The story ends with the two disciples running out, hearts blazing, because they had experienced the risen Lord in the reading of scripture and the breaking of the bread.
The end of the "Road to Emmaus" story is every pastor’s dream! If only someone would be so inspired as to actually run out of the church, not because of boredom or complete lack of comprehension of what was being preached, but because they were so inspired that they just had to share!
Actually, I think that it is probably every church goers dream also, that they might be able to go to church and actually get something so inspiring out of the worship that they just have to run out and tell. When people's hearts burn with the Spirit rather than acid reflux, pastors and parishioners alike are overjoyed.
The only problem is, of course, that you cannot manufacture happiness. It is hard for pastors to write the perfect sermon every week, or for the parishioner to craft the perfect story about how God touched their lives. No person living is able to manufacture the kind of joy-filled, spirit-burning heart that you have yearned to have.
Some people are convinced that beer is manufactured happiness in a bottle. Unfortunately, we all know that beer’s story arc does not always go from sadness, to joy, and continuing with joy (as is the case with the disciple’s story). Rather, beer's story arc too often goes, from sadness, to joy, and landing in anger.
There is not a brew master who can concoct the disciple’s happiness. Their happiness is pure. It is a gift of the Holy Spirit. It is a concoction of resurrection and new life. Burning hearts running down the road is what happens when you think you have lost God for good, and then discover that God has been walking with you the whole time.
But, let us not get ahead of ourselves. I inadvertently started this reflection at the end of the story, but the real truth…the real meat of the story is in the beginning. The real meat of the story is found in the dust of the road where the disciple’s walk. It is found in that tear stained dust as their heart grieve the loss of their teacher and friend, Jesus. The real meat of the story is found in these four short but heart wrenching words, “But we had hoped…”
“But we had hoped…” So much is said in these four words. They speak to the reality of dreams that were, and are no more. They drip of despair and lost love. They reveal the reality of hopes being raised high and left to free-fall, with nowhere to land. They speak of hopes that are dead. There is nothing more tragic than a dead future.
“But we had hoped…”
Earnest Hemingway was once challenged to write a six word story. As legend has it, he penned on a napkin, “For sale; baby shoes, never used.” These short stories reveal the gaping hole left in life when hopes go unfulfilled and die.
There is something beautiful about these short stories, not because I enjoy the suffering of others, but because I find great value in being able to express the truth.
There is not any value in glossing over the pain. There is not any value in rushing to the end of the story.
That is why the best advice I can give someone who cares for someone in grief is to teach them that helping the grief stricken is 98% listening and 2% not saying something stupid. Believe me, I have had my share of living in the 2% of saying something stupid. And the stupid part usually comes out of my mouth when I am uncomfortable with the person's situation, and so I decide to skip all of the pain for them and go to the end of the story. "Things will be OK," I carelessly declare.
I do not always listen to my own advice.
But, when we do follow the advice of listening instead of talking, the person who is in pain never feels like their concerns have been brushed away.
It is OK to grieve the future that will never be. It is OK to come into the presence of Jesus with a story of lost hope. It is OK is come into the presence of Jesus with eyes so filled with tears that we do not even recognize who he is. It is OK to be broken.
I would like to think that church, the body of Christ, is the safe place to bring these short stories of dashed hopes.
“For sale; baby shoes, never used.”
“Monitor reveals a mass, again.”
“Half of the bed is empty.”
“Her ring; found in the trash.”
“My child walked away, for good.”
“The letter came, not the job.”
“His whiskey bottle is empty, again.”
“My family hurt instead of helped.”
When those stories of pain are allowed to come into the presence of God, they start to mix with God’s story. Just as red and yellow mix to become orange, our stories mix with God’s story to become something new. Sure, particles of the red pain are still in there, but they are suspended in a sea of Christ’s bright yellow, and what comes out in the end is a color that burns orange with beauty.
You cannot manufacture that sort of transformation, but, it is what happens when you mix stories of pain with the word of God; mix stories of pain with the waters of grace; and mix stories of pain with the breaking of the bread. Somehow, in some way you discover Christ is there, walking with you, at the table with you, never forgetting you, always with you. He was there the entire time.
“When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, "Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?" That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were saying, "The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!" Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.”
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