Springwood Presbyterian Church: Whitsett, NC

It’s so embarrassing to meet up with somebody who knows you, and you don’t have any idea who it is, or where you met.  This was worse than embarrassing.  Thinking back on that day, I just can’t believe Cleopas and I didn’t recognize him.  But who would have expected to find him walking along the road?  Just three days before, we saw him hanging on that cross back in Jerusalem—

 

And there’s no doubt in my mind he was dead!  I’ve seen too many that the Romans crucified just like that.  They’re thorough.

 

Cleopas and I—we were lost.

 

Not LOST, you understand.  I knew every turn in that road like the freckles on the back of my hand.  We were just a few miles from our village, and we walked it week-in, week-out, from Emmaus to Jerusalem and back to sell our cheese and figs and a little wool in the Spring.

 

But our spirits were lost.  We felt abandoned, doomed.

 

Our minds were in a muddle.  We couldn’t believe God would let him die.  What would that mean for us—we, who weren’t nearly as good as he?

 

I didn’t even want to think about it.  I didn’t tell Cleopas, but I wondered if there is a God.

 

Well, I didn’t really doubt God, but all our hopes for the future had died for sure: buried, just as surely as his body in Joseph’s tomb.  We’d just have to go back to the way we’d always lived: up before dawn—heading off to the fields—eating bread and olives under the hot sun—dragging home at evening with an aching back, only to start all over again the next day, and the next.

 

It’s not a bad life, mind you.  We had a little house.  Our crops and our flocks provided us with all the food we needed, and we usually even had a little something extra to sell in the city.  We had family and friends.  But after we met him, our lives seemed so much fuller—so much brighter, like when the sun comes out after days of rain.

 

Because he showed us a future we didn’t expect.  He told us that God’s not sitting up in heaven waiting for us to make a mistake.  Instead, God’s with us all the time, helping us live good lives now, and making a place for us with him when we die.  We thought we’d just be food for the worms after we die.

 

So, when he was murdered, we were too sad, too stunned to go home.  Was it all a lie, what he’d told us? 

 

We stayed in Jerusalem, mourning with his other friends. 

 

Since we couldn’t prepare his body before the Sabbath began, when day came,  some of us women went to his tomb with our spices and perfumes.  But his body wasn’t there!  And there were two strangers who told us not to bother looking for him among the dead, because he was alive—he had risen!  We ran back to the house to tell the men.  They didn’t believe us.

 

Do you blame us?  We thought they were hysterical.  Women so often are. How could he be alive, after what the Romans did to him?

 

The others stayed in the house, hoping the empty tomb meant he was alive, after all, and would go back there to find them.

 

But we were too restless and confused to stay.  We had to get away from Jerusalem and go home—back to something normal.

 

As we trudged toward home, talking about what had happened, Cleopas and I got more and more discouraged, and just walked along in silence, wrapped up in our own thoughts.

 

That was when the man caught up with us.  He asked what we were talking about.  Oh--it was like opening the gate for a flock of hungry sheep.  All the hurt and fear and disappointment came racing and tumbling out of our hearts.

 

He listened to it all.

 

How blind we were, not to recognize him, when we had been talking about him just moments before!  But we never thought he’d be there.

 

And how patient he was with us.  He began telling us what the scriptures say about the Messiah: that the Messiah wouldn’t look like the king or warrior our people expected; that there would be no form or majesty…nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.  He would be despised and rejected by others…a man of suffering and acquainted with sorrows.  Isaiah wrote that.

 

Instead, people would recognize the One from God by his character: he shall not judge by what his eyes see or decide by what his ears hear; but with righteousness he shall judge the poor and decide with equity for the meek of the earth. 

 

That’s from the prophet, too.  And he spoke of the wolf living with the lamb; the leopard with the kid—telling us God wants peace, even for those who are, by nature, at war with one another like the Romans and us Jews.

 

That’s got to be God’s doing.  I’ve sure never seen anything like that—I have to use stones and clubs to keep the lions from eating my lambs.

