“Stay with us,” is what Cleopas and his fellow traveller say to Jesus.  This is a good response.  They urged him strongly.  They prevailed upon him, is another way to put it.  “Stay with us.”  We have heard about life in Christ as following Christ, or as walking along the road with Christ as we have in our story today.  We have heard about life in Christ as receiving him, inviting him in.  Stay with us.  They urged him strongly. 

I wonder if someone has ever prevailed upon you when it came to an invitation.  It might depend on our cultural background.  For many of us, it might seem impolite to prevail upon someone.  I remember one Sunday some years ago, Nicole and I took her mother to visit a Greek family (a husband and wife) whom Mrs. Micas had known back in Greece.  We had been to church and had lunch.  We intended to drop her off at their house and come back later to pick her up.  When we got to the house, Tryphon (the husband) came out to greet us and asked us to come in.  “No, no, thank you,” I said through the car window, “We’ve made plans, we don’t want to impose.”  All the things you say to try and get out of an invitation.  Tryphon reached through the window to take hold of my arm and started opening the car door.  “You MUST you MUST come and have lunch with us!”  I looked over at Nicole and our eyes said “Well I guess this is what we’re doing for the next little while!”  Five hours later, we left after having had an amazing and prolonged Greek meal, which included a guitar/bouzouki jam (the first time I ever played a bouzouki).  We had had an experience which we would not have had if Tryphon had not urged us. We would have missed it.

I don’t want us to miss anything, dear church family.  I invite you to make that invitation with me today.  “Stay with us.”  Let us urge him strongly together.

I’m talking about Jesus of course.  Our hope.        

We need to be able to talk about hope.  “In what or whom do we hope?”  Before we answer this question, we need to define what we mean when we talk about hope.  When we talk about hope, we are not talking about something that we would like to happen, as in, “I hope you can come to my party next week” or “I hope it doesn’t rain.”  When we speak of hope in the faith, we are not simply speaking of wishing.  We are not speaking of hope in the faith simply as some kind of pie-in-the-sky dream, or as something that is disconnected from daily reality.  I read a comment recently that was critical of Christian hope of a world to come as “pie in the sky.” This made me want to look up the origin of the phrase “pie in the sky.”  It means “something good that is promised but seems impossible or unlikely.”  It comes from a song written by a labour organizer Joe Hill in 1915 called “The Preacher and the Slave.”  Hill is critical of Christian hope that is disconnected from everyday life – in this case the plight of the poor.  The song is a parody of “In the Sweet By and By” and the relevant lines go like this:

“You will eat by and by/In that glorious land above the sky/Work and pray, live on hay/You’ll get pie in the sky when you die.”

This is harsh but it speaks to a disconnect between our hope as followers of Christ and what is going on around us.  The whole story is moving toward a renewed creation characterized by justice and righteousness.  God with us and the end of mourning and sorrow.  We are not called to live apathetically or indifferently in living out that vision.

My favourite and shortest definition of what hope means in Christ is simply this.  The confident expectation of good. This is what we mean when we talk about hope.   

The question is, “In what or in whom do we hope?  In what or in whom do we have a confident expectation of good?”  Anyone?  Anything?  Nothing? 

The song “In Christ Alone” has become much loved and meaningful.  It describes hope in Christ like this: “In Christ alone, our hope is found, he is my life, my strength, my song/ This cornerstone, this solid ground/ Firm through the fiercest drought and storm.”  Make no mistake, there will be droughts and storms.  There will be times (and we may be in one now) where we are saying, along with these two travellers in our story as they walk the way of despair toward Emmaus, “We didn’t think things would turn out this way.”  I didn’t think things would go this way.  I don’t know that things will ever go any differently.  This talk of hope and despair is a serious matter, and we don’t come to God’s Word to be unserious.  This talk of hope and despair is a matter of life and death, and this is good because we don’t come to church or engage with the Living Word of God simply to be entertained or distracted or made to feel good about ourselves.  This is serious stuff.  There are fewer sadder words than “I didn’t think things would turn out this way” and people are saying or thinking them all around and including us.

So Luke tells the story, full of changes of mood and direction (literally), dramatic irony (where the listener is aware of something the people in the story are not), dramatic revealing of identity, a flurry of action and movement, a joyful sharing of news.  I have to say two things about the story from the outset.  First - Jesus is made known/revealed in the Word – in the reading, hearing, exposition of, remembering the Word of God with people who believe it to be truth.  Do not let us neglect it. This is the second – Jesus is revealed/made known when we gather around a table in his presence.  Word and Table.  Christ with us.  God with us as we walk along together. As Cleopas and his unnamed companion walk along together.  Let us put ourselves right alongside Cleopas.    “Now on that same day, two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem., and talking with each other about all these things that had happened.”  Things did not go the way they expected them to go.  “We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel,” they say, speaking of Jesus.  Their journey away from Jerusalem is one of despair.  It was the end of “confident expectation of good.” 

