Without doubt they were tired, worn out by grief and disappointment. They were mystified and blind-sided by the events of the past days. But this non-recognition of their Saviour is by the Lord’s deliberate choice. And, therefore, it was for a purpose. They were kept from seeing what would have given them the most unexpected and irresistible joy - the living, breathing resurrected Jesus. Kept from recognising him in order to learn something that would make the reality of the resurrection even deeper and more consequential. Kept from seeing in order to learn what CS Lewis would term the ‘deeper magic’ of the gospel.
Have we been kept - are we being kept - from seeing what we long to see? Have these months been, for us, our own version of the slow, weary trudge to Emmaus? In the gathering gloom of disappointment and confusion; hoping for some sense, some explanation, to be given us. Witnessing and experiencing sorrows aplenty, offering agonised prayers for ourselves and others to be ushered into places of refuge and calm - and still the storm rages, still the shadows lengthen and the day seems far spent. Still not seeing, still not recognising.
It’s worth asking the question, Have we been kept from seeing in order that we might learn, afresh and in power, the humbling glory of the gospel and of life in the shadow of Calvary? That the Messiah - and yes, his people, too - had to first suffer and then to enter his glory. That the power of his resurrection is experienced as we share in his sufferings, as that suffering is translated into hope through the prism of endurance and tested character.
The two travelling to Emmaus didn’t expect to see the Messiah. They had heard reports of his resurrection but it made no sense, had no vitality for them. Because the lines had not yet been connected in their thinking. Reports of the presence and power of Jesus in his world can often seem to us, if not exactly “like nonsense” (Lk. 24:11), then at least distant and uncertain. Because the lines aren’t clear in our own thinking? That we have failed to see the connection, the gospel framework for the life of faith, of God’s strength being made perfect in our own weakness? Those are questions worth asking.
When they had heard his words and had been fed at his broken hands, their eyes were opened. They realised their hearts had been burning as they listened - the authenticating witness to the power of the truth he spoke. The joy that could have been theirs earlier now had its most secure grounding in "what was said in all the Scriptures concerning himself". A joy that they experienced, now, even in his absence. The application by God’s Spirit of ‘gospel deeps’ to our hearts in similar power can have a similar, transforming impact.
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Beneath the cross of Jesus
I fain would take my stand,
The shadow of a mighty rock
Within a weary land;
A home within the wilderness,
A rest upon the way,
From the burning of the noontide heat
And the burden of the day.
O safe and happy shelter!
O refuge tried and sweet!
O trysting-place where heaven’s love
And heaven’s justice meet!
As to the holy patriarch
That wondrous dream was given,
So seems my Saviour's cross to me
A ladder up to heaven.
There lies, beneath its shadow,
But on the farther side,
The darkness of an awful grave
That gapes both deep and wide:
And there between us stands the cross,
Two arms outstretched to save;
Like a watchman set to guard the way
From that eternal grave.
Upon that cross of Jesus
Mine eyes at times can see
The very dying form of One
Who suffered there for me;
And from my stricken heart, with tears,
Two wonders I confess:
The wonders of His glorious love,
And my own worthlessness.
I take, O cross, thy shadow,
For my abiding-place;
I ask no other sunshine than
The sunshine of His face;
Content to let the world go by,
To know no gain nor loss:
My sinful self my only shame,
My glory all the cross.
(Elizabeth Cecilia Clephane, 1830-69)
