Life is not a paragraph, and death is no parenthesis. - Paula Hawkins
We're on our way, about seven miles from Jerusalem, to a village called Emmaus, the site of one of the most touching of Christ's resurrection appearances. The warmth of the sun holds me up. A desert lark roosting on the black mulberry seems to chide me for being pensive. I'm as downcast as the two disciples traveling across the beaten, worn-out path.
So, is this truly The Road? I ask myself. I've learned as much that historians have been unable to identify the site with certainty.
We walk softly a short distance on the sandy road. I keep waiting for an act of God, perhaps a flash of lightning, after which a man will join us, the resurrected Jesus, but we will not recognize Him. He will ask us, What is this conversation that you are holding with each other as you walk?
I'll proceed to tell the stranger of Jesus’ crucifixion and the report of His empty tomb, to which he will respond, How foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken!
That's when our Palestinian guide stops to point, Sham. There!
I see a rock. Everyone comes to a stop on the path and stands in unnatural silence. I've wondered if they were all holding their breath, as I am doing. Behold upon the mountains the feet of him that bringeth good tidings, that publisheth peace. This is where Jesus will take us through the writings of Moses and the prophets, explaining from scripture the things concerning Himself. Our eyes of faith will open and we'll recognize Him.
I stay as still as a statue, closing my eyes to a squint. Aren't our hearts burning within us while He talks? I cannot bear to disturb the sensation of peace and completeness that has enveloped me. I am comforted. I am gentled.
It feels like nothing and everything. The sky is ablaze in colors of red. It is bright. I can smell hope. The future with its infinite promise looms like the first Easter morning.
It is true. The Lord has risen.
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