If the travelers on the road to Emaus were right in what they said in verses 19—24, then Christianity is nothing more than a collection of incredible stories that gullible people have kept repeating around the campfire for centuries to keep from being overwhelmed by the darkness of death. And Easter is no more than a lovely sentimental stroll down memory lane, but not the kind of thing that makes your heart burn and your mind race and your feet fly to tell your friends, “It’s true! He’s alive! We have walked with the Lord!“ Which, of course, is exactly what we just heard about these two previously discouraged disciples in later verses.
What made the difference? They finally saw the reality behind these words, “As they talked and discussed these things with each other, Jesus himself came and walked along with them?.“ Those words change everything. “Jesus himself came up and walked along with them.“ Because he did, Christianity is not merely a collection of stories about ancient history and distant lands; it is about walking with a living Savior today wherever you are. It is not the faith of the early church which invented the stories to express their love for a dead hero; it is the presence of the Risen Christ who overcame the disbelief of deeply disappointed disciples, so that even the most doubtful finally said, “My Lord and my God.“
The story says, “Jesus himself came up and walked along with them; but they were kept from recognizing him.“ That is a mysterious verse. I’m not sure how to explain their inability to recognize Jesus. Had grief misted their eyes so they couldn’t see in the gloom of dusk? Was the resurrected body of Jesus somehow changed so that they couldn’t find the familiar markers of his identity? Did the Holy Spirit keep them from recognizing him so that this marvelous story could happen for the benefit of discouraged disciples through the ages? I don’t know, but I do know this experience, and so do you. The Risen Christ walks with us from Emaus to eternity, and we don’t recognize him.
I’ve been in the ministry for 35 years now, and in those years I can’t even count the number of times I didn’t recognize Jesus as he walked along with me—times when my spirit was crushed by a particularly harsh criticism of a sermon, when there was a rough spot in the life of the church. Perhaps you’ve experienced bad news about major health issues in the life of a close family member or friend that made you wonder about Jesus promise, “I am with you always to the end of the age.“
Several years ago I was diagnosed with prostate cancer. I had surgery at one of the finest hospitals in the world and went home to get well quickly. But I didn’t, and I feel into a deep depression. As I slogged through the valley of the shadow, I meditated on the Psalms, looking for words about healing. I found many, but God didn’t heal me, not quickly enough for me, in spite of my faith and my fervent prayer. And I wondered where Jesus was. I felt like these two disciples in Luke 24. “They stood still, their faces downcast.“ It was a Christ—less moment, they thought. So did I. So have you. Looking back, I can see that he was walking with me through it all, but at the time I didn’t recognize his presence at all.
The stories of Easter scattered through the four Gospels help us see Jesus walking along with us in a wide variety of moments that seem Christ—less. This story in Luke 24 reminds us that he walks along with us as we discuss the biblical stories that shape our faith, wrestling with doubt and disappointment, apparently left to ourselves to sort out the meaning of it all. With these two on the road to Emaus, we have hopes that Jesus is the one who can redeem life and make us free and happy, but we wonder. Are we wrong? People way back then saw the empty tomb and claimed they saw the living Christ after he died, but are those stories true? As we walk along the path of life discussing these things with each other, he walks along with us, teaching us from the Scriptures. Occasionally we recognize him in the breaking of the bread, in a time of ordinary fellowship over food or in the extraordinary fellowship of Holy Communion. And suddenly we know that it’s all true and our hearts burn within us.
John 20:19 tells us that later on Easter evening the disciples of Jesus were hiding behind locked doors perhaps in the upper room where they had celebrated the Last Supper with Jesus. That story reminds us that Jesus walks with us as we huddle in upper rooms filled with fear for our lives. We shut the doors and lock them tight, doing everything we can to protect ourselves from the powers of darkness that could so easily ruin our lives. Somehow Jesus walks through all the securities we have invented and stands in the midst of our fears and says simply, “Peace be with you.“ And for the moment we are calm, and mysterious joy floods our souls.
