Luke 24:13-35
On Our Way to Emmaus
James Sledge April
26, 2020
On
the day of that very first Easter, two disciples headed to the village of
Emmaus. No one knows exactly where that is. Various places have been suggested,
but none is certain. Maybe it’s just as well.
In
our day, Emmaus has become a metaphorical destination, one associated with
spiritual awakenings. You can find spiritual retreats described as Emmaus
walks, and there is an intense, three day retreat for spiritual renewal and
formation called Walk to Emmaus, a Protestant adaptation of the Catholic
Cursillo movement.
But
in Luke’s gospel, I don’t know that Emmaus is really a destination at all. It
may simply be a place to spend the night on the way somewhere else. A stop on
the way to some place that isn’t Jerusalem, that isn’t about pain and betrayal
and loss.
Those
disciples aren’t on a spiritual journey. They’re on a journey away from the
cross and the grave. Their hopes have been dashed. They’re shocked and stunned,
still grieving their loss. They don’t
know what they need but they know it isn’t in Jerusalem.
Some
of you know that I’m one of many mourning the death from COVID-19 of singer-songwriter
John Prine. A line from one of his songs that I’ve played a lot lately could
easily have been uttered by these two disciples headed for anywhere but
Jerusalem. “Just give me one thing that I can hold on to. To believe in this
living is just a hard way to go.”[1]
Curiously,
these two disciples have already heard the report from women who visited the graveyard
early that morning. They heard of an empty tomb and angels who said Jesus was
alive, but it had not mattered. I don’t know if that was simply about men not
believing women or if their sense of grief and loss was so overwhelming nothing
could break through. Whatever it was, they were headed to Emmaus, to anywhere
but Jerusalem.
In
his book, The Magnificent Defeat, Frederick
Buechner writes,
…there is not
one of us who has not gone to Emmaus with them. Emmaus can be a trip to the
movies just for the sake of seeing a movie or to a cocktail party just for the
sake of the cocktails. Emmaus may be buying a new suit or a new car or smoking
more cigarettes than you really want, or reading a second-rate novel or even
writing one. Emmaus may 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: that even the wisest and bravest
and loveliest decay and die; that even the noblest ideas that [people] have
had—ideas about love and freedom and justice—have always in time been twisted
out of shape by selfish [people] for selfish ends. Emmaus is where we go, where
these two went, to try to forget about Jesus and the great failure of his
life. …[Emmaus] is the place where we
spend much of our lives, you and I, the place that we go in order to escape—a
bar, a movie, wherever it is we throw up our hands and say, “Let the whole
damned thing go hang. It makes no difference anyway.”[2]
I suppose we need to update Buechner’s
more than half century old words for our day, for this time of distancing when
we can’t go to a movie or a party or a bar. Perhaps our Emmaus is binging Tiger
King, Ozark, or Outlander. Perhaps is just opening another bottle of wine and
watching cat videos on the internet.
__________________________________________________________________
Wracked
with grief, regret, and hopelessness, two disciples head to Emmaus, talking
about all that had happened, all that had been lost back in Jerusalem. But
somewhere along the way, the risen Jesus comes and walks alongside them. They
don’t realize who it is though, and they share with him what they’ve lost. “We
had hoped he was the one…”
I’ve
read this story many times, but I don’t know that I’ve usually paid much
attention to Jesus’ initial appearance. I’ve moved quickly to Emmaus, to Jesus
coming inside, joining them at table, taking bread, blessing and breaking it.
But none of that ever happens if Jesus doesn’t show up in the first place.
Those
two disciples did not plan to meet Jesus. He was the very last person they
expected to meet. They were not looking for him, not hoping for him. They were
simply leaving Jerusalem, trying to leave the hurt and pain and loss. But Jesus
joins them anyway.
For
a lot of people, our time feels a little like an Emmaus moment. Things we
counted on have failed. People are sick and dying; people have lost jobs and
insurance. The government response seems at times inept, at times worse than
incompetent. Uncertainty and anxiety are everywhere; faith is a struggle for
many. Why is this happening? Where is God?
We
can sing with John Prine. “Just give me one thing that I can hold on to. To
believe in this living is just a hard way to go.” We can lament with those
disciples on the road, “We had hoped he was the one...”
If
you’re feeling any of this, and I know I am, then perhaps it’s comforting to
know that Jesus shows up to folks like us. If our gospel is any guide, Jesus
comes to those who aren’t looking for him, who’ve given up on him, who are
desperate to get away and escape, who cry out, “Let the whole damned thing go
hang. It makes no difference anyway.”
The
risen Jesus, who knows all too well just how hopeless the world can look, comes
alongside us, unrecognized, unseen. Surely that’s why Luke tells us this story,
to let us know that Jesus doesn’t wait for us to figure it out, doesn’t wait
for us to get our faith to the correct level, doesn’t wait for us to have a
spiritual awakening. Instead Jesus intrudes into our doubts, our feelings of
hopelessness, our struggles with faith. He comes and speaks to us, even though
we usually don’t recognize him at first.
It
takes something, bread broken and shared, a moment in worship, a vista that
draws us up short, a note or post or meditation that touches our heart and
suddenly opens us to the divine. And then we realize that he was here.
Oh
God, open my heart; open all of our hearts. Let us catch a glimpse of the risen
Jesus this day.
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