Marcus Borg, a Christian writer and theological scholar, tells the story of taking a trip to the Holy Land with his wife to visit some of the significant places mentioned in the New Testament, such as Bethlehem, Nazareth, and Jerusalem.  When their guide announced late one afternoon that they would be making a stop at Emmaus, the Borgs were excited to see where, on the evening of the day of Resurrection, two disciples of Jesus stopped to have dinner with the mysterious but well-informed traveler they had met on the road.

 

At sunset, the bus pulled into the town of Emmaus, about six miles outside of Jerusalem.  When the Borgs approached the door of the church dedicated to the Emmaus story, they were disappointed to find that it had already closed for the day.  Some boys playing soccer nearby told them not to worry: if they wanted to see the Emmaus church, there was another town of Emmaus just up the road another five miles, and another church there, almost as nice as this one.

 

Another Emmaus?  On the bus ride back to their hotel, the Borgs expressed their confusion to their guide.  “Oh yes,” he responded, “There are five or six Emmauses near Jerusalem, all of them claiming to be the historic Emmaus.  People will ask to see Emmaus, and I take them to whichever one is closest.”

 

On this third Sunday of Easter, our lectionary treats us to the Emmaus story from the Gospel of Luke.  On the evening of the first Easter, Cleopas and his companion – I like to think it is Mrs. Cleopas – are leaving Jerusalem with a sense of confusion and defeat.  It has only been a couple of days since the crucifixion of Jesus, and there are wild rumors about the tomb and the disappearance of his body. 

 

The two friends need a break from the tension of grief and the drama of the past couple of weeks, so they start walking toward a place called Emmaus which means “warm springs” – an appropriate place to rejuvenate their bodies and their spirits.

 

What a contrast this scene is to the beginning of this 24^th chapter of Luke when first the women, then other disciples including Peter, find the tomb empty!  But news – even good news – can travel slowly.  So Cleopas and his companion are walking, still trying to make sense of the events of the past week. 

 

Like the other disciples, they had watched from the shadows and had prayed that everything would work out; but they knew their history and their scripture.  The Messiah, whenever he really came, would not die the death of a criminal at the hands of the occupying army.  The Messiah would be a liberator, a freedom fighter, and a conqueror – not a victim. 

 

Jesus had held great promise, and they kept waiting for him to reveal his mighty power and rally the troops.  But, instead, he had been nailed to the cross by the Romans.  And then today, just hours ago, they had heard the report that some women among their circle had gone to the tomb this morning and found the body gone.  So the two are in the depths of despair, talking and trying to make sense out of it all when, as they walk along, they realize someone is with them.  It is the Resurrected Christ, but Luke tells us that their eyes are “kept from recognizing him.”

 

“What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?” the stranger asks, inviting them to share their pain.  And Cleopas, incredulous, stops dead in his tracks and challenges the passerby: “Are you the only one in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?”

 

Jesus responds with “What things?” thus inviting Cleopas to unburden himself, and he and his companion begin to share with this stranger what is causing them so much pain.  They tell the whole story – of Jesus’ betrayal and suffering, his undeserved punishment, their unfulfilled hopes and dreams.  And then they sum it up by saying, “We had hoped that he would be the one to save Israel.”

 

“We had hoped.”  Have you ever said those words?  It’s a fellowship we all belong to, we who have walked the Emmaus road.

 

We had hoped that the first signs of forgetfulness were nothing to worry about.

We had hoped the shadow on the CAT scan was just a false alarm.

We had hoped the family could be together for the holiday…

We had hoped the company would rebound…

We had hoped we could work things out.

 

Of course, “We had hoped,” is only the first part of the sentence.  The rest often goes unstated, because it is so painful.  “We had hoped…but we don’t any more.”  That’s what we say when we walk the Emmaus road, because Emmaus isn’t so much a place; it’s a state of heart and mind; it’s where we go when we’ve lost our hope.

 

And it is on this road and into these moments – when life is most real and inescapable -- that Christ is likely to enter.  God’s grace does not usually come in a blaze of heavenly light, or the sudden revelation of a dream, or even in the midst of worship.  God’s grace usually comes when we’re experiencing the heartaches of life.  Because it is in those moments that we can learn to open our spiritual eyes and see the redeeming grace of God moving along the road with us. 

 

I would guess that many of us here today could say our faith journeys began – or took pivotal, transformative turns -- after we fell into some sort of spiritual black hole in which everything we once believed in suddenly evaporated.  For the two walkers, it was the death of a friend.  For us, it may also be the death of a loved one, or it may be an experience of disillusionment, a betrayal, a loss or failure.  It is the time in our lives when our certainties vanish, when the usual comforts and assurances we have held on to fail; when the things we have held sacred seem to vanish.

 

This is how Cleopas and his friend are feeling, but Jesus doesn’t let them linger in their hopelessness.  He reminds them of their own religious history.  Don’t you remember the promises of salvation, the teachings of the prophets, the scriptures that told us God had a plan that would turn everything upside down?  Don’t you remember what you’ve learned in the synagogue?  And, as Jesus walks with them in their pain, a glimmer of hope begins to warm their hearts.

 

Cleopas and his companion arrive at their home and invite this stranger in to share their meal, and at that table -- as the bread is broken and the wine is poured – their eyes are opened and they realize that the one who has accompanied them on their painful journey, walking the Emmaus road, is none other than their own Lord and Savior, the Resurrected Christ.

 

And that is when their words “we had hoped” can change to “if only we had known” --

If only we had known Jesus was with us, we wouldn’t have been afraid.  If only we’d known, we would have trusted the promises of scripture, we wouldn’t have felt so hopeless, we would have stayed together with other believers; if only we had known, we wouldn’t have been so blind.

 

And what about you and me?  I have walked the Emmaus road; you have too – or you will.  It can be anyplace we go when our world has collapsed, when the tossing and turning of the night has left us exhausted and fragile, when our dreams have been shattered and our hope is gone.

 

When we’re walking on our own Emmaus road of pain, disappointment, fear, hopelessness – do we look around to see who might be walking with us?  Our religious history teaches us that we do not journey alone.  Do we remember the promises of salvation, the teachings of the prophets, the promises fulfilled in Jesus of Nazareth?  Do we remember what we’ve learned in church? 

 

Because if we know we have a traveling companion, when we remember that Jesus is walking with us on every Emmaus road of life, we can go from saying “we had hoped,” to saying – with assurance and conviction -- “I know that God is with me, so I will not be afraid... I know I can get through this… I have the strength to face whatever comes.”

 

For years, people have been looking for Emmaus.  The scriptures tell us that it was seven miles from Jerusalem, and although several different places claim to be the true location, there are no ruins, no historical artifacts, no weathered maps.  In fact, none of the modern towns by that name can be dated back to the time of Christ. 

 

But perhaps we’re looking in the wrong places.  Emmaus is bound neither to one location nor one time.  Perhaps Emmaus is here in the heart, and on our road of hopelessness and loneliness and despair, that mysterious stranger will come into our midst, and invite us to unburden ourselves; and – enveloped in his love and warmth and compassion -- our hearts will burn as we talk.  May we open our eyes and our hearts so we can recognize him – the One who shares our pain, speaks our name, touches us, and leaves us blessed.  Amen.

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