A Devotion for Easter 3: The Road of Pain and Hope

The Scripture in our lectionary reading this week (Luke 24: 13-49) is commonly called the “Road to Emmaus” story.

In it, we hear of two of Jesus’ disciples traveling down the road and meeting the risen Christ.

Cleopas and his (unnamed) companion are walking home after the worst weekend they’ve ever experienced. Their world has been devastated by the earth-shattering events of Good Friday. The one on whom they placed all their hopes, “a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people” (v. 19), was tortured and left to die on the cross.

As these two friends walk, they talk through the details of the experience – what they saw, heard, and saw, and most significantly, how they were feeling in the wake of Jesus’ death. They are doing what most of us do when we suffer a life-altering shock – trying to talk it out, make sense of the unimaginable.

It’s at this point that Jesus comes beside them, yet they “but their eyes were kept from recognizing him”. (v. 16)

When I read this story, I am reminded that the initial response to the good news of Jesus’ resurrection was not instant joy, but instead fear and confusion. When Jesus met them on the road to Emmaus, the disciples were still in a state of shock, pain and grief; they were not in a place where they were able to immediately accept the hope of the resurrection. They first had to move through the grief of death, to try and wrap their minds and hearts around the death of their beloved rabbi and friend.

In his perfect way, Jesus understands this. Although he had just experienced the crucifixion and resurrection, he recognizes that the disciples need time and space to comprehend the events from their perspective.

Rather than jumping in with overwhelming and perplexing news, he asks them what is going on. “What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?” (vs 17). He sees the need for them to catch up, to share stories, to gain trust and rapport. Jesus offers them the time to process the reality of death before hurdling into the revelation of the resurrection.

Here, and so often throughout his life, Jesus models the ministry of presence. Time and time again, Jesus asks the people he cares for what they think, and what they want. Even if he already has knowledge of their circumstances, Jesus asks questions and dignifies their responses by listening and responding to their deepest needs.

In the same way, the ministry we offer to our clients is the ministry of presence. We meet people where they are hurting and simply come beside them as they move from a place of devastation and loss.

And it may be tempting to jump in with answers, to compel them to rush through grief or pain and be anxious to rush to the place of hope.

There is gift in the silence, in the walking and talking together, in listening and holding space for the words and tears of pain to be realized. In doing so, we honor people’s losses and perspectives.

When the disciples and Jesus arrive at the home in Emmaus, then share a meal together and break bread. Only then does he speak of his identity, and in doing so, point to a hope beyond the meal laid at the table. 

The wonder and mystery of the Emmaus road story is Christ himself. He offers the disciples comfort in his physical presence, but also hope in the future – a promise that earthly pain and death has been, and will be, overcome.

In the same way, we offer our ears and our hands to provide tangible support, but we also bring something beyond this.

Through and beyond us, the risen Christ continues to walk alongside hurting people.

Even as we are sustained by the sure and certain hope of the risen Christ, we allow other people to lean upon us, and bring God’s assurance that a new day indeed dawns.

In Easter hope,

Chaplain Amy