It could be just one of us. Perhaps it’s two of us. It’s also possible we’re all there.
In our text there were two. Two sad people. Two distressed people. Two people who would witness the risen Lord Jesus coming to them in Word and Bread.
Every Sunday the story is the same – only the numbers change. So today there might only be one of us, two of us, or even all of us.
It also doesn’t matter about the destination.
It could be a walk to Emmaus.
It could be a walk with a heavy heart from a frustrating day at work or home, or from a lost game or a failed crop.
It could be a lonely and fearful drive to the hospital or the cemetery.
It could be a shuffle of bewildered feet from a doctor’s surgery.
It could be the troubled journey through a strained relationship with an uncertain future.
It could be a stroll through memories of times past that can’t be re-lived.
It could be a night-time filled the movement of tossing, turning, and tears.
No matter the destination, the journey is often the same.
So, the journey for one of us, two of us, or all of us, is a journey filled with sadness and distress. The sadness of loss. The loss of friends, family, relationships, health, ability, dreams, or even the loss of faith.
We miss what’s been or what might have been. We regret a decision, a moment of weakness or an experience filled with fear and loss. As a result, we feel sad, depressed, and our life seems dark and joyless.
It could be a struggling journey in faith. We may have hoped for so much more from God or from his people. We looked for peace, hope, forgiveness, joy, success, freedom, or victory, but our life still seems to be filled with fear, grief, anger, regret, restrictions, stubbornness, and failure. We may have hoped for a life without pain, suffering, or death, but it came anyway.
Death still stalks. Pain is still carried. Suffering still exists. Even the people of God aren’t as perfect as we’d hoped. We looked for love coming to life, but we experience something different. The hopes of a heavenly life on earth are shattered.
So, for one of us, two of us, or all of us, we look around. We see darkness and depression. We see failure. We see a hole in our life. We see division and separation. We see an uncertain future. We see suffering. We see death.
But, as we look around, we see a strange man come to talk with us. He’s not who we were expecting. He doesn’t look like our Lord and Saviour; the one who we’ve been told has risen from the dead.
Like so many times before, our eyes deceive and distract us. Too often we look and see the wrong things. We look for evidence or proof. We look for satisfaction for our own desires. But our eyes are windows of our heart and they only see what our heart is filled with: grief, sadness, frustration, and distress.
Our eyes, while looking in the wrong places, make us deaf to his voice. But the man knows our ears are the eyes of faith, so he tells us to listen:
“Don’t listen to your doubts and fears. Listen to what God says in his Word.”
Listen as the strange man explains how all of Scripture points to Jesus and his saving work. In our depression and distress our thoughts had turned inwardly, but there’s no hope there. Yet, here, as we listen to his words, we discover hope outside of ourselves. The old words, carefully taught and explained, seem to live and warm our hearts. We hear words of warning, words of promise, words of suffering, words of forgiveness, words of victory, words of joy, and words of life.
We thought we knew what God’s Word said and meant, but as this strange man explains and expands on them, showing how they all point to the work of Jesus Christ, the words warm our souls and offers the light of hope.
All isn’t what we first thought. We had only seen pain, suffering, and death, but now we hear of forgiveness, victory and life! In response, we want this strange man to stay a while longer to tell us more. We want our hearts to burn with hope for a bit longer, so we ask him to remain with us during the dark hours. We want to hear more hope and peace and life as we move through the valley of the shadow of death and all that’s associated with it.
So we invite him to sit down for a meal, eager to hear more words from him. But he does something unexpected and somehow familiar. We invited him as a guest, but now he acts as the host. He takes the bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to us. As we listen to his words we begin to see more clearly as now we’re looking with the eyes of faith.
We suddenly recognize our risen Lord and Saviour is here! Whether the man we see is familiar or not no longer matters. The words are the same. The action is the same. Now we finally recognise our risen Lord Jesus himself is here with us in Word and Supper.
Whether it’s one of us, two of us, or even all of us, the same journey is replayed every Sunday.
Sad and distressed people shuffling through physical, emotional or spiritual journeys from one place to another. Although the struggles of faith in a life filled with so much suffering are personal, the journey is often common. So here we gather together, taking a common journey between cradle, cross, grave and the life beyond. Yet as we make this pilgrim journey in times of darkness and distress, Jesus speaks to us.
Somehow we hear, within the words of the sermon, Jesus’ voice, speaking to you and me, warning us, comforting us, and forgiving us. We don’t want to hear about the pastor’s jokes or cleverness, but we long for pastors to explain the words of Scripture in such a way it points clearly to Jesus in order to lighten, warm, and fill our empty, cold and darkened hearts.
Through Christ-centered sermons, old words which looked empty and lifeless on the page are explained and brought to life. Tired, sad and distressed people like you and me are taken by our ears into the life of the text and see our own lives mirrored on the page.
Just like the people of the Book, we also hear how Jesus has fulfilled everything that was spoken about him. The Word made flesh still lives and brings hope and peace and life to one of us, two of us, or perhaps all of us.
In this way, the Word of God, read and expounded through the words of the sermon, re-enact the first part of the Emmaus journey every Sunday.
But in a similar way, the Lord’s Supper re-enacts the second part of the Emmaus journey every Sunday.
Here we gather around the Table. While the face may not look like Jesus’ face, the words and actions are still the same. Jesus takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it…to you and me.
The Word made flesh comes as our host to feed us with his very body and blood, forgiving our sins, and nourishing our flagging faith.
We come in ones and twos and more to kneel at Jesus’ feet and receive his gifts of grace and love. Listening to the words, our ears are convinced we don’t travel alone. In our sadness, in our distress, Jesus is here…with you and me…to feed us, nourish us, and revive our flagging spirit.
Each of us walk that Emmaus journey and Jesus walks it with us.
Jesus continues to accompany Emmaus wanderers like you and me, giving us what we need to strengthen our faith. He knows what we need is the Word of God spoken, proclaimed, taught, expanded on, confessed, and enacted every Sunday.
Today Jesus continues to speak to pilgrim travelers in the Church, where he speaks his grace-filled and effective words, teaching how he has come to fulfill everything that was spoken about him, and how he continues to feed his people on their journey of faith.
By ones and two and three and more, formerly sad and distressed people, touched by the Word of the living Christ, go out into the world ready to share what we’ve seen and heard to help other sad and distressed people, pointing them to the same Jesus Christ – still living and active in our lives today.
So, whether it’s one of us, two of us, or all of us, may the peace of God, which surpasses all human understanding, guard our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.
