Theological Truth: The Paschal Mystery reveals that we are redeemed not from suffering, but through it.
Alleluia! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Thanks for sharing this loving, liberating, and life-giving acclamation for the third Sunday in a row. I appreciate your willingness to “keep the feast” and continue celebrating this too-good-to-be-true news that nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus—not even death. It’s good news that merits repeating; life-giving truth worth clinging to. Despite appearances, the powers of death do not have the last word. Love wins. Alleluia!
But it’s one thing to proclaim Easter joy here in church—prompted by the words of the liturgy and surrounded by the faithful—but quite another to do it alone out there in the “real world,” where it’s all too easy to feel outnumbered and afraid. How do we keep hope alive when we’re walking through the valley of the shadows, where death is ever-present and suffering and cruelty dominate the headlines?
That’s where Cleopas and his companion find themselves on the road to Emmaus. They are walking away from Jerusalem and all the events that have left them feeling both disappointed and confused. They were so convinced by the miracles, so inspired by his teachings, so sure that God was about to finally redeem Israel, and then Jesus is arrested and crucified. Dead and buried. And yet strange reports of an empty tomb and an angelic pronouncement that he’s been raised.
This isn’t the victory they had expected, the clear and decisive political redemption they anticipated. Bishop N.T. Wright explains why Jesus’ death was so devastating: “It wasn’t just that Jesus had been the bearer of their hopes and he was now dead and gone. It was sharper than that: if Jesus had been the one to redeem Israel, he should have been defeating the pagans, not dying at their hands!” (Luke for Everyone, p. 294).
Despite their distance, Bishop Wright knows how close those dejected disciples are to living an Easter life once they understand that God has definitively conquered suffering and death, just not in the way they expected. He writes, “Cleopas’ puzzled statement only needs the slightest twist to turn it into a joyful statement of…faith: ‘They crucified him—but we had hoped he would redeem Israel’ would soon become, ‘They crucified him – and that was how he did redeem Israel…and the resurrection made the difference” (Ibid). He points out that they (like most of us) “had been reading the Bible from the wrong end of the telescope…God would not redeem Israel from suffering…but through suffering.”
This understanding of our redemption: that God redeems us through suffering, not from it, is critical when life forces us on our own roads to Emmaus—when we confront the real-life issues of disappointment and loss, suffering and death. Rather than feeling disillusioned, defeated, disappointed and alone, we can remember that Jesus has walked this road for us, not avoiding the pain, but leading through and past it. In Christ, God has manifested that the way past the pain is through the pain. In the resurrection, we have the blessed assurance that there is new, fuller, eternal life on the other side.
But it gets even better than that. Not only has the crucified and risen One blazed the trail, but he also remains as an ever-present guide. No wonder Cleopas and his companion (who some suggest is his wife) beg Jesus to stay with them. This is a realistic Easter faith based on the divine promise: I will never leave you to face your troubles alone. It’s a prayer for all of us on this side of heaven, walking in the light of the resurrection on the road to Emmaus through the darkness of this world.
That’s the prayer that one of the most faithful people I know has been praying as they suffer through a frightening medical diagnosis. During a visit, in the early days of the diagnosis, I asked her what I should pray for, and this person said, “Well, all I can think to pray is, ‘Stay with me; stay with me.’” Do you hear the faithfulness?
Friends, that’s the prayer for our Emmaus walks. When all else fails, and the avoidance of suffering isn’t possible, there’s the enduring hope that there’s a way through it, a place beyond it, and best of all, a guide to lead us. Suffering and death obviously continue to haunt and taunt us, but we also know they don’t have the last word. “Stay with me” is the go-to prayer on our roads to Emmaus; the request that gets answered; the companionship that warms our hearts; the presence that opens our eyes to the power of resurrection life.
But “stay with me” is more than our request to Jesus, it’s also his call to us. I think of it as a reassuring invitation, an offering of encouragement. I had such an experience during our Maundy Thursday service. At the end of the liturgy, when the lights had been dimmed and the altar stripped bare, as we remembered Jesus’ pending arrest and crucifixion, the choir sang that hauntingly beautiful Taizé chant: “Stay with me. Remain here with me. Watch and pray. Watch and pray.” In prior years I heard that as a request that I was no more likely to fulfill than the disciples had. I felt the sting of Peter’s denial, the guilt of everyone’s abandonment in Jesus’ hour of need. I heard the command to “Stay with me” through the eyes of my insufficiency, a futile request leaving me feeling guilty and ashamed.
But this year I heard something very different, much more consistent with the unconditional love of God. It was an invitation, confident, almost conspiratorial. The loving and encouraging and death-defying voice of Jesus saying, “Stay with me. Remain here with me. Watch and pray. Watch and pray.” There was a quiet, powerful, assurance that something unexpected and wonderful was happening. Stay with me….like a loving, compassionate teacher talking to her students as they struggle on the cusp of accessing an important lesson. Remain here with me….despite the difficulty and uncertainty. You can do it. I’m with you. Watch and pray. Stay and see. I will lead you through the darkness to the light. Stay with me. There’s more. Stay with me. Suffering and death are not the end. Stay with me.
If or when we are having an Emmaus road moment, make that your prayer: Stay with me. Stay with us. Also, since prayer involves hearing as well as speaking, keep listening for the reassuring invitation of the risen Christ saying to us, “Stay with me.” Both are dependable. Both lead to hearts on fire and eyes opened to the presence and power of the risen Christ in our midst.
Alleluia! Christ is risen! The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
