Opened Tomb...Opened Scripture...Opened Eyes (Luke 24:13-32)

One week earlier they had first walked the 7 mile journey, together. Two good friends; one from the coast, the other from Emmaus. Seven days ago, their trek coursed uphill, up to Israel’s principle city, the city of Jerusalem. Not to worry; their steps were light, energized by the prospect of celebrating the Passover, even as the city swelled with tens of thousands of worshippers. Laboring under the hard-pressed thumb of Roman rule, it was these festivals which kept their Jewish identity strong, the flagging Messianic hopes alive.

The week passed quickly, and now heading back to Emmaus, the journey sloped downward. Oddly, their steps were heavier, their hearts sluggish. The hopeful Passover days, scripted by the Scriptures for blessing and encouragement, had become oppressive, even bizarre.

“How could that happen?” Cleopas again asked, this time out loud. “I don’t know,” his friend sighed.

Jesus of Nazareth had been crucified. Murdered, really. He had almost quietly taken the city by storm—riding in on an unbroken colt, thousands lining the entryway, waving branches, shouting “Lord, save us!” He really shook things up – cleansing the temple, confounding the Pharisees, embarrassing the High Priest…and yet never actually harming anyone. It all felt right, like God was in it, because His Messiah had finally, clearly, arrived. What better time for Yahweh to save Israel but at Passover!!

And then…it all went south.

They arrested him in the middle of the night. They shuffled him around, secretly, between the Sanhedrin to Caiaphas to Pilate to Herod to Pilate – all before the day had barely begun. They beat him mercilessly. They condemned him; they pierced Him, they broke Him.

By 9:00 AM he was hanging, nailed in shame outside the city.

By 3:00 PM, he was dead.

He was so dead, so brutalized. Blood everywhere. When Nicodemus and Joseph took him down, we couldn’t even recognize him. It was so awful.

“How could that happen?”

“I really don’t know.”

Emmaus was still a good hour, or more, away.

Someone suddenly joined them; it seemed from out of nowhere. “What are you talking about?” he asked. “I heard you talking; I hope you won’t mind if I join you.”

“You’re welcome, of course. We were talking about what happened at the Passover in the city.”

“What happened?’” the newcomer asked.

“You’re kidding, right? Are you the ONLY visitor to Jerusalem unaware of the things that took place in the last 4 days?”

“What things?”

“Concerning Jesus of Nazareth, a man who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and rulers delivered him up to be condemned to death, and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things happened. Moreover, some women of our company amazed us. They were at the tomb early in the morning, and when they did not find his body, they came back saying that they had even seen a vision of angels, who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but him they did not see.”

The stranger stopped, and so did the other two.

“O foolish ones, and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken! Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory?”

Quite suddenly, the stranger took over the conversation. Cleopas and his friend had trouble taking it all in. Here was a man fully in command of the Sacred Writings, quoting as freely from the Torah, the Writings, and the Prophets as if the scrolls were unrolled right in front of them. Every part of the Scriptures pointed to the Messiah—not just to the Messiah, but to Jesus of Nazareth.

This stranger knew much more than he had let on, and it all made wondrous sense.

“Goodness…we’re home!” Cleopas realized.

“Thank you for your company,” the Stranger offered. “My journey continues.”

“No, no, no…it is way too late. Stay at my home this evening. You can continue by morning’s light.”

When the evening’s meal was arranged, oddly (again) the stranger took the lead. For the first time, they noticed the scarred hands as he reached for the bread, but said nothing. Cleopas’ eyes met his friends with a look that asked, “Who is this?” Scarred hands, yet strong, even as he broke the bread and handed each man a piece.

“It’s Him!” they each knew. “Jesus, it’s YOU!” Cleopas cried.

And then…He was gone.

“Did you feel it too?” his friend asked. “My chest was on fire with every Scripture he quoted…”

“Are you kidding me? With each word He spoke…” Cleopas added.

The run back to Jerusalem took less than an hour.