Friends to Emmaus and Back Again
The road to Emmaus was seven miles long — a pretty good distance under normal circumstances, and I imagine a near impossibility with a heart weighed-down with grief. On this particular day, however, two men attempted the journey with exactly that in common — a heart deeply grieved by the death of their friend, their king, Jesus.
It would have been easy for these two to have kept the cries of their hearts under lock and key. Keep the hurt, confusion, and despair buried deep down inside them. But they didn’t. As they walked, they talked about all that had just happened. They opened the doors of their hearts and let them flow out and find a companion in one another.
Partway through the journey, Jesus would draw near to these two companions, open the Scripture to them, wash away the fog of confusion, help them to make sense of things. He’d sit down to table with them, break bread with them, open their eyes to see — it’s Jesus! Jesus would leave, and these two travelers would follow suit, sprinting side-by-side in joy the entire seven miles back to tell the others “Jesus is alive!”
There are many glories to be found within this narrative from Luke 24. One such glory, I believe, is the display of true Christian friendship. Yes, friendship can be found elsewhere in the Bible, but it is so unique here in that in such a tightly packed space we see along both poles — deep despair, unbridled delight — the beauty and utility of true Christian friendship. Friendship in moments when faith in Jesus is tearing apart at the seams; friendship in moments when Jesus is so real to you that say, “Did not our hearts burn within us!”
Friendship is needed – note merely desired — but needed in both spaces. In the deepest of valleys of dejection, friendships make walkable the path set before you. On the highest mountain tops of delight, friendships complete our joy by allowing us to express delight to another. In doubt and despair, friendship are as Ebeneezers — living, breathing visual reminders of the times when we saw more clearly, of the times when our hearts did burn, of the seasons when Christ was sweet — they give us hope that those days will come again. In joy and gladness, friendships make these moments concrete — brother, sister, I will remember this moment, and keep it in remembrance, that I might share it with you in moments you are tempted to forget it.
Friendships, my friends, are a God-given means of grace to us. Armies at our side lest we attempt the battle alone. Glad-hearted companions lest we keep the joys to ourselves.
Do you have such friendships? Friends to walk alongside the desperate path to Emmaus? Friends to sprint alongside the celebratory path back to Jerusalem? Have you cultivated the richness of such friendships? Have you allowed your friends to see your heart, know your mind, be familiar with your hopes, know the sound of your cries, know you, really know you — that your journey of faith might be trod in the strength and stability offered in fellowship?
It’s my exhortation to you, today, that you would. That you’d not only seek out such friends but that you’d go deep with such friends that you might one day see one another in glory, and say, “Did not our hearts burn within us as we walked with him on the road of life?”
And of course, this exhortation reminds us of our need to confess our sins for we, in our pride, often think ourselves self-sufficient – friends are luxury, not necessity. In our self-exaltation friends are there to admire and applaud our greatness, not witness our weakness. In our selfishness we want friends to serve us in our time of need, but we don’t want the mess and effort of reciprocating. We are sinners, we…are…sinners…and we have a Savior — One who calls himself Friend of Sinners — and he invites us to bring our sins, and all our sins, to him now in this time of silence confession.