A (not so) strange story

What a strange story. I remember sitting in church as a child hearing Luke’s Road to Emmaus resurrection account and wondering what on earth happened? The idea that two followers walking on a road could be joined by Jesus and not recognize him seemed hard to imagine. Couldn’t they look over and see him for who he was? Couldn’t they hear in his questions his familiar voice? Then it happened. Gathered in a home, breaking bread, their eyes were opened, and they recognized Jesus. What a strange story.

All my life, I’ve wanted to see Jesus. For as long as I can remember, I’ve wanted to hear his voice. I’ve wanted nothing more than to look over and see Christ beside me, but that’s never happened. All I’ve known is a sense of someone else being in my room when my parents knelt beside my bed to say prayers. All I’ve known is being awakened by a minister on the morning of my father’s funeral to go for a walk and feeling less sad. All I’ve known is an encouraging note given to me by a student just when I was questioning whether I made a mistake being a school chaplain. All I’ve known is sitting at dinner with a child while I made a painful confession and having him say, “I love you,” while passing the rolls. All I’ve known is sitting in a meeting of recovering alcoholics and addicts and hearing someone say exactly what I needed to hear. All I’ve known is the feel of someone’s hand squeezing mine just when I was feeling completely alone.

Maybe Luke’s story isn’t so strange after all.