I posted my first ever vlog on Monday morning as I walked along this road. The reaction to it has really surprised me. It has been viewed by over a hundred people and I’ve had some lovely comments saying it “hit the spot” for those who watched. If I do it again it must be less windy and I must try and look at the camera more! I’m now more than ever in awe of those who are providing worship and bible study live from where they are over the internet.
On Monday I walked for about an hour and thought about the journey two demoralised disciples took after Jesus’ crucifixion back home twelve miles as the sun set to Emmaus. I used the Northumbrian word “plodging” to describe how they walked.
Here is a picture of the the pilgrim posts on Holy Island. A lot of people make the pilgrimage bare foot across the sands to the island. It’s hard work, and slow as your feet sink into the wet sand.
The Urban Dictionary definition is this:
"Ah went to the beach for a plodge in the sea up to me knees but didn't bother coz the watter was too cad (cold) for plodging."
Common usage in NE England dialect.
Common usage in NE England dialect.
Another dictionary says it means to plunge; to wade through water, mud, etc.; to walk laboriously over soft ground or through undergrowth, etc.; to trudge.
So imagine these two dejected souls trudging, plodging back home, their hearts broken. William Barclay in his commentary on Luke’s Gospel says that “ Emmaus was west of Jerusalem. The sun was sinking and the setting sun so dazzled them they did not know their Lord. However that may be, it is true that the Christian is a person who walks not towards the sunset but towards the sunrise. Long ago it was said to the children of Israel that they journeyed in the wilderness towards the sun rising.
The Christian goes onward, not to a night which falls, but to a dawn which breaks - and that is what, in their sorrow and disappointment, the two on the Emmaus road had not realised.”
I see Barclay’s idea about the setting sun blinding them but I’m not convinced by that stopping them recognising Jesus. Here’s what I think:
The sun had set on everything they had dreamed of. It’s a clever piece of dramatic writing by Luke to have them plodge heavily home... they had absolutely no thought that Jesus might be alive. Yes, some women had a story but...
Imagine walking in absolute depression and in shock and perhaps crying and maybe with a bit of anger you’ve wasted your time, seven long miles back from where you’ve been hurt to the safety of your house. From our (temporary) front door just north of Sutton Bridge to where we used to go to church in Tydd St Giles is seven miles. To plodge it would take some time.
The stranger joined them.
“You mustn’t talk to strangers!” But they did.
“What are you talking about as you walk?”
“We had hoped he was the one to redeem Israel.”
I’ve just listened to the most recent “Three Vicars Talking” on Radio 4. It’s a refreshing chat giving Christianity an honest and fun approach through Richard Coles, Kate Bottley and Giles Fraser. Giles Fraser suggested in the programme that hope is defiance. It is believing that something will happen. It is acting often counter culturally to what is going on around you, it is just knowing it:
“Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the conviction of things not seen.”
Imagine you are those travellers: Cleopas and his friend or maybe his wife... on your plodge home what is it that you had hoped? How does it feel to have all your hopes dead?
“We had hoped.”
We had hoped that at last we would have peace in our country, we had hoped he might live up to his promises, we had hoped we had a future, we had hoped that things might go right for us for a chance.
“We had hoped.”
I am struggling with the daily number of deaths flashed on the television screen every day like the people who have died are a statistic.
“We must flatten the curve.”
“We might have reached the peak.”
“To come out of this with 20,000 deaths will be a good result.”
I was so sad to hear a relative of a 26 year old nurse without proper PPE in the nursing home she worked in comment on losing her that she was far too young to die. Hopes have gone for so many people. Never let us see those who have lost their lives as a statistic. When this is over, we will need to have a lot of memorial services. We need to allow people to express their grief appropriately. The pastoral work in months to come will be huge.
As they walked, the two discussed the events of those last days, dissecting them from every angle. Searching for answers. How could their hopes and dreams have turned to ashes?
”We had hoped.” The language of broken hearts.
The American writer and theologian Frederick Buechner says, “Emmaus is where we go, where these two went, to try to forget about Jesus and the great failure of his life.”
Where is your Emmaus? Where do you go when all hopes are dashed, when you are so deeply, deeply disappointed that it is impossible to speak in the future tense? It’s here, in this place of deepest despair, the risen Jesus appears. He appears as a stranger and enters into the conversation.
So here’s my point about this story: there are a million and one blogs I could write about it.
I love the fact that Jesus joins in the conversation. If you read the stories of Jesus in the four Gospels he always joins people where they are. Blind beggars, a woman caught in adultery, a complacent congregation in his home synagogue, potential disciples by a lakeside, a grieving father, a thief next to him on a cross, a weeping friend coming to his tomb...
I love the fact that for several miles, he took time with these souls who were absolutely wrung out mentally and physically. He took time to explain stuff to them. Pastoral care in our churches especially at the moment has to be one person at a time. People today, like those travellers, need patient care. They have questions about what is going on. We all need our questions and our fears dealing with.
“That’s a very good question!” says Mr Hancock.
And we scream at the telly “Well, answer it then!”
And because we can’t get answers we feel void of hope. We want to trust. We know the government is facing a shitstorm no one would have the answers to, but...
I love the fact that even though this very wise man was full of knowledge about Jesus and stuff, they still did not know who he was. They plodged with him for seven miles. When did he join them? A few miles in? Was he social distancing? (!!) And yet despite still not recognising him they invited him to stay the night... had they a bed made up? Hospitality to strangers, remember, was a huge thing back then. And it still should be...
I love the fact that Jesus was recognised as he broke bread. The two of them must have known about the last supper. I miss communion! I miss giving communion to a congregation. I last did it on 15 March at Terrington St John Methodist Church to four ladies. I guess I will next do it in the appointment I am meant to be beginning in the autumn. We recognise Jesus in the breaking of bread as we kneel to receive it or if we are clergy people, we place it in the hands of the people we are charged to care for.
At the moment we are having to fast from the sacrament and we are encouraged to have “spiritual communion” together. Those times when we eat together can be times when, in the middle of what we do, we recognise the risen Lord, as the two did in their home.
The picture above was taken in the library of Marygate House on Holy Island, today, four years ago. I fell in love with my now wife over cheese in that room when it was just the two of us in there when others had gone. I wasn’t expecting to start a new relationship again after a divorce, I wasn’t expecting to propose to her seven months later! I fought it this week four years ago, but I now know, even with bumpy bits and now in lockdown in a small space we really DRIVE EACH OTHER MAD, the risen Lord, who promises new life out of death, and hope out of despair, was there for us both as we broke bread...
This resurrection story is one for us in this anxious time as we see no end yet to this unprecedented crisis.
We need space to plodge out the hopes we think are dead and buried.
We need time to talk about where we are. We need someone who will walk our walk with us.
We need to be surprised. In our lockdown and mental anguish, where will the divine be recognised?
And then, well, will we run back seven miles to share what has happened to us? (When that’s allowed again!)
The Emmaus road story is our story. Read it for yourself - Luke 24: 13 - 35. It is a story of hope recovered. I love it! And now, I’m polishing off some cheese to celebrate where new life began again for me four years ago. The joy of the walk away from all we think has destroyed us, is that you never know what might happen on that journey to open your minds to new possibilities.
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