us. She was always too tired to eat with us after all the preparations. But that year she sat right at the head of the table and ate a big plate of food. Then she played games with us. And then she said she was tired and would take a nap. She went upstairs and laid down. A couple of hours later we went to check on her and she had had a massive heart attack. She would never wake up again. She lived another week and died on January 2, the day after her 67th birthday and the day before her 49th wedding anniversary. When I returned to school (I was in seminary), people asked how my Christmas had been. I didn't know how to answer. It was the best Christmas with her I could remember in years. And it was the Christmas I lost her.
Someone we love dying during the holidays always colors that holiday for us for the rest of our lives. When the disciples went to Jerusalem for Passover that year, they had no idea that it would be their last one with Jesus. I wonder if they thought it was the best/worst/best Passover of their lives? Which is why I had to chuckle the first time I read Tom Wright's translation of Luke 24:17-18: "You're obviously having a very important discussion on your walk," [Jesus, yet unrecognized] said to them; "What's it all about?" They stood still, a picture of gloom. Then one of them, Cleopas by name, answered him. "You must be the only person around Jerusalem who doesn't know what's been going on there these last few days."
Of course, we the readers understand that the "stranger" that Cleopas is talking to is the only one in all the universe who knows the things that had taken place: new creation! World redemption! The defeat of sin and death and hell! But in that moment, only Jesus knew all that had been accomplished.
I wonder how often we take our complaints of the worst day ever to God and accuse God of being an absentee parent. "Where were you?" "Why didn't you save me?" "Why have you left me?" "Do you even see what is going on here?" "Hello?!? Are you there?" Jesus was so patient with these two pilgrims, allowing them to come to slow but full recognition of who He was. I think Jesus still does the same for us today. He lovingly, patiently waits for us to be still and know that He is God.
Tuesday, June 5, 2012
Walk to Emmaus
Tom Wright, author of Luke for Everyone, asserts that the two travelers on the road to Emmaus were a married couple named Mary and Cleopas. We hear their story at the end of Luke. They get credit for having one of the longest recorded conversations with the risen Jesus. They encounter him the day of his resurrection, and we presume that they are leaving the "festivities" of the weekend, assuming that it was all over.
Have you ever had a really bad holiday weekend? Where you made a bunch of plans, maybe including plans about transportation, meals, and gifts. Or maybe your plans included events or meetings with friends. If you're a woman, then these plans also included thoughts about what you would wear and might have precipitated a trip to the mall for some new outfits. But then things went horribly wrong. Someone got sick. Someone missed a flight. Someone got in a wreck. Someone got in a fight. Someone died.
My grandmother was always responsible for my best Christmas memories. I'm sure my mother would take issue with the statement that grandmother was responsible for Christmas...but she is absolutely central in my best memories. And she loved Christmas! The house was always decorated and ready, meals prepared for an army, and gifts that filled half the room. It was magical. Her last Christmas on this earth was my 25th Christmas with her. She had customarily decorated, cooked, and wrapped. The WHOLE family was together. We had eaten, unwrapped, eaten, and unwrapped more. The only difference this year had been that grandmother ate with us. Yes, I said that right...she ate with
us. She was always too tired to eat with us after all the preparations. But that year she sat right at the head of the table and ate a big plate of food. Then she played games with us. And then she said she was tired and would take a nap. She went upstairs and laid down. A couple of hours later we went to check on her and she had had a massive heart attack. She would never wake up again. She lived another week and died on January 2, the day after her 67th birthday and the day before her 49th wedding anniversary. When I returned to school (I was in seminary), people asked how my Christmas had been. I didn't know how to answer. It was the best Christmas with her I could remember in years. And it was the Christmas I lost her.
Someone we love dying during the holidays always colors that holiday for us for the rest of our lives. When the disciples went to Jerusalem for Passover that year, they had no idea that it would be their last one with Jesus. I wonder if they thought it was the best/worst/best Passover of their lives? Which is why I had to chuckle the first time I read Tom Wright's translation of Luke 24:17-18: "You're obviously having a very important discussion on your walk," [Jesus, yet unrecognized] said to them; "What's it all about?" They stood still, a picture of gloom. Then one of them, Cleopas by name, answered him. "You must be the only person around Jerusalem who doesn't know what's been going on there these last few days."
Of course, we the readers understand that the "stranger" that Cleopas is talking to is the only one in all the universe who knows the things that had taken place: new creation! World redemption! The defeat of sin and death and hell! But in that moment, only Jesus knew all that had been accomplished.
I wonder how often we take our complaints of the worst day ever to God and accuse God of being an absentee parent. "Where were you?" "Why didn't you save me?" "Why have you left me?" "Do you even see what is going on here?" "Hello?!? Are you there?" Jesus was so patient with these two pilgrims, allowing them to come to slow but full recognition of who He was. I think Jesus still does the same for us today. He lovingly, patiently waits for us to be still and know that He is God.
us. She was always too tired to eat with us after all the preparations. But that year she sat right at the head of the table and ate a big plate of food. Then she played games with us. And then she said she was tired and would take a nap. She went upstairs and laid down. A couple of hours later we went to check on her and she had had a massive heart attack. She would never wake up again. She lived another week and died on January 2, the day after her 67th birthday and the day before her 49th wedding anniversary. When I returned to school (I was in seminary), people asked how my Christmas had been. I didn't know how to answer. It was the best Christmas with her I could remember in years. And it was the Christmas I lost her.
Someone we love dying during the holidays always colors that holiday for us for the rest of our lives. When the disciples went to Jerusalem for Passover that year, they had no idea that it would be their last one with Jesus. I wonder if they thought it was the best/worst/best Passover of their lives? Which is why I had to chuckle the first time I read Tom Wright's translation of Luke 24:17-18: "You're obviously having a very important discussion on your walk," [Jesus, yet unrecognized] said to them; "What's it all about?" They stood still, a picture of gloom. Then one of them, Cleopas by name, answered him. "You must be the only person around Jerusalem who doesn't know what's been going on there these last few days."
Of course, we the readers understand that the "stranger" that Cleopas is talking to is the only one in all the universe who knows the things that had taken place: new creation! World redemption! The defeat of sin and death and hell! But in that moment, only Jesus knew all that had been accomplished.
I wonder how often we take our complaints of the worst day ever to God and accuse God of being an absentee parent. "Where were you?" "Why didn't you save me?" "Why have you left me?" "Do you even see what is going on here?" "Hello?!? Are you there?" Jesus was so patient with these two pilgrims, allowing them to come to slow but full recognition of who He was. I think Jesus still does the same for us today. He lovingly, patiently waits for us to be still and know that He is God.
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