Luke 24:13-35 (The Message)
That same day two of them were walking to the village Emmaus, about seven miles out of Jerusalem. They were deep in conversation, going over all these things that had happened. In the middle of their talk and questions, Jesus came up and walked along with them. But they were not able to recognize who he was.
In gathering my thoughts for this message I skimmed the writings of many people, and someone, unfortunately I can’t remember who to give them proper credit, pointed out that in Luke’s gospel “leaving Jerusalem” always means leaving the teachings of Jesus, turning away from what they were shown and taught. If that is the case, Luke is making it clear from the beginning that these two men are already losing the narrative of hope and faith that Jesus gave them and reverting to the easier narrative of hopelessness and failure.
He asked, “What’s this you’re discussing so intently as you walk along?”
They just stood there, long-faced, like they had lost their best friend. Then one of them, his name was Cleopas, said, “Are you the only one in Jerusalem who hasn’t heard what’s happened during the last few days?”
He said, “What has happened?”
They said, “The things that happened to Jesus the Nazarene. He was a man of God, a prophet, dynamic in work and word, blessed by both God and all the people. Then our high priests and leaders betrayed him, got him sentenced to death, and crucified him. And we had our hopes up that he was the One, the One about to deliver Israel. And it is now the third day since it happened. But now some of our women have completely confused us. Early this morning they were at the tomb and couldn’t find his body. They came back with the story that they had seen a vision of angels who said he was alive. Some of our friends went off to the tomb to check and found it empty just as the women said, but they didn’t see Jesus.”
"The tomb is empty, all right, but no one we know actually saw Jesus – and we did see him die – so we guess it’s just all over now.” The narrative of failure and hope forlorn proves itself, over and over, to be so much easier and more comfortable for us than maintaining the narrative of hope and trust.
Then he said to them, “So thick-headed! So slow-hearted! Why can’t you simply believe all that the prophets said? Don’t you see that these things had to happen, that the Messiah had to suffer and only then enter into his glory?” Then he started at the beginning, with the Books of Moses, and went on through all the Prophets, pointing out everything in the Scriptures that referred to him.
Rob Bell, in Jesus Wants to Save Christians, points out something that should be obvious to us all – Jesus could not possibly have really taught them everything in the scriptures that referred to Messiah’s coming – there is simply too much there to cover in an afternoon’s walk. So the tantalizing question is “just what did he say?”
He could have talked about the exile and all that means to the Jewish people. Or maybe he referred to himself as the “new Adam” come to undo the harm caused by the original.
Or maybe he spoke of the price that had to be paid for their wandering astray and their recurring breaking of their covenant with God. Did he remind them of the Suffering Servant?
They came to the edge of the village where they were headed. He acted as if he were going on but they pressed him: “Stay and have supper with us. It’s nearly evening; the day is done.” So he went in with them. And here is what happened: He sat down at the table with them. Taking the bread, he blessed and broke and gave it to them. At that moment, open-eyed, wide-eyed, they recognized him. And then he disappeared.
Whatever the stranger taught them as he recalled the scriptures for them, they apparently still did not recognize him until the moment the bread was broken. At that moment their eyes were opened, their hearts were opened and they knew who it was who had spent the day walking with them.
Back and forth they talked. “Didn’t we feel on fire as he conversed with us on the road, as he opened up the Scriptures for us?”
I’m sure the two disciples were feeling rather foolish at this point. How could they have spent the better part of the day with Jesus and not recognize him? How could they be so blind? Rob Bell (again) makes the wonderfully ironic statement that “In Jesus’s day, people could read, study, and discuss the scriptures their entire lives and still miss its central message. In Jesus’s day, people could follow him, learn from him, drop everything to be his disciples, and yet find themselves returning home, thinking Jesus had failed.” People could do this is Jesus’ day ... and we can do it just as easily and just as blindly today.
They didn’t waste a minute. They were up and on their way back to Jerusalem. They found the Eleven and their friends gathered together, talking away: “It’s really happened! The Master has been raised up—Simon saw him!”
Then the two went over everything that happened on the road and how they recognized him when he broke the bread.
All of his teaching, all the scriptures he quoted had failed to reach them, but this simple, homely act of sharing food with them, breaking bread with them reminded them of the bond that had been forged among them and broke through their blind denial of hope. To break bread with others is to break through the fences we erect between us, the walls we build. We become, in Paul’s words “not Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female,” but simply children of a loving creator. When we break bread with each other we are able to once again reclaim the narrative of faith and hope that Jesus gave us.
Only here, in this simple act of sharing food and life, it seems, can we recognize each other, but perhaps even more importantly, we can recognize ourselves. In recognizing Jesus we can finally see ourselves through the eyes of God. We know Jesus and we know ourselves.
When we are fed with the bread of life and hope we can look at the strangers among us and see our brother and sisters. We can see God walking the world with us.
Thanks be to God.
