“Road to Emmaus” – Michael Torevell
Big Picture :
1) This is the third of the seven weeks of Eastertide, and the last of three stories of the risen Jesus appearing to his followers. The next four weeks (or three weeks, if Jesus’ Ascension is celebrated on the fourth) will explore Jesus’ teachings about faith and intimacy with God, all drawing on the Gospel of John.
2) As Luke tells it, this is the first time the risen Jesus steps onto the stage. In the passage just before this one, a group of women find Jesus’ tomb empty, and return to tell the male disciples that two angelic figures have proclaimed that he is alive — but the male disciples dismiss this as nonsense (though Peter, at least, goes to the tomb to see for himself). And now, in this week’s story, Jesus appears.
3) But not to Peter. Nor to Mary Magdalene. Nor to any of the others we’ve come to know over the course of the story. Moreover, Jesus doesn’t appear at the tomb, or at the Temple, or on the Mount of Olives, or at Herod’s palace or Pilate’s headquarters or the house of the high priest. Jesus’ post-crucifixion, alive-and-in-person appearance is, one would think, the highpoint of the story, the climax of the drama, the promised “rising again on the third day” — and so we would expect it to happen in some central, important place, to some central, important people in the narrative. But we’d be wrong. Where does Jesus appear? On a dusty road a couple of hours’ walk outside of Jerusalem, on the way to some now-forgotten village (archeologists today don’t know where “Emmaus” was located). And to whom? Two followers of Jesus — one named “Cleopas” and the other left anonymous — who haven’t even been mentioned yet in the story.
4) Come to think of it, this might remind us of where we began: the grand announcement of the Messiah’s birth is delivered to a few anonymous shepherds in the middle of nowhere (Luke 2:8-20). For Luke, the good news of the Gospel comes first of all not to insiders, but to ordinary folk in overlooked places. Just as he did when he was born, when Jesus rises and returns, he arrives from the outside in.
Scripture:
1) It’s Easter afternoon. In this story, the first surprise is that Jesus appears not in Jerusalem, but on a minor road to an obscure village. The second surprise is that he appears not to Peter, James, Mary, or Joanna, but rather to two minor characters in the story. But the third is the greatest surprise of all: though these two followers of Jesus originally staked their lives on the idea that he was the Messiah, “the one to redeem Israel” (literally “the one to set Israel free”); and though they’re heartbroken to have those hopes dashed; and though they’ve spent many months, perhaps years, walking with Jesus and listening to him along roads just like this one — still, they don’t recognize him (Luke 24:21). He’s right there, talking with them, walking beside them — and they don’t realize it’s him.
2) Why not? One possibility is that their eyes are veiled with tears; they’re overcome with sorrow about having seen their friend and teacher die, as well as disappointment that he turned out to be someone different than they’d hoped for. Perhaps their sadness and anxiety have turned them inward, away from the world, in oblivious self-absorption. They’ve lowered the window shades, we might say, from within their house of sorrow. Jesus is right there, standing outside — but they’re not looking.
3) Another possibility is that somehow Jesus is different, that resurrection doesn’t mean mere “resuscitation,” that the risen Jesus is in some way transformed. The two disciples lay eyes on him, hear his voice, even hear him teach — to no avail. From this point of view, the story suggests that the risen Jesus looks different, sounds different, even teaches in a different way. Cleopas calls him a “resident foreigner”: the word translated as “stranger” here is paroikeis, literally “reside as a foreigner” — suggesting that not only his apparent ignorance about current events (What are you talking about?) but also his overall appearance or style of speech comes across as an unfamiliar outsider (Luke 24:18).
4) Explaining to this foreigner “these things that had happened,” the two disciples articulate what was probably an early Christian creedal formula (Luke 24:19-20). Likewise, as disciples of Jesus, they were undoubtedly familiar with scripture, but neither creed nor scriptural knowledge help them recognize Jesus right in front of them. They are, as Jesus puts it, “slow of heart”; they don’t yet understand what he calls the “necessary” choreography of redemption, in which the Messiah moves through and beyond the forces of death, rising to new life, freeing humanity and all creation, and thereby inaugurating a new age of Jubilee (Luke 24:25-26; compare Luke 4:16-21).
5) Jesus lays this out by interpreting “all the scriptures” to them — and still they don’t recognize him (Luke 24:27). As they arrive in Emmaus, night is falling, and the two disciples insist that this remarkable foreigner stay over with them before continuing on his journey. At supper, though he is their guest, not the host, Jesus takes bread, blesses it, and gives it to them — gestures that echo the Passover meal they just had with him three nights earlier. Then, and only then, they recognize him — and he vanishes from sight.
6) Stunned, the two disciples are left alone at the table. In retrospect, they realize that the stranger was Jesus all along — the key sign being that their “hearts were burning” while he was talking and “opening the scriptures” for them (Luke 24:32). With haste, they immediately return to Jerusalem — risking a dangerous journey after dark — to breathlessly tell the others “how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread” (Luke 24:35).
Scripture:
1) It’s Easter afternoon. In this story, the first surprise is that Jesus appears not in Jerusalem, but on a minor road to an obscure village. The second surprise is that he appears not to Peter, James, Mary, or Joanna, but rather to two minor characters in the story. But the third is the greatest surprise of all: though these two followers of Jesus originally staked their lives on the idea that he was the Messiah, “the one to redeem Israel” (literally “the one to set Israel free”); and though they’re heartbroken to have those hopes dashed; and though they’ve spent many months, perhaps years, walking with Jesus and listening to him along roads just like this one — still, they don’t recognize him (Luke 24:21). He’s right there, talking with them, walking beside them — and they don’t realize it’s him.