John 21 recalls that wonderful story of Jesus meeting his disciples at dawn on the shores of the Sea of Galilee after they had fished all night. That story assures us that he walks with us as we do our work. We’re busily engaged in making a living, struggling with the nets and the oars and the sails, with our computers and lesson plans and blueprints, never thinking about Jesus. Then from off in the distance, over there on the shore, comes a voice. “Friends, have you caught any fish?“ There’s a figure standing there in the pre—dawn gloom, illuminated by a flickering fire. “No, we haven’t.“ “Try the right side. Try doing your work a different way.“ “It is the Lord,“ cried Peter. It is the Lord walking along with you in your work, beginning the day with you over breakfast, helping you cope with difficult co—workers and sharing the joy of a big deal finally closed.
All of the Gospels show us that he even walks with us as we trudge to the tomb, as we go about the sad business of death. When we walk through the valley of the shadow of death, and Jesus seems most absent, when it seems that death will have the last word after all, he walks up behind us as he did to Mary Magdalene in the sadness of the garden and quietly calls us by name. John 20:14 tells us that in the early morning mist of swirling outside the empty tomb, Mary didn’t recognize him at first. Neither do we. Indeed, sometimes we don’t recognize Jesus at all. But the fact that we don’t see him doesn’t change the fact that he walks along with us on the road to eternity as surely as he did with the disciples on the road to Emaus.
Because of Easter, we will see him one day, as surely and as physically as all these biblical characters did. Til then, we are like those two characters in Mark Helprin’s strange but enchanting book, Winter’s Tale. Christiana and Asbury were 30somethings living at the turn of the century in the same old apartment building in New York City. Their apartments shared the same wall; in fact, their fireplaces were back to back. But they had never seen each other. They sat facing one another for hours, though between them were two fires and several thicknesses of brick.
One night Asbury was rearranging logs with a poker, and when he had stoked the fire to a blazing height, he banged the poker against the back wall of the fireplace 3 times to rid it of a few glowing embers. Christiana put down her book and stared at the inner wall of the fireplace. Then she got up, seized a poker, and knocked back 3 times. It answered. Soon the telegraphy moved from the firewall to the wall above the mantel, and then to the wall above their beds.
There they discovered that their voices could carry through and they introduced themselves. She asked, “What place is this in your apartment?“ “My bed,“ he answered. “What about you?“ “The same,“ she replied. “Are you going to move it now,“ he asked. “No,“ she replied.
So for months, they lay in their bed at night, separated by that wall, talking about everything under the sun. In this way they became so intimate that it was as if they were carrying on a blistering love affair. One night he asked her, “What do you look like?“ “I’m not pretty, not at all,“ she said. “I think you’re beautiful,“ he shot back through the wall. “No, it’s not true. You’ll see.“ “I don’t care,“ he answered. “I love you.“ When he asked her to marry him, she consented.
Finally, they decided that it was time to see each other. They agreed to meet up on the roof of their apartment building. Asbury climbed up first and stood there trembling. He shouted down her chimney, “Christiana, are you up? Come to the roof.“ “Coming,“ she called. He stood there facing the direction from which she would appear.
First her hand came over the edge while she climbed up on the fire escape ladder. Then she rose in quick movement, and stood before the lover she had never seen. She was more than pleased. And he was stunned. “I knew it,“ he said in triumph. “I knew that you would be the most beautiful woman in the world. And, my God, you are!“
One day, after a lifetime of speaking to an unseen Savior through the wall that separates here from there, Jesus will come and we will see him and say, “I knew it. I knew you would be beautiful. And, my Lord and my God, you are!“ Til then, we walk with the Risen Christ from Emaus to eternity—not by sight, but by faith, and not just two of us, but that huge pilgrim throng of which Jesus spoke when he said, “Blessed are those who have not seen and yet believe.“
Stan Mast
Stan Mast has been the Minister of Preaching at the LaGrave Avenue Christian Reformed Church in downtown Grand Rapids, MI for the last 18 years. He graduated from Calvin Theological Seminary in 1971 and has served four churches in the West and Midwest regions of the United States. He also served a 3 year stint as Coordinator of Field Education at Calvin Seminary. He has earned a BA degree from Calvin College and a Bachelor of Divinity and a Master of Theology from Calvin and a Doctor of Ministry from Denver Seminary. He is happily married to Sharon, a special education teacher, and they have two sons and four grandchildren. Stan is a voracious reader and works out regularly. He also calls himself a car nut and an “avid, but average” golfer.
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