crushed by watching jesus suffer and die. Their dreams were shattered...all hope was dead. And everyone else likely went on with life as usual. Much like i have on this day...overlooking the fact that...

God the Father was still...His heart broken...His lips sealed. All of heaven stood in somber silence...raptly looking for any sign that the story wasn't over.

And while we know that with tomorrow's dawn comes the reminder of hope reborn...today's passion is silent, internal, and dark...in remembrance of Jesus' body held by the tomb's cold efficacy.

In waiting, looking, and weeping today, we engage the darkness in our hearts...the darkness that needs the piercing light of Easter morning.