That same day two of them were walking to the village Emmaus, about seven miles out of Jerusalem. They were deep in conversation, going over all these things that had happened. In the middle of their talk and questions, Jesus came up and walked along with them. But they were not able to recognize who he was.
In gathering my thoughts for this message I skimmed the writings of many people, and someone, unfortunately I can’t remember who to give them proper credit, pointed out that in Luke’s gospel “leaving Jerusalem” always means leaving the teachings of Jesus, turning away from what they were shown and taught. If that is the case, Luke is making it clear from the beginning that these two men are already losing the narrative of hope and faith that Jesus gave them and reverting to the easier narrative of hopelessness and failure.
He asked, “What’s this you’re discussing so intently as you walk along?”
They just stood there, long-faced, like they had lost their best friend. Then one of them, his name was Cleopas, said, “Are you the only one in Jerusalem who hasn’t heard what’s happened during the last few days?”
He said, “What has happened?”
They said, “The things that happened to Jesus the Nazarene. He was a man of God, a prophet, dynamic in work and word, blessed by both God and all the people. Then our high priests and leaders betrayed him, got him sentenced to death, and crucified him. And we had our hopes up that he was the One, the One about to deliver Israel. And it is now the third day since it happened. But now some of our women have completely confused us. Early this morning they were at the tomb and couldn’t find his body. They came back with the story that they had seen a vision of angels who said he was alive. Some of our friends went off to the tomb to check and found it empty just as the women said, but they didn’t see Jesus.”
"The tomb is empty, all right, but no one we know actually saw Jesus – and we did see him die – so we guess it’s just all over now.” The narrative of failure and hope forlorn proves itself, over and over, to be so much easier and more comfortable for us than maintaining the narrative of hope and trust.
Then he said to them, “So thick-headed! So slow-hearted! Why can’t you simply believe all that the prophets said? Don’t you see that these things had to happen, that the Messiah had to suffer and only then enter into his glory?” Then he started at the beginning, with the Books of Moses, and went on through all the Prophets, pointing out everything in the Scriptures that referred to him.
Rob Bell, in Jesus Wants to Save Christians, points out something that should be obvious to us all – Jesus could not possibly have really taught them everything in the scriptures that referred to Messiah’s coming – there is simply too much there to cover in an afternoon’s walk. So the tantalizing question is “just what did he say?”
He could have talked about the exile and all that means to the Jewish people. Or maybe he referred to himself as the “new Adam” come to undo the harm caused by the original.
Or maybe he spoke of the price that had to be paid for their wandering astray and their recurring breaking of their covenant with God. Did he remind them of the Suffering Servant?
They came to the edge of the village where they were headed. He acted as if he were going on but they pressed him: “Stay and have supper with us. It’s nearly evening; the day is done.” So he went in with them. And here is what happened: He sat down at the table with them. Taking the bread, he blessed and broke and gave it to them. At that moment, open-eyed, wide-eyed, they recognized him. And then he disappeared.
Whatever the stranger taught them as he recalled the scriptures for them, they apparently still did not recognize him until the moment the bread was broken. At that moment their eyes were opened, their hearts were opened and they knew who it was who had spent the day walking with them.
Back and forth they talked. “Didn’t we feel on fire as he conversed with us on the road, as he opened up the Scriptures for us?”
I’m sure the two disciples were feeling rather foolish at this point. How could they have spent the better part of the day with Jesus and not recognize him? How could they be so blind? Rob Bell (again) makes the wonderfully ironic statement that “In Jesus’s day, people could read, study, and discuss the scriptures their entire lives and still miss its central message. In Jesus’s day, people could follow him, learn from him, drop everything to be his disciples, and yet find themselves returning home, thinking Jesus had failed.” People could do this is Jesus’ day ... and we can do it just as easily and just as blindly today.
They didn’t waste a minute. They were up and on their way back to Jerusalem. They found the Eleven and their friends gathered together, talking away: “It’s really happened! The Master has been raised up—Simon saw him!”
Then the two went over everything that happened on the road and how they recognized him when he broke the bread.
All of his teaching, all the scriptures he quoted had failed to reach them, but this simple, homely act of sharing food with them, breaking bread with them reminded them of the bond that had been forged among them and broke through their blind denial of hope. To break bread with others is to break through the fences we erect between us, the walls we build. We become, in Paul’s words “not Jew or Greek, slave or free, male or female,” but simply children of a loving creator. When we break bread with each other we are able to once again reclaim the narrative of faith and hope that Jesus gave us.
Only here, in this simple act of sharing food and life, it seems, can we recognize each other, but perhaps even more importantly, we can recognize ourselves. In recognizing Jesus we can finally see ourselves through the eyes of God. We know Jesus and we know ourselves.
When we are fed with the bread of life and hope we can look at the strangers among us and see our brother and sisters. We can see God walking the world with us.
Thanks be to God.
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