As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on.  But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.”  So he went to stay with them.  When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them.  Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him.” ~ Luke 24:28-31

Beloved of God,

They had to get away from the city; to distance themselves from all that had taken place there in recent days.  What had begun with joyful HOSANNAS had ended in a grisly death.  Jesus had been betrayed and deserted.  Justice had been stood on its ear.  The City that once welcomed him with open arms had turned on him, chewed him up and spit him out.

They had to distance themselves, and yet, those very events were all they could talk about as they went down the road. And buried beneath their attempts to figure out this tragedy, there seems to be a deep yearning and a holy hunger.

They are on the road heading away from Jerusalem when a stranger joins them, and soon all three are caught up in a conversation about what had taken place and what it all means.  Cleopas and his companion don’t know what to make of this stranger. Something in their gut draws them to him.  There’s a yearning, a burning, a pulling at their hearts that can’t be ignored.  Yet they don’t recognize him.  Their eyes are closed.

Until he breaks the bread. With the breaking of the bread their eyes are opened, their hearts set free, their hope is reborn, and their world of death is transformed into life.

The Lent that is coming to a close as I write this column has been, for me, one of the heaviest ever.  I can’t say exactly why this is so; I’m at a loss to find words to describe it.  I only know what I’ve experienced, and the longing I feel—the holy hunger—to have this reality transformed. 

On any given day you and I, like those two disciples on the road to Emmaus, may find ourselves weighed down with our own burdens—and those of the world; our hearts burning for a connection, longing for God to quench our thirst for meaning, to lift our spirits, to satisfy our holy hunger.  There is but One who can turn our sorrow into joy, our tears to laughter—the risen Lord, who meets us on all our roads, and walks beside us as a companion, breaking open the gospel, breaking open the bread of the Eucharist, and satisfying our holy hungers in a way that keeps us coming back for more.

The pathway from death to life isn’t something we can engineer on our own, any more than we can will ourselves to rise from the grave.  It’s something we receive, something that comes to us from outside of ourselves—yet something that promises to reshape us at the very core of our being.  The Three Days (Maundy Thursday, Good Friday, Easter Vigil, April 1, 2, 3) mark the beginning of the journey, and the 50 days that follow provide us with the opportunity to deepen our experience as we journey with Christ toward the unending life which his dying and rising has secured.

Pastor Erik