I. Heavy Heart – The Long Walk Home
There’s a grief that can’t be spoken. There are wounds that will not heal. My eyes are blind; my heart, a stone.
Somehow the sun has nerve to rise again. Somehow the clouds break to reveal a blue sky. Somehow the birds still sing. Somehow it is still spring and everything around me is bursting into life – but I feel dead inside. It is a slight to my heart that anything should live, now that he does not.
It has been three days now. Three numb, empty, grey days of nothingness. Two sleepless nights, and three grating days. It is as if nature has mourned for three days, and yet today she awakes refreshed… but I am still numb.
As I walk the streets it surprises me that my stubborn heart insists on beating – nothing would surprise me less than if I were to simply stop breathing and die here… hope is gone.
As I wander in my stupor towards the city gates I passed by the temple. Only a few days ago he was here, the height of righteous indignation, driving the money-changers from the temple, insisting that it remain a house of prayer.
Just down that little side street is the second storey room where he and his disciples sat down to a final Passover meal. He seemed so anxious to be here for Passover if only he could have known what awaited him here…
Just through that gate is the little garden of Gethsemane. That’s where they seized him. Taken from his prayer… It seems like a dream… a horrific unending nightmare.
Here is the road they led him down, the rain from the last few days has scoured the blood from the stones, but I was here and watched as he dragged himself and that cross through the city gates, on the way up to Mt. Calvary. I had no voice – I was struck dumb by the horror.
O God… I begin, but I cannot pray – is there any God in the land of despair?
Near the gate where he entered is a pile of dried palm branches – piled out of the way of traffic. The fronds so green a week ago are hard and brown now, a meaningless symbol of messianic futility. Someone has obviously come this morning to this place already. On a nail in the gate hangs a little green crown, woven from a palm branch.
For the moment I just stand and stare, overcome with grief, broken with sorrow. My cloak is still dusty from having laid it out on the road for his donkey to ride on.
II. Broken Hearts – Two Travelers
I don’t recall how long I stood by the gate weeping. Time had lost meaning for me. Somehow my emotions seemed twisted around inside of me. Had ever such a tragedy befallen the world? Had ever such hopes been so swiftly crushed?
It was there by the gate that Cleopas found me. He had no tears, but the dark circles around his eyes revealed that he had had no more sleep than I these past few nights.
He mumbled a greeting and half heartedly I responded. “I’m going to Emmaus, back to my home, why not walk with me, we can be there before dark if we leave now.”
He gave made no sound, simply nodded, and together we went out. With broken hearts we began the long walk home.
We spoke sporadically, whenever the loneliness of thought became to great to bear. We spoke of the life we had known, of the time that had passed since we met him, of the hopes we had and the loss we felt.
Cleopas had known him longer than me; I had met him a little while later, yet we both shared the same dream that this man was truly more than a prophet, or teacher, or worker of miracles. Our dream now lay dashed in the remnants of our broken hearts – for the one we had hoped was messiah was gone.
But it had been grand: to see the things this man could do. To raise the sick with just a word, to restore the leper with a touch, to give life meaning with only a look.
Cleopas and I had been there in Bethsaida on the day that he fed the multitudes. We were close enough to see his eyes sparkle, eyes that seemed to see every person as they were. We watched as his rough carpenters hands took the little loaves and broke them, blessing them and giving thanks for every soul that heard him.
As we walked on Cleopas mumbled something about a confusion in the morning. Some of the women had tried to find the tomb but had come upon an empty one instead. They were convinced they had seen an angel announcing that he had risen. But when some of the others went to the place they found only an empty tomb, no angels, and no body. Everyone seems to be in a daze – I guess these women have their way of dealing with grief – I wish I had some way also.
III. Passionate Heart – The Mysterious Rabbi
As we rounded the bend we saw a man resting in the shade of a withered fig tree. If my mind hadn’t been so addled by grief perhaps I would have thought it strange that he chose such a shadeless tree, when all along the road there were fig trees in full bloom.
As we past by where he sat he stood up and addressed us, “What sort of discussion is this that you are having?”
Cleopas and I just stopped and stood there for a moment. I felt tears welling up inside me, but fought them back. I think we each hoped the other would speak, finally Cleopas broke the awkward silence.
