The Long Winding Road to Emmaus: A Twice Told Tale

“O Lord my God, when the storm is loud, and the night is dark, and the soul is sad, and the heart oppressed; then, as a weary traveler, may I look to you; and beholding the light of your love, may it bear me on, until I learn to sing your song in the night. Amen.” From Little Book of Prayers by George Dawson.

Job 13:15a "Though He slay me, I will hope in Him." (NASU)

Luke 24:21 "But we were hoping that it was He who was going to redeem Israel. Indeed, besides all this, it is the third day since these things happened." (NASU)

Sometimes in the midst of the trials and burdens of life, we lose sight of our anchor. We feel tossed and thrown as on a wild and restless sea. Our emotions tell us that things will never be good, all will be despair and loss. Our hope seems shipwrecked, our desire to go on in life sinks into depression. We see nothing good, only evil all around us. Our enemies (both physical and spiritual) seem to have the upper hand, they seem to be winning the day. Things are just not working out the way we expected! The victory we felt sure would come has not yet manifested itself, and we feel ourselves sinking ever deeper into a pit in which we cannot get the proper traction to climb. The clock is ticking down, our hope is gone, our day is over, and Christ has not come.

Like the disciples on the road to Emmaus in Luke 24, we had hoped that Jesus would be the one who would rescue us. We had fervently prayed that maybe, just maybe, today would be the day when we would “live happily ever after” and find our dreams coming true. We shake our heads and go out for a walk. Maybe some fresh air and a quick walk will clear out the cob webs in our minds. Still, the topic of our recent failure hangs like a cloud over our heads, raining down doubt and fear.

We chat quietly together, commiserating a bit in our sorrow, in our recent loss. We try to remember all the "good reasons" we came to this time--like the first time we heard the story of Jesus, or the first time we met him, or even when we experienced firsthand some of his mighty works. Still, sorrow clings to our soul like a wet coat in a sudden thunderstorm. We can't get rid of the sense of sadness, it is drenched on us and sticks to our bodies. We wonder why we even brought the subject up and continue to make our journey in silence. Maybe time alone with our thoughts will help.

Suddenly, a stranger approaches. He seems rather ignorant of our experiences, and besides that he has a fairly sunny disposition. He is definitely someone we want to avoid at this moment. No pie in the sky false hope will satisfy us. We fear that he will say something like, “Cheer up! Keep a stiff upper lip! Things will work out in the end!” We try to avoid the stranger, yet he resolutely comes our direction. He seems determined to interrupt our brooding, our despair. He is on a mission, and we seem to be his primary targets. We try to ignore him, but then he speaks.

“So, what’s going on? Why the sad face?” he inquires. Out of pure human kindness we try to explain our pain in as brief a manner as possible. We do not want to burden strangers with our “little” concerns, after all. The stranger hears our story and stands tall. Looking at us he says boldly, “Foolish ones, slow of heart to believe what God has said!”

The force of his accusation causes us to stumble in our walk. How dare this stranger tell us our business? How dare he interject his thoughts into our moment of pain, our sorrow? Just who does he think he is to interrupt our musings with his “pollyanna” announcement? We look at him with disdain and think that he likely has nothing of real value to offer.

Then, he begins to speak to us again. Starting with the beginning of our story and bringing us pretty much up to date he tells us things we knew but somehow in our anguish had forgotten. As he speaks, our hearts get a bit lighter. We can literally feel a burning inside that slowly (painfully slowly) begins to purify our thoughts and hearts. His words seem to dry the wet sorrow drenching us. Like sunshine after a thunderstorm, we begin to feel a bit of relief. Spring may yet come! We even feel encouraged (a little at least) .

We invite the stranger to eat with us, and he offers to say grace. As he prays, we realize his true identity. He is Jesus, our Lord, the one who was beaten brutally, was painfully crucified, who died with the full weight of our sin upon his broken and bruised body. He has been there all along, listening to us, sympathizing (or is it empathizing?) with our pain and anguish. He has been waiting to comfort us with his presence. He loves us in this way, even when he seems silent.

