The Road of Hope

The Road to Emmaus, by Swiss painter Robert Zund, portrays a conversation between three men on the road to Emmaus as described by St. Luke in Luke 24:13-35. Zund pictures an idyllic setting. It seems to be a nice, leisurely walk in the woods. It is a sunny Sunday afternoon in the Judean countryside. The two disciples are giving their rapt attention to the stranger that has joined them on their journey. There is a certain easy comfort to it all.

Except … that I’m not so sure that the two disciples were all that easygoing and comfortable that Easter Sunday afternoon. I imagine the two of them walking with a dirge-like pace to their feet. Their attitude being as if they have just come from a funeral. And, in essence, they have – Jesus’ funeral. Their Rabbi, their Lord, their Messiah was killed three days earlier on Friday afternoon just outside of Jerusalem, where they have just come from.

They walk as if they’ve lost all hope.

The disciples had staked their lives on this Jesus from Nazareth. Everything they had. They thought He was the One. A prophet powerful in word and deed. He made blind men see, the lame to walk, the deaf to hear, the demon-possessed to be dispossessed. He even raised the dead. They hoped He was the Messiah, the promised One who would redeem Israel. And then in one short week their hopes and their world came crashing down around them. Jesus was dead, buried, and now nowhere to be seen. The rumor by the women of a resurrection didn’t provide any comfort. The words of Peter and John about the empty tomb were too confusing.

It all seemed so hopeless.

These two disciples were hoping for a golden throne. Jesus gave them a bloody cross. They were hoping for honor. Jesus bowed His thorn-crowned head in humility. They were hoping for glorious triumph. Jesus gave them dark tomb. They were hoping for the answers to all their prayers. But, they were praying for the wrong results. They were praying for their kingdom to come, but Jesus suffered, died and was laid in the grave so His Kingdom would come.

How foolish they were, and how slow of heart to believe (Luke 24:25).

Their walk is slow, but their questions come quickly. “How could Judas do that?” “Why wasn’t Peter stronger?” “Why did the high priest hate Jesus so much?” “Why couldn’t Pontius Pilate have been more forceful?” “How could Jesus let this happen to Himself?” “What do we do now?”

Just then a stranger comes up from behind and says, “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t help overhearing you. Who are you discussing?” They stop and turn. Other travelers make their way around them as the three stand in silence. Finally, the one named Cleopas asks, “Where have you been the last few days? Haven’t you heard about Jesus of Nazareth?” (Luke 24:18) And He continues to tell what has happened.

This is a fascinating scene – two sincere disciples telling how the last nail was driven into Israel’s coffin. God, in disguise, listens patiently, His wounded hands buried deeply in His robe. He must have been touched by the faithfulness of this pair of disciples. Yet He must also have been a bit chagrined. He had just gone to hell and back to give heaven to earth, and these two were worried about the political situation in Israel.

“But we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel” (Luke 24:21).

But we had hoped. … How often have you heard a phrase like that?

“We’re hoping to get pregnant soon.”

“I was hoping I’d feel better by now.”

“I’m hoping to get back to work.”

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“We had hoped the chemo would get all of the tumor.”

“We were hoping to go on vacation, but we can’t afford it now.”

“We were hoping Mom would come home from the hospital, but God had other plans.”

Words painted gray with disappointment. What we wanted didn’t come. What came, we didn’t want. The result? Shattered hope. Disappointment. Despair. The foundation of our world trembles. When hopes are crushed, the pilot light goes out in our eyes. There is no more deadening feeling than to feel hopeless.

We trudge down the long road to Emmaus dragging our sandals in the dust, heads down, shoulders stooped in defeat. We’re wondering what we did to deserve such a plight. “What kind of God would let me down like this? I had hoped it would be better than this.” Our eyes are so tear-filled and our perspective so limited that God could be the fellow walking next to us and we wouldn’t know it.

Hope is not what you expect. Hope is not what you would ever dream. Hope is not a Disney princess movie ending. It is Jesus unpacking the Word of God for you, like He did for those disciples, so your heart may burn within you, warming you up, melting your cold heart, putting you on fire for the Lord (Luke 24:32).

You find this improbable, unbelievable hope when your invited Guest leads you through a Bible study of the Scriptures. There you find these examples of unexpected hope: the centennial Abraham sitting with his infant son on his lap; Moses standing between two walls of Red Sea water; Joshua walking over the ruined walls of Jericho; David rocking the giant Goliath to sleep; Samson bringing the house down on the Philistines; a teenage virgin pregnant with the Son of God.

Hope is the two Emmaus-bound pilgrims reaching out to take a piece of bread only to see candlelight shining through the holes in the stranger’s hands.

“When he was at the table with them, he took bread, gave thanks, broke it and began to give it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him, and he disappeared from their sight” (Luke 24:31). And even though He vanished, they were not sad. For they now knew He was not gone. Their faith was no longer in glory, but in the cross. Their faith was no longer downcast because of the corpse in the grave, but it was now joyful because of the empty grave. They had found His promises in His Word. So, they rushed to Jerusalem. No longer confused, but certain. No longer sad, but joyful. No longer struggling, but on the firm foundation. No longer hopeless, but burning with hope.

And you are, too. For the Good Shepherd has come and found you lost and wandering sheep, and has invited you into your home church – to His house – a refuge for weary pilgrims. And He stays with you. He is there with you in your church, opening the Scriptures, so you may hear and believe. Inviting you to His altar where He is both the priest and the sacrifice. Inviting you to stay and eat at His Table, where He is both host and food.

So, go to that place weary so that you may leave refreshed. Come scared and depressed so you may leave with your heart burning with faith. Come without hope, questioning if God really cares so you may leave with the hope and assurance that your God is unfettered by time and space, so He comes to sit, dine, teach and care for you.

He comes to give you hope.

As it was at Emmaus, so it is for us in worship. Scripture and Supper. Teaching and Table fellowship. Word and Sacrament. The Divine Service of our Savior for us poor, sinful, confused, struggling, doubting, fearful, anxious, hopeless disciples every Sunday. Every Sunday, a little Easter, as we travel this life. As we travel to our homes, to our jobs, to our friends and neighbors. Traveling, but never alone. Traveling, but always by faith. Traveling the road of hope.

So, maybe Robert Zund has it right after all in his painting. The disciples began their journey from Jerusalem to Emmaus without hope. It was a slow, mournful pace. But along the way, they met a stranger. He led them through a study of the Scriptures. Then their pace quickened, the sun seemed a little brighter, their attitude became much better. These two disciples had been given hope by this stranger as they walked the road to Emmaus.

Because the resurrected Jesus is also with us on the road of hope, now it is an idyllic setting.