Now that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem. They were talking with each other about everything that had happened. As they talked and discussed these things with each other, Jesus himself came up and walked along with them;but they were kept from recognizing him. He asked them, “What are you discussing together as you walk along?” They stood still, their faces downcast.
Luke 24:13-17 (NIV)
It has been months since Easter Sunday, but I still find myself captivated by the disciples’ trip to Emmaus. I can imagine their state of mind. Perplexed. Expectations dashed. “We had hoped that [Jesus] was the one to redeem Israel,” said the disciples to the Stranger who had joined them on the journey.
Last weekend, I attended a women’s conference that revived me in a way that I had not experienced in a while. It was as if the wind of the Spirit blew into my soul afresh, and I rejoice in a renewed sense of purpose and potential. Yet a week later, I find myself overwhelmed as I discern what my next steps should be. After these mountaintop experiences, my challenge is always to maintain momentum when I get back to sea level. In the meantime, I grieve recent tragedies such as the shooting in Aurora, CO. I recognize that in the shadow of the resurrection, death remains. The death of loved ones. The death of dreams. The death of relationships.
“We had hoped that…”
I can relate. Don’t we all have those thoughts, those if-onlys, haunting us from time to time? I had hoped that my father would live to see certain milestones in my life. Parents of the victims in Aurora had hoped to see their children thrive.
As they approached the village to which they were going, Jesus continued on as if he were going farther. But they urged him strongly, “Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.” So he went in to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, gave thanks, broke it and began to give it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him, and he disappeared from their sight. They asked each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?” Luke 24:28-32 (NIV)
There was something about this Stranger who entered into conversation and community with the disciples. He inquired. He listened. He brought clarity. He challenged. He blessed. He broke bread. And all of a sudden, the disciples knew that the “rumor” was true. Jesus was alive and sitting right there in front of them!
Lately, I’ve asked myself, “when was the last time my heart burned within me, in a good way, based on a conversation?” By conversation, I do not mean hearing from the Lord through sermons or personal prayer times, though these are vital practices for me. What I mean is talking with others. I realize that conversations can get a bit messy. After all, Jesus broke the bread; he didn’t slice it. The good news is that the Presence of Christ can show up in the midst, messiness and all. Plus, there’s a heartiness and substance to bread that is broken compared to the neatly sliced bread that I often buy at the supermarket.
I’m starting to ask myself a lot more questions to help me envision what “breaking bread” really means. Please join me.
What if we were more intentional about reminding each other that Jesus is alive and that we can live out that truth between Sundays, conferences, retreats and revivals?
What if we spoke life into desolate places in each other and in the world around us?
What if we agreed with God that death, while present, does not have the final say?
What if we not only grieved for families of victims in Aurora, but also confronted the culture of violence in the United States?
What if we invited the “voiceless” into the conversation?
How is God calling us to represent the resurrection of Christ in the world?
Your Call: Read Luke 24:1-35; what stands out to you about the journey to Emmaus? What is the role of conversation and community in your life?
