Today’s Gospel text takes place on the evening of Easter, and follows two disciples, one named Cleopas, and the other - perhaps his wife? - is unnamed. As they leave Jerusalem together, there is so much to talk through and debrief as the miles go by. What a whirlwind three days it had been, as they saw their friend Jesus on trial, beaten, and crucified. Their hopes for the redemption of Israel died along with him, and now they and their fellow believers were adrift, uncertain, and grieving.
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| Road to Emmaus, Fritz von Uhde |
As they are walking and talking, trying to process all that has happened, a stranger comes alongside them. It’s Jesus, but they don’t know that - the text says “their eyes were kept from recognizing him”, which is perhaps because of their grief, or perhaps because they don’t expect it to be Jesus who is, after all, as far as they know, dead. The stranger falls into step with them and asks, “What are you talking about?”
Cleopas and the other disciple are so caught off guard by this question that they stop walking. How could this stranger not know? Isn’t this what everyone certainly within Jerusalem, and probably outside it, is talking about? Perhaps you’ve also had the experience of having to share sad, difficult news with someone who was unaware. It’s jarring, isn’t it, to find that the reality that is so consuming for us personally has not yet spread beyond our immediate circle.
The stranger asked, and so they tell him. They tell him about the pain and heartache of watching their friend tortured and killed. They tell him about the added blow of their dashed hopes that Jesus was the one who was going to redeem Israel, that he was the long-awaited Messiah. They give voice to their confusion about the events of that very morning, when some women of their group claimed that Jesus was alive, though the only evidence was an empty tomb.
As they talk, the stranger - Jesus - patiently listens until they get to the end. But then he jumps in, retelling the story from an earlier beginning. Utilizing the stories of Scripture, Jesus’ telling adds texture and nuance, context and connections. As theologian Debie Thomas writes in her essay on this text, “When Jesus tells the story, he restores both its context and its glory. He grounds the story in memory, in tradition, in history, in Scripture. He helps the travelers comprehend their place in a narrative that long precedes them, a narrative big enough to hold their disappointment without being defeated by it. When Jesus tells the story, the death of the Messiah finds its place in a sweeping, cosmic arc of redemption, hope, and divine love that spans the centuries. When Jesus tells the story, the hearts of his listeners burn.”
As they walk together, Jesus reminds them of those familiar stories of God’s faithfulness; stories of God doing the impossible. In doing so, he widens their view beyond their grief, beyond their hopelessness so that, when they reach their destination and invite him to stay, their eyes are opened and they are ready to recognize him.
Here is Jesus, God’s own Son, found again in this familiar posture of taking, blessing, breaking, and giving bread. Here is the motif, again, from those stories from scripture that were opened to them along the way - stories of blessing; stories of people broken open in love and care for the other; stories of God’s provision, given abundantly to all who hunger in any way.
Though they catch only a glimpse of Jesus, revealed in that moment at the table, it is enough. Despite the late hour and the exhaustion they surely carried, Cleopas and the other disciple hurried back to Jerusalem, finding the eleven and their companions gathered together. Here, in a different room, around a different table, the story is expanded again, as the friends each share their experience with the risen Lord that day, revealed in unexpected ways.
We, too, need help to see the bigger picture when our view is narrowed by grief and hopelessness and unmet expectations. We need help to set our own stories and experiences alongside the stories of God's presence throughout salvation history; help to be reminded of the many stories of God's faithfulness to people just like us – people with dashed hopes and grieving hearts.
Perhaps you’ve made the connection that worship is the central place this happens for us. The Scriptures are opened to us, proclaimed in our readings, and preaching, in liturgy and song. In hearing these connections, in being reminded of God’s presence, we are prepared to see Jesus, made known to us in the meal we share, in the bread and wine that are his body and blood, given and shed for you.
What a gift, that when our hearts are grieving and our vision is dimmed, we are assured of Jesus’ presence, with us as we journey. What a gift, that in something as simple as stories told and bread, broken and shared, we receive Jesus and are sent to share the good news.
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