The story of the Emmaus Road experience from the point of view of Cleopas
Benjamin and I knew the road from Jerusalem to Emmaus. The inn was a regular stop for us as we traveled between the city and our homes in Lydda. These first seven miles took up upward with the hills on the Roman road before we dropped into the valley, crossed the river and climbed again to reach the village. Hannah and Andrew knew we were coming and always had a room and a meal waiting and a good fire burning.
We set off in the afternoon the first day after the Sabbath. Passover had destroyed us and we wanted to leave Jerusalem behind. We walked away from the horror. We wanted to put distance between us. The night had closed around us; the depth of betrayal and the poison of injustice. Jesus had spoken of his end, but we had still didn’t see it coming until the gates closed behind him and the guards took their places. We scrambled for news and put together what pieces we could find; a trial before council, an early morning appearance before Pilate. There was talk of Herod questioning him as well. But whatever process there was, whatever chance of good news, it evaporated with the morning mist.
I saw him taken to Golgotha. A few of us stayed through to the very end. We watched it all happen, listened to the sounds, felt the life leave. The sun refused to shine after his death. Joseph and some of the others took his body down, and knew of a tomb he could have. After that we all went our different ways. The Sabbath passed. Ben and I got ready to journey back. We had new leather for the workshops at home, as we always did after visiting the city. But we didn’t care for business anymore. It felt like we were packing up the hopes of freedom and forgiveness, an end to struggle and loss for we had believed in the Messiah. We thought we knew him. We had trusted in all of this, thought it was near, and we were wrong.
As we were leaving, James and John found us with the news that Jesus’ tomb was empty. Mary and the other women had gone to finish what needed to be done and found his body gone. Angels told them that he had risen from the dead! Should we stay longer? Should we wait and see? We waited but as the morning wore one we talked it through, deciding instead to leave, to escape this place that kept tormenting us. Of course we wanted to see him alive. But what we heard seemed more a denial of reality than the truth… so we started walking.
We were several miles out of the city when Jesus joined us. Of course, we didn’t know it was him. He looked like any other traveler on the road. Nothing about him was familiar. We exchanged a few words of greeting, assuming he’d just walk on ahead of us. He wasn’t carrying a lot with him, so he was moving faster. But he matched our speed, and took one of my bags, offering to help carry things for a bit. Then he asked why we looked so sad.
Shocked, we stopped. I summed things up for our new friend, unsure of how anyone coming from Jerusalem could have no idea of what had happened. I mean Roman executions weren’t uncommon, but crucifixions weren’t so frequent that they went unnoticed. And the furor around Jesus had most of the city talking. I watched his face as I mentioned Jesus, looking for a clue as to whether or not he was against us. One couldn’t be too careful.
Ben and I were both stunned as he launched into a retort about our slowness and our foolishness. Who was he to speak to us like that? Who was this stranger to take our grief and despair and treat them like nothing? As our anger burned and our words sharpened, he stood his ground. And then he spoke these words: “let me show you how the Scriptures have come true.”
That was how he began to unfold the scrolls in our imaginations. Book after book, text after text, he wove a journey that carried us from creation of the world, through the calling of Abraham and Sarah, onward into Egypt and the rise of kings in the holy city. He shared stories of where people saw the work of God, and walked with us beside those who had been filled with God’s spirit.
For miles and miles he wove his threads and let the scriptures tell their stories. We knew the script but we had never heard it like this before. This stranger wanted us to believe that it all had meaning.
We reached Emmaus. The day was closing and it was time to settle for the night. The stranger was going further, but we were hungry for more than the meal that awaited us at the inn, so we invited the stranger to stay, to talk, to eat and rest with us. We were sure that Hannah and Andrew would find space for him.
Later, we sat at the table together, and shared good food. His conversation alone seemed to lift our spirits. We had endless questions and he let us ask them, unhurried in his replies. He knew so much about the Scriptures.
And then, he took the bread that was on the table, gave a blessing for it, and broke it, sharing with us.
He broke the bread… Jesus broke the bread. That’s no stranger, that’s Jesus.
Then he was gone.
We left at once, grabbing our things, mumbling our apologies, paying the bill and almost running out the door. We were propelled by our amazement over what had just happened. Jesus! We flew back to Jerusalem, calm enough by then to tell the others about what had just happened.
Gathered, the friends telling their stories of seeing Jesus, and Ben and I sharing ours…
And then he was there, with them in the room, proving them all right, showing them his hands and his feet, questioning their fear and doubt, and finally asking: “have you anything here to eat?”
Jesus is known in the breaking of bread.
Jesus’ identity confirmed in the feeding of thousands with just a few loaves and fish.
Jesus teaches about God’s kingdom by sharing a meal with tax collectors and by questioning the behavior of the pharisees at a dinner party – where they sit, who they invite….
Meals with Jesus are not simply meals but are reminders of God’s deepest vision for the world… that all of God’s beloved may be fed, loved and welcomed. It doesn’t matter if it is barley loaves or a wedding feast all are included. Jesus is known in the breaking of bread – here at the church and the world, and Jesus’s ministry is given life by the people who sit at the table. Friends, there is hope in this, there is love in this, there is justice in this. Sharing a meal is about more than status, honour or import. Sharing a meal is about embodying Christ’s call for justice, compassion and radical love.
Radical hospitality, love and welcome are at the heart of each of the meals that we heard about over the last few weeks. And we are reminded of that each time we break bread with each other and with the world.
God’s table keeps growing, there is always more room. You never know who you might encounter in the breaking of bread together. Thanks be to God for this truth, and for the opportunity to snack with Jesus along this faith journey of ours.
Amen.
