On Sunday, we heard about two people in whom we can find much in relation. We met these two people on the road, their destination hours and hours ahead. Maybe they’re going back home. Maybe their going back to an old life they had given up long ago. Given up because they heeded the call of hope, heeded the call of a man who changed their lives, at least a man who they thought could change their lives and all of their friends and family’s lives for the better.
They had given up everything: the safe car, the safe job, the stable family, the house with the picket fence. They had packed up their bags moving on the bet that they were going to help this man change the world. At least they had hoped he would change the world, but to their knowledge he simply didn’t.
This was not an Easter world. Sure Easter had happened, they had heard about the rolling away of the stone, they had heard about the appearance of the angels, they had heard about it all. But for them, it just wasn’t.
There’s a funny thing the author of Luke does in this story, though. He has two travelers who have lost their hope, but only one of them is named. We read the name Cleopas, but the other is nameless. Now, why do you suppose that is? Is it because that one is unimportant? Is it because the author knew Cleopas but didn’t know the other traveler? Did he want to be anonymous? Or did one traveler not get named because that traveler has no name because they are each of us. We are part of this story because this scene is often a point in our own story.
The Good News comes at the end of the road. It comes at the Table. The travelers, those who had eyes but could not see, those two whose hopes had been dashed on the tree, were able to see Christ in the breaking of bread. Their hopes were not just returned, but they were transformed into new ones through their experience with the risen Christ. They got the chance to welcome back Christ in their midst at the Table, and each week we get that chance too.