http://bible.oremus.org/browser.cgi?passage=acts+2%3A14a%2C+36-41
Psalm 116:1-3, 10-17
http://bible.oremus.org/browser.cgi?passage=psalm+116%3A1-3%2C+10-17
1 Peter 1:17-23
http://bible.oremus.org/browser.cgi?passage=1+peter+1%3A17-23
Luke 24:13-35
http://bible.oremus.org/browser.cgi?passage=luke+24%3A13-35
The road to Emmaus - one of the classic Easter appearance stories. It’s kind of funny that we only hear this story maybe once a year, and yet it’s a story that’s familiar to all of us. Maybe it’s because the "road" story fits so well with our own lives. We often talk of being on a journey, or following a path, of arriving at a certain place in our life, or having to move on, and so we listen intently to "road" stories like these, hoping that they can help us travel along our own paths.
So, imagine, if you will, the setting for our Gospel story. Start with Jerusalem - with its white buildings and David’s great wall surrounding it. There’s no golden dome - it’s too early for that, but there would have been the Temple. We don’t know really what it looked like, but it would have dominated the city. It was the focal point of everything that went on, and it made Jerusalem the city it was - bustling, the centre of activity, the place where everything happened. Israelites and Romans filled the place, rich and poor, men and women. At this point in time, it would have been the day after Passover, so the streets would have been filled with families taking their leave of one another, ready to go back home after the holidays. So, can you see the city? Can you see all the people? Now, picture a road leading out of one of the city gates - like any of the roads during that day, it would have been dusty, probably had rocks along the side of it. The countryside wasn’t a desert - there would have been some trees, and some shrubbery, but mostly rocks, and a plain old dirt road. And on the road, the two disciples.
Now, we don’t know much about these two particular disciples. We know that one was named Cleopas, and that the other doesn’t have a name. The lack of a name has led some scholars to surmise that this other disciple was a woman, and since there’s no reason to believe otherwise, let’s imagine she was. And so this man and this woman are walking along the dirty road, leaving Jerusalem to go to Emmaus. And they are sad. The text tells us that much, but we can imagine that they were walking slowly, eyes cast down, shoulders slouched over, not really picking up their feet. They didn’t really want to be in Jerusalem, it was a dangerous place for them to be, and a reminder of what they had lost, but they didn’t seem to be in a hurry to get home either. There, they would have to face up to what had happened to their leader, about why they were returning home, about why they didn’t stay in Jerusalem.
Now, the text doesn’t tell us exactly what they were talking about, or even what they were feeling, but we can imagine that, too. For one thing, they would certainly have been talking about Jesus, their Lord, and about how he met his end. How they had seen his miracles, and been overwhelmed and put their hopes in him. How they had felt stirrings in their heart when they saw him, and how he allowed them to hope for a future that they had never dared even dream about before. And then, they would have talked about how it all came to nothing. How this great and powerful leader had been so humiliatingly put to death like a common bandit. How he hadn’t led them to rise up, how he hadn’t promised to protect them from the Roman Empire, how he hadn’t miraculously willed himself off the cross. And then, depending on how close the disciples were to each other, they might have talked about how they felt about these things. About their fear that they would be killed next, about their shame that they hadn’t stood up for their leader, maybe even about how stupid they felt that they had fallen for this guy in the first place. After all, how were they going to answer all those questions when they got home about where they’d been? How could they justify giving up everything and following some guy who ended up dead? And of course, they would have shared their grief that their beloved Jesus was dead, and their confusion and maybe even resentment towards the women who had come claiming that he was alive again.
The road to Emmaus is one we’ve all travelled - you may even be struggling along it right now. It’s the road that takes us away from places or times of disappointment, or betrayal. We travel the road because we want to leave behind a humiliating experience, or because we want to forget how foolish we were to put our hope in some particular thing. We walk along it with our hopes dashed, feeling like failures, maybe even ashamed to admit that we weren’t brave enough to stay in Jerusalem or to do what needed to be done or to stand up for what we believe. When we walk the road to Emmaus, our feet are heavy, our hearts feel numb, our minds keep replaying the awful situation over and over again. We don’t see what’s going on around us, we only want to move on from where we’ve been, even though we don’t particularly want to get to the next place.