We beg him to stay. Oh, the situations of our life haven’t changed dramatically. We still have problems, and those problems seem just as depressing and burdensome as before. The difference is that we have Jesus in the house, and the light of his love gives us courage to press on, he becomes an anchor for our souls. Why? Simply stated—“Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.” Through him and his love we may not have better situations or circumstances, but we can still be “more than conquerors through him who loved us” in the trials we share as his joint heirs. How? Talk to him. Let him talk. Trust his character. He is faithful even when we are faithless. We genuinely matter to him.

He longs to say to you "Keep pressing on, I have not forsaken you. I love you."

As we walk our soggy paths of life, we should pause and wait for the Lord. Let him catch up to us in our musings. Listen to his words (even the ones that gently rebuke). Get in his presence, let him pray for us  and with us. Let his words and actions encourage and empower. Remember, he walks with us whether we acknowledge him or not. Why not sit in his presence for a minute and acknowledge his concern for us?

Thanks for reading!

An Empty Story and a Life Affirmed

"I just feel worthless," he said quietly.

It wasn't the way he said it that attracted my attention, but it was his demeanor. This was a person who was in some sense utterly defeated. Everything about him echoed his words. Worthless. Useless. Empty.

I wasn't sure at first how to respond. Sitting before me was a shell, an empty person who felt as though he had absolutely nothing to offer.

I tried to help. "You're not worthless, just look at all you've accomplished."

The words sounded hollow, almost accusatory. His eyes flashed, but it wasn't "life" coming in. It was genuine anger. I had misunderstood him.

"No, you don't get it. I have nothing to offer. I am worthless. I am done."

The words hung in the air like heavy fog, demanding an answer. I honestly didn't know what to say.

If you knew this man, you'd be surprised at his self-evaluation. He earned several degrees (some from prestigious universities and with well known professors). He taught thousands of people, and he mentored many who would ultimately follow in his academic footsteps. He had traveled to a variety of places. He married well and his children were healthy, intelligent, and well behaved. He had rebounded from a moral failure and rebuilt his life and reputation. He was respected by his peers. He "had it all" in a country where such an existence was supposed to be the "American dream".

I wanted to remind him of these things, but he sat there glaring. His red eyes and sad look reminded me of an old derelict building left standing too long that now leaned and threatened to fall over. The supports were gone, the shell was hollow, there was nothing left. How do you rebuild on such a foundation?

The person sitting before me was an encourager. Many times I saw him take last place so that others would be acknowledged and even honored. He prayed that his students would accomplish more than he, and they did! Oh my, how well his students had done! The man went out of his way to make sure others were served, to make sure that others had affirmation, that others were encouraged. He was a Barnabas, and people would flock to him to receive his ministry of encouragement.

Yet here he sat, downcast, done, empty . . . How do you encourage the empathetic man of encouragement who has run dry? Who is worthy of the task?

And then I had an idea. I looked into his eyes and his sad face, and I said, "You know, sometimes I wish I had your life."

He gave me an incredulous look, but I continued. "I can't count how many times I wished I could treat others as well as you treat them." Then I said, "I love you, and I can't imagine what this world would be like without someone like you."

The eyes that were wet with tears showed a few signs of life. A wry grin appeared on his face. Life was returning, and for a moment the derelict building began to look a bit like a stately home once again.

He didn't need a history lesson. He didn't need me to recount his glorious deeds. He simply need to be affirmed. He needed appreciation.

I didn't write this story to get you to feel sorry for this man (okay, maybe just a little), but I wrote this to be a reminder to us all. We need to be appreciated, we need to be affirmed. We all cry out to be loved.

You see, this person's story could be your story, it could be my story. Life has a way of draining us, and sometimes we aren't sure how to refill the well. Feelings of worthlessness can pile up, and we begin to compare ourselves to others (often unrealistically). "I'm not good enough. I don't have the stuff. I'm not needed."

Yet the truth is probably bigger than we realize, and a little affirmation can go a long way.

Take a moment today. Give some affirmation to someone who has encouraged you. Let people know that you appreciate them, and that you are thankful for their contribution to your life. Who knows, it could restore life . . . maybe even yours.

Thank you for reading!