3 of 3

The problem is, I don't see fulfillment this side of the Jordan promised in Scripture. I see joy promised and peace. But also tribulation, soul-piercing. I see that the "great cloud of witnesses" who surround us, cheering us on, have among them those who "faced jeers and flogging … were chained and put in prison … were stoned … sawed in two … went about in sheepskins and goatskins, destitute, persecuted and mistreated … wandered in deserts and mountains, and in caves and holes in the ground." What's more, "none of them received what had been promised" (Heb. 11:36–39, NIV).

The portrait of the faithful is not a portrait of the fulfilled. What defines them—what defines all of us on the road to Emmaus—is hope. What defines them is a slow, burning heart. What defines them is a yearning: knowing in their bones, in spite of loss or sorrow or aloneness, that there is Something more, Something else, Something better. What defines them is a hauntedness, a shaky but unshakable conviction that the Christ they see now through a glass darkly, in little fleeting puzzling glimpses, they will see one day face-to-face.

But for now, on this road, their slow hearts burn.

We don't know anything more about these two disciples on the road. We read on, and Luke tells us that they ran to tell the other 11 disciples, and that Jesus himself showed up again: calming their doubts, demonstrating his resurrection, opening their minds to the Scriptures, commissioning them for world missions, promising to endow them with power from on high (Luke 24:36–53).

But these two get lost in the crowd. Who is Cleopas? He flits into the story and then out, never heard from again. Who is the other one? She or he hides forever behind a thick scrim of anonymity. Unlike Peter, whose rashness and cowardice and then unflinching courage stamp him with vividness; unlike Thom as, whose mix of stubborn doubting and steadfast believing evoke the man with particularity; unlike Paul, whose gruffness and tenderness, canniness and honesty, irritableness and long-suffering make him unmistakable, unforgettable: unlike such as these, these two are mere silhouettes. We see them in dark outline, devoid of feature.

Except this: their hearts are slow and burning. They are, I think, Everyman.

Were they fulfilled after this? No more fights with the spouse? No more shouting at the kids? No more days of feeling—you know that feeling—both empty and heavy inside? No more doubting, no more despairing, no more fretting over whether the trickle of money will ever catch up with the torrent of bills? Never again missing the risen Jesus in their midst?

We don't know, because we're not told. But if the stories of the other disciples give any clue, the best response to the question, Were they fulfilled? is to answer, That's the wrong question. Was Paul fulfilled? Was Peter? Was John? It's the wrong question.

Fulfillment is heaven's business. What Paul, Peter, John, Cleopas, and the other one knew was that the thing they had hoped for—that Jesus is the one who is going to redeem not just Israel, but the whole world—is a sure hope. Their yearning was not a hollow wistfulness, a whistling in the dark. It was, in fact, a homing device in the heart, drawing them on no matter how long the road, no matter that the "day is almost over" (v. 29), no matter that their hearts are slow with doubt and broken with grief. Even then—especially then—their hearts still burn, and they know this journey is a good one, leading Somewhere.

And it's never taken alone.

Mark Buchanan is pastor of the New Life Community Church, Duncan, British Columbia, Canada.

Copyright © 1999 Christianity Today. Click for reprint information.

first page |  3 of 3

share this page

July 12 1999, Vol. 43, No. 8