So, imagine yourself there with the disciples who are leaving Jerusalem. They’ve abandoned the rest of the followers, they haven’t stuck around to see if Mary’s preposterous claims of new life are true, and they’re probably feeling pretty crummy about it all. About the crucifixion, about the loss of their leader, and about their reaction to the whole thing. And along comes this stranger. Now, you and I know that he’s Jesus, but we’re outside the story. It’s never easy to get a clear picture of what’s going on when you’re right in the middle of it, and so the disciples didn’t recognize him. Nevertheless, this stranger walks with them, and talks with them, and although, yes, he does call them foolish and slow of heart, he does encourage them by quoting from Scripture and by helping them to see that what had happened in Jerusalem was not a disgrace or a failure or a disappointment. And when the disciples invite him to dinner, ah, then the road to Emmaus becomes something different. Because the disciples invite this stranger to dinner, and instead of them being his host, he becomes their host. Rather than them sharing bread with him, he turns around, takes the bread, blesses it, and breaks it. And then he shares the bread, and in that moment himself, with them. It doesn’t matter that they were fleeing Jerusalem in fear, it doesn’t matter that they felt ashamed that they hadn’t stood up for what they believed in, that they hadn’t stuck by the person they loved, that they doubted the resurrection. None of that really seems to matter, because here is the person they hadn’t stood up for, here is the person they had abandoned, here is the person they had thought to be dead - here, in front of them, sharing bread with them as he had done so many times before, not angry with them, not blaming them or accusing them, or even asking them why they’re walking away, simply sharing the bread and his presence, with them.
So, do you still see yourself in that picture? Because you should. Just as we’ve all walked the road to Emmaus, we’re also all there at the end of the story, when the road becomes something new, when the stranger meets us along the way and offers us comfort and shares bread with us. You see, those moments of failure, and deep shame, of disbelief and fear and running away don’t stop Christ from coming to be with you. On the contrary, Jesus joins up with you on your path, walking alongside of you, not blaming or accusing or condemning, only sharing with you bread and himself. It happens during Communion, when there are no preconditions or requirements or levels of worthiness needed for you to receive Christ’s body and blood. It happens outside of church, when you are encouraged and comforted by strangers, or by family or friends. Christ comes to you in those moments when you feel most unworthy of his company. "For the promise is for you, for your children, and for all who are far away, everyone whom the Lord our God calls to him."
Now, the disciples didn’t recognize Christ until he was gone. But they knew that he had been with them because, looking back, they saw signs of new life growing inside themselves, and from Emmaus they went back to Jerusalem, back to the other disciples, and back to believing in the resurrection and being proud of it. And the same is true for us - we, too, might not recognize Christ when he’s walking alongside us. But that doesn’t stop him from coming, and that doesn’t stop him from bringing us new life and enabling us to go back to Jerusalem.
I want to end with a poem that I’m sure is familiar to most of you, and probably loved by you, too. It’s a great reminder to us that when we walk the road to Emmaus, we are never alone, and in fact, it’s especially there that we are blessed with the presence of our risen Lord, come to us in the bread and the company of others. The poem is called "Footprints in the Sand" and it’s by Mary Stevenson.
One night a man had a dream.
He dreamed he was walking along the beach with the Lord.
Across the sky flashed scenes from his life.
For each scene, he noticed two sets of footprints in the sand:
one belonging to him, and the other to the Lord.
When the last scene of his life flashed before him,
he looked back at the footprints in the sand.
He noticed that many times along the path of his life there was only one set of footprints.
He also noticed that it happened at the very lowest and saddest times in his life.
This really bothered him and he questioned the Lord about it.
"Lord, You said that once I decided to follow you, You'd walk with me all the way.
But I have noticed that during the most troublesome times in my life,
there is only one set of footprints.
I don't understand why when I needed you most you would leave me."
The Lord replied, "My [own], My precious child, I love you and I would never leave you.
During your times of trial and suffering, when you see only one set of footprints,
it was then that I Carried You."
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