 

Bit by bit, as he reminded us what had been foretold about the Savior who would come one day, we began to understand what our friend Jesus really was about…

 

And what he tried to get into our thick skulls, about the Messiah God would send to save the world.  It seems so clear now, but we’d never made the connection before between what the scriptures said and how Jesus--right in front of our very eyes--was the fulfillment of them, by the way he loved and served and forgave—even forgave the men who killed him.

 

He comforted us, too, reminding us what some of the other prophets said about God’s great love for God’s people, and the salvation God plans for us.  He told us that God’s love for us is like my love for my child.  How does that passage go, Cleopas?

 

When Israel was a child, I loved him; and out of Egypt, I called them….How can I give you up?… I will not destroy, for I am God, and not a man.  I will not come in wrath.  That was from old Hosea, you know. 

 

He called us God’s delight!  Just imagine!  Oh, it’s beautiful, to think God loves us so much.

 

We were so caught up in the stranger’s words that we dawdled along the way.  It was nearly evening when we finally got to Emmaus. 

 

We couldn’t let him go on in the dark, risking attack by bandits.  But we didn’t want him to go, either.  He was the only bright spot in a very gloomy day.

 

After those hours together on the road, with him telling us the scriptures, well…he was no stranger.  He seemed closer to us than the folks we grew up with.

 

I was afraid he wouldn’t stay, though.  We had to ask him again and again.  It was as if he didn’t want to force himself on us or make us feel obliged to have him in our home.

 

We went straight to the table.  We were starving after the long walk, and we hadn’t eaten more than a bite or two all weekend in Jerusalem.  Our stomachs couldn’t take it.

 

There wasn’t much in the house to eat, since we’d been gone for days, but I put out my best cheese, some dried figs, and a loaf of bread we forgot to take with us when we went to Jerusalem.

 

Since he was our guest, I asked him to bless the meal.  He held the bread as he gave thanks--the blessing we always say over the bread: “Barukh attah adonai—Blessed are You, Lord Our God, Ruler of the Universe, who brings grain from the earth to become the bread you give us to eat.” 

 

And that’s when we knew: it was him!

 

He was with us all along, and we hadn’t known, hadn’t seen.

 

Jesus, the man we’d known—the man we thought we knew, anyway—was dead, and we couldn’t imagine anything else—anything beyond his death.

 

But from beyond death he came to us—found us lost in our despair and hopelessness, and gave us hope.

 

And a new way to live for the rest of our lives. 

 

Our eyes didn’t recognize him,

 

But our hearts sure did!

 

They still do. Each time now we hear the scriptures read—each time we call his name in prayer—each time we talk to one another about him, the eyes of our hearts see him.

 

You know, now we find ourselves trying to do the things he did: paying attention to the world God created for us, and seeing how very good it is.

 

Paying attention to the people God created to share the world with us, and seeing how very good they are—because even the ones we don’t like very much, and the ones who don’t like us, are still our sisters and brothers in God’s family.

 

Some folks we meet are jealous of those of us who knew Jesus on earth.  Since they never saw him, they don’t think they can believe in him the way we do.

 

But the fact is, Jesus is still here.  We want them to know he’s alive whenever we hear that still small voice within us—

 

The voice that assures us that, no matter how dark things might seem,

 

Whatever trials and sorrows we face,

 

Whether we understand the tragedies of life or not,

 

Through fears and doubts,

 

God will not leave us alone.  Every time God’s love is alive in us, he’s alive, too.

 

And God’s love can’t be destroyed by all the cruelty and hate in the world.  God loves, because God is love.

 

Jesus, the Messiah…

 

Jesus, our Savior.

 

He lives,

 

And at last, we really and truly live—in him.

 

We ran all the way back to Jerusalem, not even stopping for breath, to share the wonderful news with our friends.

 

And we keep telling our story to all who will listen, so you can recognize him when he comes to you—

 

in your home, at your work, when you’re grieving over the death of a loved one, when you’re feeling utterly hopeless, when you aren’t expecting him at all. 

 

Oh, he won’t force himself on you, anymore than he wanted to make us to take him into our home that night.  But he’ll be there, alright--waiting for you to see him—to want to be with him—to want him to show you the way, too,

 

the way to live now—the way to return to God when we die.

 

[together:]  He is our hope.  Thanks be to God!