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“But we had hoped. . . .” Luke 24:21
“But we had hoped” has to be among the sorriest four words in the entire Bible. “But we had hoped…” Cleopas and his companion told a stranger as they walked along the road to Emmaus three days after the bloody crucifixion. There so much in those four words – a future that is not to be, a dream that did not come true, a promise that died. This year, they are our words too… Our young people had hoped to make the team: baseball, softball, lacrosse, track and field. High School and College Seniors had hoped for a grand graduation and the parties that followed. Couples had hoped to be married. Others had hoped for a promotion, to buy a house, to go on vacation, to retire. What had you hoped for? No one hoped for a global pandemic bearing death, fear, isolation and economic distress. And just one week ago, these two disciples had hoped that Jesus was the Messiah as they entered Jerusalem, with palm branches waving and people shouting, “Blessed is the king who comes in the name of the Lord!”
By now you know the story, how one thing led to another and another and by week’s end, this blessed king is crucified, dead and buried. Even though there are rumors of resurrection, Cleopas and his friend just had to get out and take a walk. So, they walk to Emmaus, where there’s an inn where they could get a nice meal and a good night’s sleep. Perhaps things would be better in the morning.
There’s something inherently healing about talking a walk. Alone you notice things you might not otherwise hear or see, the song of a cardinal, the beauty of the wildflowers, the graceful canopy of a tree. With another, you share things you might not otherwise dare to say face to face. Walking side by side it’s easier to express your thoughts, joys and sorrows. Maybe it’s the space in front of you frees you from the reaction on the face of the other. Maybe it’s the moving, one step, then another, that allows you to speak more freely. All I know is, that in the last six weeks, taking a walk, with appropriate social distancing, has been a blessing. Have you experienced that too?
So, Cleopas and his friend get out of town and head west to the village of Emmaus. Along the way as they talk about what happened in the past week, how joy turned into sorrow, another joins them and asks, “What are you discussing?” to which Cleopas responds “Are you the only one in Jerusalem who hasn’t heard what’s been happening in the last few days?” “What things?” he asks. Then bit by bit they tell their story, they name their hurt, fear and doubt. “But we had hope” they say, and then they go on to tell the Easter story as relayed to them by the women, but dismissed it as an idle tale. They were hurting too much to believe what seemed completely unbelievable. If it wasn’t true, then the hurt, the fear and doubt would multiply, over and over again until it led to despair. Best get out of town and put some distance between the cross and the resurrection. Only they can’t. The one that hung on the cross has tracked them down, and though they don’t yet realize it, now as the resurrected one he’s walking with them, listening to the pain, their story, their hopelessness. And listening to us too – in our isolation, frustration and grief. Jesus cares about it all –the hopes and dreams that were denied – not playing third base on the high school team, not going to the prom, not walking into the stadium to “Pomp and Circumstance,” not going to work, not watching the Phillies, not being physically together for Sunday school and worship – all of it and more. Jesus cares and shows up through the doctors and nurses, the cleaning staff and the chaplains. He’s there in the Emergency room, in the ICU, in the heart-wrenching calls to families, there in the burials and the uncertainty, the trauma and the grief. Jesus is walking with us on the road to Emmaus, when we don’t know if we can dare to hope in the resurrection. He’s there helping us to see beyond what’s happening, helping us to move from “we had hoped” to “the Lord is risen indeed.”
He does this by telling stories. He begins with Moses and story of the Exodus, freedom from slavery, forty years of wilderness wandering, living in hope of the promise land. He tells stories about the prophets – Nathan reprimanding a sinful king, Elijah battling Jezebel, Isaiah proclaiming hope, Jeremiah speaking truth to power, Amos calling for justice. He helps Cleopas and his friend make to connections, to know that God was and is always with them, to learn from the past, to have faith to live in the present and the trust enough to go into the future. He tells the stories we continue to tell to our children, youth and ourselves, so that we can dare take one more step and then another after that. They listen to his stories as walk together until they arrive at Emmaus just in time for dinner.
The Stranger accepts the invitation to join them at the table where he assumes the role of host for the meal. I love how Barbara Brown Taylor describes this feast. She writes, “If someone hands Jesus a whole loaf, he will take it, bless it, break it, and give it, and he will do the same thing with his own flesh and blood, because that is the way of life God has shown him to show the rest of us: to take what we have been given, whether we like it or not, and to bless it – to say thank you for it – whether it is the sweet, satisfying bread of success or the tear-soaked bread of sorrow. To say thank you and to break it because that is the only way it can be shared and to hand it around, not to eat it all by ourselves but to find someone to eat it with, so that the broken loaf may bring all of us broken ones together into one body, where we may recognized the risen Lord in our midst.”[i]
One body. Physically separated for the good of the world, of all of God’s people. One body broken, and given to you and me that we may be the body of Christ in the world. Right now, we are called to be people who share sorrows and disappointments, the lost of what we’d hope for and to listen carefully to the loses of others even if they’re protesting and breaking every social distancing rule there is. We are called to be people trusting the resurrection and the promise that God’s always with us now and forever. We are also to live into that promise in everything we do – connecting with the lonely, making donations, caring for caregivers, praying and praying and praying. The church has left the upper room, the inn at Emmaus, the building on St. Johns Circle to share God’s love, peace and hope in the world. As you do please remember to wear your mask, not touch your face, stay six feet apart, wash you hands and know the one who met his grieving followers, Cleopas and the unnamed disciple, which is you and me is walking with us every blessed step of the way. Amen.
[i] Barbara Brown Taylor, “Blessed Brokenness”, Gospel Medicine, Cowley Publications, 1995, 22-23.