Have you ever gone for a
walk because you felt sad or stressed? It
can really help move you beyond sinking and sulking further into some terribly
unsettling place within your heart and mind.
There is something about putting yourself into forward motion, step by
step, along some road or pathway, which can realign and restore your spirit
when it gets to feeling gimpy.
These days, I mostly
do this by way of slow and meditative strolls through Fairmount Cemetery. But now and again I do miss a very special
place of solace from over twenty years ago while in college. Back then I’d escape the campus epicenter of
concrete, glass and steel and head out the path behind the senior class on-campus
apartments. I vividly recall that soul-mending
movement away from solid stressful stuff into loosely swaying tree
canopies. It helped me keep balance between my student
life (with all of its young adult experiences) and my maturing spiritual
life.
The path led to a most
wonderful spot … a sort of secret waterfall in what used to be the rock quarry
that fed a lot of the buildings in Paterson, New Jersey. And as my knowledge of and faith in Jesus
Christ grew greater, that trek to such a soul refreshing spot reminded me that
I never walked alone either on and or off campus. He and I would communicate in a profoundly
unique way that can never be accurately written or spoken of. I’d gain His strength and serenity in the
midst of strife. This is not to say
there weren’t times when I felt disconnected, as though I’d either abandoned
Him or He’d abandoned me. But I learned
to accept and even appreciate the mystery of this tension, and to be grateful
when the faithful fusion was most wonderfully felt.
Reflecting on those
many walks helps me identify with the two men we read about in this morning’s
lesson from the Gospel According to Luke.
I encourage you as well to recall your own such special walks, for in
doing so you might find yourself more in the footsteps of these two biblical
friends.
What do we know of
these fellow sojourners? We know they both regarded Jesus as a “prophet
mighty in deed and word” and were part of his inner-circle, which they called
“our group.” We know one of them was
named Cleopas. And we know they were on
the road to the little-noted village of Emmaus because their hearts were
devastated about Jesus’ death and the disappearance of his body from the
tomb. It was the third day after the
crucifixion of their friend, teacher, prophet, embodiment of holy hope.
We aren’t told why
they went to Emmaus for this overwhelmed walk.
It seems it was as a good a way to go as any when feeling terribly sad. It was, I understand, about seven miles
northwest of present day Jerusalem. They
just needed to get away from the great holy city which, for them, had turned into
a great city of sorrow.
As we reflect on the
name Emmaus today, it is much more than just a geographical marker found in the
Bible or merely part of these two people’s story. It’s a poignant biblical metaphor for all of
us. The Presbyterian novelist Fred
Buechner identifies Emmaus as being any place “we go to in order to escape … to
make ourselves forget that the world holds nothing sacred. That even the wisest and bravest and
loveliest decay and die. That even the
noblest ideas – about love and freedom and justice – have always in time been
twisted out of shape” by selfish people for selfish ends.
In this interpretive
light, the road to Emmaus was the way our fellow sojourners went to escape the
earth-quaked epicenter of their most fervent hopes. It was the direction they chose to go in so
as to process grief and deep disillusionments.
The world had killed a truly good and innocent man. Their best friend. We can envision them shaking their low-hung
heads, staring down at pebbles because a horizon was beyond their ability to
focus. We can hear them mournfully
muttering, “Dear God, is nothing sacred?”
They had moved on, but without really having any idea how to move on
with the sorrow being stapled to their hearts with every step.
It would be inspiring
for us to read that Jesus, resplendent with resurrection glory, suddenly
appeared to these forlorn friends of His … that He gave them an unexpected,
sorrow-eviscerating visit on their Emmaus walk. Alas, according to Luke, they did not
receive such and instantaneous reversal of great sorrow and despair.
The Risen Lord did decide to make an appearance on that
road where they felt little hope for any further authentically sacred
encounters. It’s just He did so in a way
that they could not at first recognize Him.
He seemed only a stranger who had
somehow not heard any of the headline news from Jerusalem.
By being present in
this cloaked way, Jesus was better able to walk with and beside their sorrow
for a while; to listen, ask questions,
help them process the grief and begin to grow through it; to greater prepare
them for the coming sacred surprise revelation of His return.
In the form of a
stranger, however this mysteriously happened, Jesus also issued a bit of
rebuke. This make sense since these men
had called him a “great prophet” and rebukes are part and parcel of
prophetic announcements to people who
don’t seem to get the big picture of God’s promises and providence. So they listened to the stranger who had
sidled up to them on their sorrow-stroll say, “Oh, how foolish you are, and how
slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! Was it not
necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his
glory?” Then they received quite a Bible study as
Jesus, like a steadily rising dawn, offered divine illumination by interpreting
all the things Scripture had to say about Him.
As these three arrived
in the village, daylight was coming to an end.
The two friends urged this captivating teacher to stay with them through
supper and sleep. Jesus accepted the
hospitality. It was then, while at supper,
that He chose to fully reveal the sacred surprise of his identity. Their blinders blew off through the breaking
of bread. There could not have been a
more appropriate place and time, for at the start of His holy Passion, Jesus
had commanded all of His followers to always remember Him in this tangible,
fulfilling way.
Luke next tells us
that before there could be joyful hugs and hallelujahs, Jesus up and mysteriously
vanished. This was, I believe, Luke’s
way of directing our attention back to the Emmaus walk. He
returns us to the big point of the narrative -- Jesus walks with those who
truly love and long to be beside Him.
The way this happens is very often not clear to us at first, but greater
revelation eventually arrives, especially as we gather in community to remember
His commandments. In remembering, His
words comes to new life, they burn within us as fresh, refining, inspiring fire
for our daily living. The focus here
is on the journey, not the destination.
We all have our own uniquely
intimate Emmaus walks. And we can spiritually grow from hearing
witness about one another’s experiences.
A few moments ago I mentioned Fred Beuchner. Before he was an ordained Presbyterian minister
and absolutely poignant writer, he was a sorrow-sadled son. His father had taken his own life when Fred
was ten years old. All of his fiction, theological studies, and
memoirs in one way or another reflect his subsequent journey with grief and
with God. He understood in a terrible
but very relatable way what our fellow sojourners from the Bible were
experiencing as they set off to get away from Jerusalem. He understood the journey of grieving, of
leaving, of being found, and of the eventual Emmaus shift from human sorrow to
sacred surprise.
On your present and
future Emmaus journeys, trust Jesus is walking with you. Open the Bible and let Him speak to and
inspire and remind you of this. And,
down the road, be sure to keep making time for even greater revelations through
the breaking of bread in the company of faithful friends. Amen.