2) Why not? One possibility is that their eyes are veiled with tears; they’re overcome with sorrow about having seen their friend and teacher die, as well as disappointment that he turned out to be someone different than they’d hoped for. Perhaps their sadness and anxiety have turned them inward, away from the world, in oblivious self-absorption. They’ve lowered the window shades, we might say, from within their house of sorrow. Jesus is right there, standing outside — but they’re not looking.
3) Another possibility is that somehow Jesus is different, that resurrection doesn’t mean mere “resuscitation,” that the risen Jesus is in some way transformed. The two disciples lay eyes on him, hear his voice, even hear him teach — to no avail. From this point of view, the story suggests that the risen Jesus looks different, sounds different, even teaches in a different way. Cleopas calls him a “resident foreigner”: the word translated as “stranger” here is paroikeis, literally “reside as a foreigner” — suggesting that not only his apparent ignorance about current events (What are you talking about?) but also his overall appearance or style of speech comes across as an unfamiliar outsider (Luke 24:18).
4) Explaining to this foreigner “these things that had happened,” the two disciples articulate what was probably an early Christian creedal formula (Luke 24:19-20). Likewise, as disciples of Jesus, they were undoubtedly familiar with scripture, but neither creed nor scriptural knowledge help them recognize Jesus right in front of them. They are, as Jesus puts it, “slow of heart”; they don’t yet understand what he calls the “necessary” choreography of redemption, in which the Messiah moves through and beyond the forces of death, rising to new life, freeing humanity and all creation, and thereby inaugurating a new age of Jubilee (Luke 24:25-26; compare Luke 4:16-21).
5) Jesus lays this out by interpreting “all the scriptures” to them — and still they don’t recognize him (Luke 24:27). As they arrive in Emmaus, night is falling, and the two disciples insist that this remarkable foreigner stay over with them before continuing on his journey. At supper, though he is their guest, not the host, Jesus takes bread, blesses it, and gives it to them — gestures that echo the Passover meal they just had with him three nights earlier. Then, and only then, they recognize him — and he vanishes from sight.
6) Stunned, the two disciples are left alone at the table. In retrospect, they realize that the stranger was Jesus all along — the key sign being that their “hearts were burning” while he was talking and “opening the scriptures” for them (Luke 24:32). With haste, they immediately return to Jerusalem — risking a dangerous journey after dark — to breathlessly tell the others “how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread” (Luke 24:35).
Takeaways:
1) Jesus is risen — but not in the way we might expect. A New Exodus, a Great Jubilee has dawned, but the risen Messiah doesn’t appear to important people in important places. He shows up well outside the great city, on a dusty road to some now-forgotten village, alongside a couple of minor players in the story — one of whom Luke doesn’t even bother to name (perhaps it’s each one of us?). Eastertide is a season of looking for the risen Jesus, and if we’re looking, we’d best keep our eyes open in the places we’d least expect to find him.
2) And even so, we might miss him! Are our eyes veiled with tears? Have we turned inward in despair or disappointment? If so, this story is a call to turn outward and look again, to look more deeply — for Jesus may already be there, right in front of us.
3) How will we know? First, this story suggests, he won’t necessarily be in a form we’d anticipate; so stay flexible and imaginative. Second, pay attention not only with your eyes, but also and especially with your heart. When our “hearts are burning within us” — he’s there. Third, while creeds and scriptural knowledge have their place, by themselves they’re not enough. The risen Jesus may well appear in ways that defy or go beyond our preconceptions.
4) But above all, in this story, Jesus is “made known to them in the breaking of the bread.” Luke does not say, made known to them in Emmaus. Nor does he say, made known to them in the bread. It’s in the “breaking” that he is made known, in the taking-blessing-breaking-giving at the table (Luke 24:30). He is made known, in other words, in a tangible act of love — in this case showing hospitality to a “resident foreigner” as night begins to fall. This is the choreography — taking-blessing-breaking-giving — through which the risen Jesus comes to us, again and again and again. It’s an echo of the Passover meal, which in Christian communities eventually becomes the Eucharist. “The breaking of the bread,” then, the eucharistic choreography through which we may recognize Jesus’ presence, is fundamentally the choreography of exodus: liberation from bondage, embarking on a new journey, stepping into a new life of intimate companionship with God. (This idea of “intimate companionship with God” will be our theme for the rest of the Easter season.)
5) In the end, this story suggests that we should be looking for the risen Jesus not so much in the form of a single figure, but rather in precisely this graceful, liberating choreography of love, which can take all kinds of forms. After all, when the two disciples see Jesus along the road, they don’t recognize him; and when at last they do recognize him, they no longer see him (Luke 24:31). It’s almost as though Jesus, the good shepherd, is leading them toward a more expansive way of seeing him, and a deeper form of life together: no longer dependent on his incarnate-in-a-single-figure presence with them, but rather focused on how he is incarnate in all kinds of ways, spiritually and tangibly present wherever bread is broken, wherever love is done, wherever captives are set free — and wherever “our hearts are burning within us” along the way.