So it was all over, the idea that he might
be the promised Messiah. Our hope that we would follow him, making a reality
the Kingdom of which he spoke, where those who hunger and thirst for justice
would be satisfied, where the hungry would be fed, the blind would see, liberty
brought to captives and Good News proclaimed to the whole of creation. All
those hopes were dashed. Jesus was dead. My husband Cleopas and I were on our
way back home to Emmaus. There was nothing to be done. We had lost more than a
friend, we had lost hope.
As we were talking a stranger who was
walking along the road came alongside us. We were not surprised, many people
had come to Jerusalem to celebrate the Passover. We told him about what had
happened to Jesus, a little surprised that he didn't know. It had been the talk
of the town. Now this man certainly knew his scriptures. Together we discussed
the prophets, of how our people Israel, Isaiah had called God's suffering
servant. That often those called by God to speak truth to the powerful, had
suffered. Surely it wouldn't be surprising if this happened to God's Messiah
too. I recalled Pilate's question " What is truth?" As Jesus stood
before him, silent and unwavering.
As we neared home it was dusk. We asked the
stranger if he had far to go before nightfall. This was a dangerous road. Jesus
had always reminded us of how the scriptures command us to show kindness and
hospitality to strangers. We were once strangers in the land of Egypt, and owed
our very survival as a Nation to the kindness of strangers.
So we invited him into our home. I prepared
a simple supper, just some bread, fish and a little wine. As was our custom
before eating we prayed a blessing. As our guest seemed a devout man with a
deep knowledge of scriptures, we invited him to say the blessing. As he broke
the bread and blessed it, a strange thing happened. My eyes met with Cleopas.
It was obvious we were thinking about the same thing.. That last Passover that
Jesus had shared with us. And we knew he, Jesus, was here among us. Along the road
as we had shared the scriptures. Here, in hospitality shown to a stranger.
Here, in the breaking and sharing of bread. In every place, through continuing
the way he had shown us. And that despite everything that had happened, his
word, his life and his hope still lived on. His hope, our hope of a new
Kingdom, where the hungry would be fed, the blind see, captives liberated and
good news proclaimed to every creature.
And all of a sudden the stranger was no
longer with us. Had he slipped out to continue his journey? Was this a vision?
Or an imagining brought on by our grief? No matter, the realisation that came
to us that evening is what matters and remains strong to this day. The things
that Jesus lived for will never die. And we might learn to recognise him
whenever we welcome strangers. Wherever in our hungry world, bread is broken
and shared.
“Often. Often says the lark in her song,
often goes Christ in the stranger’s guise.”
