Emmaus Walk

It was the first day of the week and Jesus had risen from the grave.  Women came early and found the empty tomb. Angels in white robes told them not to seek the living among the dead and that Jesus was alive indeed. Peter had run to the garden grave to find only linen burial cloths. (Luke 24) Resurrection day was live and in motion.

But there, in the middle of the excitement and wonder of that day,  is this sidebar from the action that seems somehow disjointed.   There are two disciples, one named Cleopas and the other unnamed,  who  packed up their belongings and headed down the dusty road toward Emmaus, a city about 7 miles from Jerusalem.  We don’t have many details about the trip, but we have enough.

The two men walked on the dusty road side by side, talking quietly about what they had seen and heard over the last week.  When Jesus joined them, they didn’t even recognize Him.  He just fell in step with them and leaned into their conversation. As they strolled,  the men filled Him in on all that had transpired.  They told Him about plotting priests, Roman executioners, a bloody crucifixion, and a borrowed grave.  They shared the hopes they had held, that Jesus was the long-awaited Messiah who would liberate their nation, hopes that had been crushed as they watched Him suffer and die.  Finally, they explained the astonishment caused by  the women claiming that the same Jesus they had seen buried was somehow alive.

I imagine Jesus smiling as He walked beside the men and began teaching them verse after verse of scripture from the writings of Moses, to David’s psalms, then through the prophets.  Line upon line, He outlined the plan of God to redeem not merely Israel but all of mankind by the suffering of His anointed Son.  He spoke of blood purchased salvation, a  throne in heaven,  and a coming kingdom, and as He talked their hearts burned in their chest.  When Emmaus came into view, the men begged Jesus to stay with them longer.  As they sat down to eat, Jesus blessed the meal and broke the bread with His nail scarred hand.  At that moment, the  spiritual blindness that kept them from recognizing Him along the path fell away.  Immediately, Jesus was gone from their sight and they headed back to Jerusalem.

I have so many questions about this story when I read it.  First of all, why did Cleopas and his companion set out on their trek when news of Jesus’ resurrection had just reached them? Wouldn’t hanging around in Jerusalem until the matter was settled make more sense?   I suspect the walk to Emmaus happened because their  decision had already been made.  Jesus had been publicly executed and that image was seared into the minds of the disciples.  They had walked boldly with Jesus for the last three years, but now they were hiding out in the upper room. Fear had them hemmed in– fear that those plotting priests and the angry mob they had incited would not be content with stopping Jesus alone. What if they planned on rounding up the entire group? 

Fear was probably not the only emotion that was thick in that upper room.  Shame and regret would have been present as well.  As the hiding disciples remembered the passion and zeal they felt while walking and talking with Jesus, the pain of their own self-preservation would have been agonizing. When He needed them most, they had scattered.  

Then there was the weight of those crushed hopes and broken dreams, hopes that Jesus would somehow break the back of the Roman oppressors and cause Israel to rise back to the position of being a national superpower.  All these things had lain heavy on the hearts of these disciples for the last three days.  My guess is that a couple of days in, Cleopas and his buddy had quietly decided to head home and give up those grand thoughts of significance and destiny that had started them on that journey with Jesus.

But the greater issue this account raises to me is the way Jesus responded to their walk out of Jerusalem. This was arguably the most important day in human history, the day that Jesus rose from the dead. There were important things to be done.  He needed to  ascend to the Father and offer the sacrifice of His own blood on the altar of heaven as the High Priest of a new, better covenant (John 20:17, Heb 9:12).  Jesus had to lead captivity captive and bestow gifts on men (Eph 4:8). Surely a three hour long walk on the dusty road to Emmaus was not as urgent as these things.  

 Not to mention, there were so many important people to whom Jesus could have spent His day choosing to show Himself alive. Of course those remaining eleven chosen apostles whose names we all recognize needed a visit, along with His mother Mary.  But what about Pontius Pilate, Herod, or Caiaphas?  Wouldn’t a visit from the formerly dead Messiah change the landscape of Israel’s political scene?  Wouldn’t Jesus’ pierced feet strolling through the temple have shaken up the religious crowd ?

However important those things and people seem to be in my opinion, Jesus had a different priority.  Jesus decided that the most significant way to spend resurrection day was to take a long  walk with Cleopas and his unnamed companion.  He chose to spend His afternoon teaching scripture to these two men who had misunderstood His mission and lost heart in the aftermath of His crucifixion.  The Good Shepherd went after His sheep.

Isn’t that just like the Lord?  In my own life,  I remember times when shame and rejection weighed me down after a painful divorce when I had prayed (and decreed and declared) that God would give reconciliation and save my marriage.  I have felt shaken at the graveside of a beloved sister and questioned why God would allow such unfairness to shadow my path. 

 There have been times that  my faith was placed squarely on what I wanted God to do for me,  so certain that I knew what outcome would be best.  I even confess that I have prayed and begged, “Not Your will but mine be done.” And I have wept at the death of dreams and aspirations that looked good to me, but ran  askew from God’s plans.  When the wrong door closed or the correct door refused to open, I too, put on my shoes and headed back toward the safety of what worked for me in the past, back to Emmaus.  

Those bitter moments were the times that Jesus drew near.  Though my eyes could not see His form, the Lord came and walked beside me matching my every step. He poured the oil of His Presence into my wounded soul.  He gently reminded me that He has seen far more of the journey ahead than I know and that He has far greater things in store than I can imagine.  He sat with me while I cried and complained, then soothed away my anxious tears with His gentle peace.

 Who am I? I am just a disciple,  I am  not important or extraordinary in any way, but Jesus has made me a priority. He has never given up on me or been too busy to be my Companion.  That gives significance to my journey. The Good Shepherd still walks down Emmaus Road, and for that I am profoundly grateful.