Far too often I resemble the disciples on the road to Emmaus.
Downcast and in despair I trudge along, walking away from my own confusing Jerusalem, where things have not gone quite as I expected. I too misunderstand exactly what God is allowing in the fog that surrounds my circumstances. Like those two favored ones who walked with the Lord but knew not who he was, though his breath warmed their faces as he strolled by their side, I too fail to grasp that he journeys beside me, waiting to reveal himself in his perfect time.
Why he chose to travel with those two who did not identify Him comforts me when I too cannot sense His presence. Into the muddle he steps, to clear away the chaos, to disclose truth, if I would just let him break bread and feed me where I am.
What is it that keeps me from recognizing him now? My face is downcast like theirs, and I stand still in my tracks like that pair of ancient followers and ask my Lord incredulously, “Do you not know the things that have happened in these days?” (Luke 24:18). Lord, have you been absent from your post that you would allow this dreadful situation to overcome me? Master, do you not know precisely what has happened to me in these days, in my Jerusalem?”
I am quick to reprimand him, swift to try and fill him in on my woes, just like them. As if he did not fully comprehend exactly what had just taken place on the cross and in the tomb. They were informing him of his own experience, instructing him in what he knew by heart. Ignorantly, they believed him to be uninformed and out of touch. Do I not treat him with the same disdain when I attempt to inform him of my complex scenario, believing foolishly that he does not already know every precise detail that has enfolded me?
He rebuked them, and rightfully rebukes me too. “How foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe…”(Luke 24:25). How foolish I am to think for a moment that the Creator of the Universe is powerless to work in the middle of my void. How slow I am to believe all those promises he has made, all those reminders of his unconditional love that are written in black and white on sacred pages no king or tyrannical ruler has ever been able to wipe out.
“Did not the Christ have to suffer these things and then enter his glory?” He reprimands and reminds those two who are struggling towards Emmaus. Do I not have to suffer these things that he has allowed as well? Is my suffering not also for his glory? Can I not trust the one who knows exactly what suffering is all about, who refers to himself as “a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering”. Can I call myself a follower of Christ if I am unwilling to bear some sorrow as well?
Like those disciples on that dusty road I would say now, “Stay with me.” Do not leave me just yet. Reveal more of yourself while I listen for your voice. Open the Scriptures to me and let my heart burn like those two comrades of old. Break open the Bread of Life and feed me so my eyes will be opened to recognize that you are in my midst, on the dusty road, in the middle of the journey, on my way home.