We are still in the
Season of Easter, the season of getting to grips with what this
life-out-of-death means – or rather, the season of life-out-of-death getting a
grip on us. Today we find ourselves walking away from Jerusalem towards Emmaus,
walking in the company of two disciples, part of the wider circle beyond the
eleven apostles, walking from the highs and lows of recent days back towards
the security of the familiar, of home. And as we walk, a fellow-traveller comes
alongside us.
That in itself is
also familiar. After all, if you are alone it is always safer to travel in
proximity to others. Sitting on the Metro, taking in the people sat across from
you – but not looking too closely, so as not to make them feel uncomfortable,
so as not to attract confrontation. Glance up, and look away again. Slowly,
though: too fast and you’ll look shifty. But you can’t help listening in to
their conversation; laughing at the puzzling lines…
The man asks, ‘What
are you discussing?’ Don’t you know? Haven’t you heard? It’s on everybody’s
lips.
The man listens. This
thing they are discussing, they don’t really seem to understand. It is clear
that Jesus is somehow important to them, but how following him relates to their
life is harder to work out. They are familiar with certain stories, but the
relevance eludes them.
The man listens.
Hears them out, until their words run dry. Only then does he speak. And when he
does, he shapes their history, their culture, around the person of Jesus. Not
pulling out proof texts to argue a point-of-view, but showing how it all comes
together in him. And more than that, showing them where they found a place
within that story – “opening the scriptures to us,” they would later say;
making room for us within his story.
And now it is time to
part company. But it is getting late. If we are hungry, and tired, he must be
too. As we reach the door to a house, we are invited in. However fragile their
beliefs, there is openness here. The man accepts the invitation; and so shall
we. Companionship – literally, the
sharing of bread around the table. And as the man reaches out to take the
bread, his wrists extend from within his sleeves. The pink rawness of
newly-healed skin, not yet darkened by the sun.
And in this familiar
action, our eyes are opened. The dramatic testimony of others – even women
known well to them – was not enough. Neither was the most helpful Bible
exposition ever given, even if it was deeply engaging. But in a simple act of
hospitality shown towards a stranger, received
with gratitude towards God and
reciprocal service, a moment of
revelation breaks in. Just a moment, mind you; and then he vanished from their
sight. But a moment of revelation is all that is needed; is enough to respond
to.
They thought that
they had arrived at their destination for the night; but in response they get
up and set out back to the very place they had walked away from, with new hope.
Will we go too?
Some thoughts to
ponder:
Are we learning to be
a listener? If yes, what has proven helpful in this? Who might we ask, ‘What
are you discussing?’
Are we open to change
our plans for others? Are we learning to accept invitations? Who is open to us?
What is Jesus showing
you? Where have your eyes been opened, perhaps through testimony, or teaching,
or studying the Bible, or fellowship with others, or through simple everyday
activities given a new light?
What are you going to
do in response?
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