“Are you the only person staying in Jerusalem not to know what has happened there in the last few days? All this about Jesus of Nazareth, a prophet powerful in speech and action before God and the whole people; how our chief priests and rulers handed him over to be sentenced to death, and crucified him. But we had been hoping he was the man to liberate Israel.”
“Some of the women even amazed us when they claimed the tomb was empty and that he had risen. But we have been to the tomb, and we couldn’t see…”
We began walking again and the stranger fell into step with us, speaking, “Surely you are not so foolish as to believe that the Messiah could enter his glory without first suffering? Why the scriptures are full of prophecy that foretells that.
For the rest of the seven mile journey to Emmaus he walked and talked with us. Beginning with the earliest writings this strange Rabbi illuminated for us many mysterious teachings of scripture.
He wove together a picture, not of a conquering messiah, but a suffering Saviour bearing the sins of humanity and bringing deliverance from death and fear and judgment.
We reached Emmaus about the time he reached the passage in the Prophet Isaiah which declares, ‘Surely he took up our infirmities and carried our sorrows, yet we considered him stricken by God, smitten by him, and afflicted. But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities; the punishment that brought us peace was upon him, and by his wound we are healed.’
Darkness was falling and the road ahead very unsafe for travelers at night, yet this stranger seemed set on traveling on.
Perhaps it was just common Jewish hospitality that caused me to ask him to stay.
Maybe I didn’t want to bear the responsibility of sending a stranger into the dark night alone.
But in retrospect, I think even then I sensed something about this man – he spoke with authority on scripture, you could almost swear he knew the prophets personally or had some insight about their writings beyond any other.
He had a sort of gravity about him. He seemed both tender and severe; comforting and terrifying; enlightening and confounding.
But I had made up my mind; I would hear more of what this man had to say, so I urged him to join us for the evening.
IV. Burning Hearts – Broken Bread by Broken Hands
As we sat to the table I set out a meager meal. No food remained in my home since I had been gone for more than a week. All I had were a few remnants from the Passover that I had carried home with me: some cold lamb wrapped in a cloth and some figs bought at the market before leaving Jerusalem; Cleopas added to the meal a little loaf of unleavened bread.
We bowed our heads together and for a moment sat in awkward silence; still numb from the grief of the past week, I had no prayer to pray – no blessing came to my mind.
Suddenly the stranger was praying asking God’s blessing on the meager meal. The surprise of having the guest assume the responsibility of the host caught me off guard and I opened my eyes. My guest stood now at the end of the table, the little loaf between his hands.
As I looked at those hands something caught my eye – the hands were different than what I expected from a man of this great learning. I glanced from hands to eyes and caught a familiar sparkle, then back to the hands, and all of a sudden I could see clearly. The hands that held the bread were ragged and rough, broken even – through each was a jagged puncture mark. Cleopas saw it the same as I did. And in that instance he broke the bread; and then was gone.
For an instant we stood staring at one another. Was it a dream? No, the bread lay broken on our table. Our eyes were open, and our hearts… oh, how they burned within us.
V. Peaceful Heart – The Cross of Trial & Tomb of Triumph
Seven miles from Emmaus to Jerusalem. Half a days journey at a regular pace, and just over a couple hours at a flat out run. Had our hearts not burned with joy I am certain they would have burst from the exertion.
All the way we went running, jumping, whooping and laughing like little children. Any robbers on the path this night must have been terrified at our approach.
Tears streamed down my cheeks again, but not with grief, rather irrepressible joy. Through the gates of the city, past the shadow of the old temple and the gate to Gethsemane down the little street to the little house in Jerusalem.
Cleopas beat me to the door of the upper room by two steps; bursting through red faced and breathing hard we collapsed in laughter. The disciples looked startled and then bewildered. Finally we were able to stammer out the words. “Jesus is risen – we have seen him – we have spoken to him – he has won!”
They rejoiced with us, telling us then that he had also been seen by Peter and that reports were coming from all over Jesus is alive.
Then I knew… I knew that this had been the plan from the beginning. The cross had to precede the empty tomb. The pain came before the pleasure. In the cross Christ brought freedom, out of the tomb he carried hope. Hope, that though we may suffer in life, Christ has defeated death with the triumph of the empty to tomb.
My eyes are open, my spirit set free and the peace of God now fills my heart – for I know that my Redeemer liveth and that one day I will see him in the flesh.
