If you know your Bible stories, the road to Emmaus seems like an odd one to discuss during Lent. It's a story that takes place after Easter, after the resurrection, not before. You just don't see it as a reflection item during Lent.
But it keeps popping up in my head. It keeps popping up because it's about recognizing God in our midst, of seeing Christ beside us when we thought we were with a stranger.
Here's the passage in Luke 24:13-32
I keep wondering as I go through Lent if I recognize Christ in our midst. Where is God as the world burns I ask? Why does the world burn?
Now that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem. They were talking with each other about everything that had happened. As they talked and discussed these things with each other, Jesus himself came up and walked along with them; but they were kept from recognizing him.
He asked them, “What are you discussing together as you walk along?”
They stood still, their faces downcast. One of them, named Cleopas, asked him, “Are you the only one visiting Jerusalem who does not know the things that have happened there in these days?”
“What things?” he asked.
“About Jesus of Nazareth,” they replied. “He was a prophet, powerful in word and deed before God and all the people. The chief priests and our rulers handed him over to be sentenced to death, and they crucified him; but we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel. And what is more, it is the third day since all this took place. In addition, some of our women amazed us. They went to the tomb early this morning but didn’t find his body. They came and told us that they had seen a vision of angels, who said he was alive. Then some of our companions went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but they did not see Jesus.”
He said to them, “How foolish you are, and how slow to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Did not the Messiah have to suffer these things and then enter his glory?” And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he explained to them what was said in all the Scriptures concerning himself.
As they approached the village to which they were going, Jesus continued on as if he were going farther. But they urged him strongly, “Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.” So he went in to stay with them.
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. They asked each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he talked with us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?”
And I come to a recurring theme in my morning prayers. That God is here with us, in us, around us, but we do not yield to God. Christ is walking beside us, but we don't recognize Christ and we treat him as a stranger. A foreigner. Thankfully the disciples welcomed him and shared their dinner with Jesus.
And it was while breaking bread that they realized Christ was in their midst.
Are we breaking bread with the stranger? Or are we walking around that person wandering the streets like a foreigner or homeless person? Do we cut off any opportunity to see Christ in our midst?
It feels like it.
With the world.
This saddens me. Not because I'm a raging extrovert, which I can sometimes be. In truth, I need much time for myself lately to process and digest what's in my head. Prayer at this time is a wonderful exercise to be extroverted not with other people but with the Holy Spirit, to be in deep conversation with Her, to listen and to learn.
It saddens me because we have our changes and we turn away. The world burns because we don't realize that Christ is here to help us put out the fires. We fear that stranger and turn out back on the one who saves us.
Some events since Ash Wednesday that got me thinking this way:
- I voted for Proposition H in Los Angeles, which would create constructive ways to deal with the homelessness problem in our county. I wonder if others recognize that homelessness is not something we need to fear or accept, but a symptom of our own failings, as individuals and as a community.
- From home, I hiked around Mount Wilson, San Gabriel Peak, Mount Lowe, and Inspiration Point, some of tallest mountains on the front range of Los Angeles' San Gabriel Mountains, maxing out at 6100 feet. In the predawn light, I watched the fog swirl in the deep valleys between the mountains (see photo above). It made me think of how dark it was in those valleys, where light could not penetrate or be seen. And yet the sun rises. It shines even when the fog blocks it out. It might be hazy, cold, even dim, but it's there, and it's a far cry from abject darkness.
- We attended the wedding of my husband's sister. All of us watched as Jen and Tara married in a beautiful farmhouse field, the family arranged not in rows or pews, but in a circle of chairs around the couple. The family surrounded and supported the new couple to start the life together as a blessed union. How often do we forget that our family and friends are around us to support us when we feel most vulnerable? How often do we forget to help prop up our family and friends when they need a shoulder to lean on? And why do we forget that - by defining our circle too tightly - we may don't get to have as big a circle of love? Sure, make a tight circle of 10 people. But 20 people can support you better, 30 even more. You might be leaving out the one who could save you when your time of needs comes.
- During the most fierce storm of the drought-ending season here in Southern California, we passed dozens of homeless on the streets of Santa Barbara, with all their possessions, soaked to the core. The issues of homelessness are plenty, but it saddened me that such a prosperous city could not find a way to help possibly mentally unhealthy people into shelters for those dangerous nights.
- We watched the Oscar-nominated movie Hidden Figures, which recounted the tale of brilliant and resilient African-American women who helped NASA get our astronauts into space. It made me wonder how our systemic biases prevent us from reaching our dreams and goals. It made me wonder how we can be blind to our own blindness, at least until someone opens our eyes for us.
|Husband leaping for joy for his sister, |
as we finish setting up the chairs for the wedding circle
So are we, on our road to Emmaus, remembering all around us who can help us, protect us, raise us to unimaginably lofty heights? Or are walking past the stranger, holding back on our chance to break bread with the one who could save us.
May your Lent be filled with strangers who open your eyes to the light and lift your hearts to the stars.