This is a slightly modified reprise of an article
from April 25, 2003. Three years sees little change.

Emmaus. We’ve been there before, have we not? Been to that small town, surrounded by desolate hills, about an hour’s drive from Jerusalem, where Jesus lifted the spirits of his disciples, giving them peace and courage in the breaking of the bread.

It could have been otherwise. In despair and confusion, the disciples might have abandoned all hope for meaning in their lives and turned to gambling and consuming too much of the fruit of the vine, to help them forget their fallen leader and dashed dreams.

While Jesus had warned them of his approaching death, he had also reassured them about the resurrection. Yet, despite three years of seminary training, the disciples were without understanding. We find the Lord consoling them – friend to friend – not as a disappointed leader to his deserters.

Desertion is never mentioned. What Jesus does, as you know, is to take the disciples back through the Scriptures, drawing on their knowledge, helping them to come to a new understanding about who he is and what their mission is to be as his followers.

Jesus walks that middle ground between religion as a purely intellectual exercise and religion as natural feeling. He expects the disciples to use their minds to draw upon the wealth of truths found in the Scriptures to lead them out of the darkness of despair. On the other hand, it is in Jesus’ speaking about those truths from his heart that their hearts are touched, and it is love that reveals his presence in the breaking of the bread.

Anyone with an MBA degree would have told the Lord to forget about his band of cowards. Start out with a brand new class, for they were not the stuff upon which any organization could be built, much less a religion destined to survive until the end of time.

But Jesus saw beyond the cowardice. He remembered their love and friendship, their days and nights together – three years of days and nights.

He remembered cook-outs on Galilee’s shores, and quiet times of prayer on mountain sides; deeds of genuine sacrifice, when the desert cold descended upon them, and they, like the Master, had nowhere to lay their heads. He remembered hours of teaching and questioning – a fishing boat and cries of terror that turned to shouts of relief when he calmed an angry sea.

In the same way, he reminds us today of our individual histories with him, of times we’ve forgotten, seeing them as of no account. Easier it is to believe in the Trinity than that the Christ values our presence in his life.

But, we recall, that was the whole purpose of the Incarnation, God’s sharing and blessing the ordinariness of our days and nights with his presence. We keep seeking great deeds to offer as tokens of allegiance, when what he is asking is a cup of water given in his name.

As we seek another Emmaus in war-torn Iraq, we appear to be as confused about tomorrow as were the first disciples. Too far, as a nation, have we deviated from the teachings of the Divine Humanitarian, and in so doing, have placed our country’s soul in jeopardy, attempting to serve two masters, and serving neither well.

During this period of turmoil, Christians are turning to the Christ, seeking safe harbor in the storm: “My sheep hear my voice; I know them, and they follow me.” (John 10:27)

They follow him because his words ring true. Peace over war. Humility over empty boasting. Gentleness over brute force. He is, indeed, the Way, the Truth and the Life, whether in Iraq or Emmaus, or Main Street, USA.

Home

Archives