We get this, don’t we?  The experience which leaves us saying, “I didn’t think things would go this way.”  It might be in our education or a job or a whole career.  It might be with our children.  It might be in a relationship or marriage.  It might be in the death of a relationship or marriage.  It might be in a death.  Death is surely the thing like no other that signals the end of hope, isn’t it?  Isn’t that the way things work?

But… here’s the thing.  Here’s the “but.”  It’s the same “but” that started this chapter.  “But on the first day of the week…”  It’s the first day of the week.  It’s resurrection day.  It’s a new life day.  Christ is risen.  Not only has Christ risen, but he is walking along with them. 

“While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them...”  Jesus himself came near and went with.  Jesus himself comes near and goes with.  Jesus’ knowledge of and accompaniment with his followers is tender and personal. 

Jesus asks them what they’re talking about.  Let we who follow Jesus take a lesson from his example here when it comes to walking alongside those who are hurting, those who are struggling, those who are despairing and without any expectation of good things.  Jesus doesn’t impose himself or an easy answer upon them.  He comes near, and he says, “Tell me what’s going on.”  “What are you discussing with each other as you walk along?”  “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?” asks Cleopas incredulously.  The irony is of course, rich.  Cleopas is speaking to the very person who was at the centre of all that had taken place.  “What things,” replies Jesus, at which point Cleopas tells the story (verses 19-24)

Then Jesus begins to speak.  We do well to listen to him.  How foolish we are, how slow of heart to believe all the prophets have declared.  This is why we come back to this Word time after time after time.  Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?  This was the plan all along!  “Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.”

Why do we come back to this story day after day and week after week?  Jesus makes the story known in light of his death and resurrection.  A story of humanity created to live in loving harmony with God and all of God’s good creation.  A story of rebellion.  A story of God’s promises running through the story of rejection of God and the consequences of this rejection.  A story which is summed up in Joseph’s words to his brothers “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good, to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.”  What do those words mean to us in the light of the risen Christ walking alongside us and sitting at a table with us?  The whole story points to the cross.  Being brought back to God, being delivered from sin and death, being saved from despair, was never about being saved from suffering, but being saved through suffering and death, which would lead to new life on this third day.  It was always about the divine “but.”  Remember, “But God remembered Noah…”  “You intended to harm me, but God…” “My heart and my flesh may fail, but God is the strength of my heart and my portion forever.”  I was lost, but God.  I couldn’t see, but God.  I couldn’t forgive, but God.  I was at the end of my resources, but God.  I was in the depths of despair, but God.  I couldn’t believe in any kind of expectation of any sort of good – but God.   Are we still asking why we read this stuff?  The sacrifice provided to Abraham on Mt. Moriah pointed ahead to him.  The Passover lamb, without a blemish, pointed ahead to him.  The manna provided by God in the wilderness pointed ahead to the Bread of Heaven.  The suffering servant of Isaiah pointed ahead to him.  The one who proclaimed good news to the poor, freedom for the oppressed, recovery of sight to the blind pointed ahead to the one who stood up in his hometown synagogue and read those words and announced, “Today, this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.”  Today.  But on the first day of the week, Jesus walks alongside us and reveals Himself in His word.

What else could we do but invite him in to sit down and eat?  Jesus revealed in his word.  Jesus made known at a table.  The importance of extending and accepting invitations.  “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.’”  The day is almost over, but it’s not over.  The day of the Lord’s favour.  The day of grace.  The day of unmerited favour.  Stay with us, Lord.  May this be the prayer of all our hearts as we turn together earnestly and often to Word and Table.  I’m coming to an ever greater understanding of the foundational significance of Jesus revealing himself at tables and at the Table.   I have the sense that many of us are, and I am thankful for this.  Jesus the guest becomes Jesus the host.  “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, and he vanished from their sight.”

The two walk with Jesus.  The two hear Jesus speak.  The two break bread with Jesus.  Jesus is revealed.  The two then remember.  How often in our lives do we realize the extent of God’s work in our lives when we look back?

“They said to each other, ‘Were not our hearts burning with us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?”  I pray, “Lord give us hearts that burn with the fire of your Holy Spirit.” 

When we talk about warm hearts or hearts that are on fire even, we’re not just talking about a relational warmth like we may feel warmly toward one another.  We’re talking about a transforming fire in our hearts that makes us new; that deepens faith; that restores and strengthens hope – the assured expectation of good no matter our circumstances.  We don’t need to call this fire up ourselves, it’s the Holy Spirit in us.  We leave ourselves open to this fire by continuing together (because it wasn’t one person on the road) in God’s Word and Table, with the risen Jesus before us, behind us, alongside us.  It leads Cleopas and his companion to get back out on the road, but this time they’re heading in the opposite direction in a journey of hope toward Jerusalem.  They went, and they told.  May we live in the same hope and always be ready to tell about it too.  May this be true for all of us. Amen