Red Letters – On the Way to Emmaus – April 5
RED LETTERS
April 5, 2021
On the Way to Emmaus
Luke 24:13-19a, ‘Now that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem. They were talking with each other about everything that had happened. As they talked and discussed these things with each other, Jesus Himself came up and walked along with them; but they were kept from recognizing Him. He asked them, “What are you discussing together as you walk along so sad?” They stood still, their faces downcast. One of them, named Cleopas, asked Him, “Are you the only one visiting Jerusalem who does not know the things that have happened there in these days?” “What things?” He asked. “About Jesus of Nazareth,” they replied (NIV).’
The road lay dusty before us. Heat rose from it and idled in the air like a snake to its charmer. Dirt clotted my vision where a sandbox had formed and the tears made maps on my face. My friend looked worse than me, like he had been in a fight and lost. We were weary and the words that fell from our mouths were tired too. The burden I bore on my shoulders was nothing like the cross our Master had carried just days prior yet the grief I lugged was so great I stumbled. Like the entire continent, we too had been buoyed on a path of expectancy and hope. The culture hadn’t felt this energized in…well, since even our forefathers before us. As if we were lost puppies we had wandered, alone and afraid, for years in a wilderness too, because the God our ancestors had passed down to us had grown silent. Until this Jesus had arrived on the scene. He had changed everything! We thought He was the Kinsman Redeemer we had been promised.
But now wearily we straggled toward home, the scene of the past few days heavy on our hearts, and the weight of our loss hanging with our heads. Our Jesus dead, and with Him, our dreams dead too. In fact, the women said they went to care for His burial, but He was missing; the tomb where they laid Him, empty. I think silently to myself, that’s how I feel, like he is missing, and I now am empty too.
Suddenly. “What are you talking about? Why are you so sad?” He came out of nowhere and brazenly joined us.
Who is this guy? is my first thought. I look sideways out of my eye, incredulous. That’s some nerve! What right does he have? What business is it of his why we mourn? It is our grief, and that is a private party for two, shared among friends. I hear my companion ask, surprise wrapping his question like a present, ‘Are you a stranger here and have you not heard what we have just been through?!’ Emboldened, this man falls into step, and for a time, the tragedy is lifted from our hearts as we walk and discuss together this circumstance. This fellow is well-scholared and the miles of our journey fall away; intense is He about the prophesy of the Messiah and intently we listen, accepting Him into our fold.
As the trek ends and we near home, sadly I recognize that while the stories helped us pass the miles and delayed the grief, it really hasn’t changed anything at all. We are back where we started, yet this time, minus a promise. Our new friend prepares to continue His journey, and I am grateful when my companion offers a layover to Him.
It’s as if a tidal wave has crashed through this home, I cry out! I think my friend might fall out of his chair. As if a blind man, my eyes have been set free and like a mute suddenly finds a voice and begins to sing, I am stunned. The Messiah, our Master and Friend, our Lord, not dead but very much alive, sits at our table before us, humbly with broken bread in His outstretched, nail-stained hands and a prayer on His lips. In a blink, He is gone, disappeared, and we look at one another, exasperated and gleeful.
‘What the…’ I begin, as Cleopas states in amazement, ‘Were not our hearts burning within us while He talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?! Let us go and tell the others!’
I will never forget the dust of the Emmaus Road and the way it mingled with our tears as we traveled in one direction, disheartened, like broke-down engines, nor the way we trudged as if being led to a guillotine. I will also always remember the joy in our hearts and how fast the miles dissipated beneath our feet as we hustled to share our good news. He is not dead! He is alive! Our Savior has conquered death and the grave! He is The One we have been waiting for.
I’ve been reading RED LETTERS all my life, but never with my heart.
During the month of April, let’s JOURNEY where JESUS journeyed,
and listen with our hearts to all He came to proclaim.
