Rev. Nick Cheek
Psalm 34: 1-14 and Luke 24: 13-35
Our scripture passage this morning takes place right after the events of the resurrection. Two travelers are on a journey, a hike, from Jerusalem to a town called Emmaus. In the middle of their journey, a stranger shows up and walks with them along the way. This walk to Emmaus… represents and symbolizes our own journeys. We’re all on one. We’re all walking somewhere. Along the way, we have the blessing of walking with others. People enter our lives, and we walk with them as they walk with us. Sometimes for a season, sometimes for a lifetime. And like any journey, there are stretches filled with joy, moments when our conversations are light, when laughter comes easily, when the road feels smooth beneath our feet. But if you’ve ever been on a hike, you know there are ups and downs. There are also hard stretches. There are unexpected turns. There are moments when the path feels longer than we imagined. There are seasons of heartache… seasons where tears come more often than smiles. Seasons where we find ourselves asking questions we can’t quite answer… wondering where God is in the middle of it all. And those are the moments when having someone to walk with… can make all the difference in the world. That’s where the two travelers find themselves in our story this morning. The scripture even tells us that the two travelers stood still, looking sad. They were not in a good place. And maybe… maybe they too, were in need of someone to walk with them. Someone to help them feel less alone.
Enter the stranger. In the middle of their journey, he shows up out of nowhere and does something very simple. He walks with them. That’s it. He walks… and he listens. He is present… And as they walk and talk, this new companion has a choice. Does he keep moving, remaining focused on his own path… or does he slow down long enough to notice them, does he keep space to make room for them? Let’s be honest, church, it’s easy to get so caught up in our own lives and concerns that we overlook the people right beside us. The ones on the journey with us. When we encounter someone who is hurting, it’s easy to offer a quick, “I hope things get better,” and then keep our distance. After all, don’t we already have enough to carry on our own? But the companion in this story chooses differently. He stays. He asks about their sadness, and he listens. Really listens. And he doesn’t stop there. He begins to speak hope into their pain. He opens the scriptures. He reminds them of God’s story, of a love that has always been present and is still at work, even now. This stranger steps into their journey and brings light into a dark stretch of road. Maybe someone has done the same for you at some point in your walk of life. Someone who showed up at the right time… who sort of came out of nowhere and stayed with you… someone who served as a reminder that we do not walk alone.
I have. His name is Jason. It didn’t take long to realize Jason was a person of faith. When we visited his dorm room, there was Christian music playing, a Bible open on his bed, and a poster that said: “God is Love.” But more than that, it was the way he treated me.
The beginning of my freshman year wasn’t easy. It was a season of real loneliness. I felt, in many ways, like those travelers in our story… stuck in sadness for a while. And Jason noticed. One morning at breakfast, he sat down and started talking. Just normal conversation at first. And then, at one point, he looked at me and said, “Nick. What’s up… no really, what’s up?” Jason… leaned in. He made space. He took time. We started spending time together. We shared meals, went on walks, and threw the Frisbee around. Simple things. He also invited me to church. We read scripture and prayed together from time to time. And slowly, things began to shift. The loneliness didn’t vanish overnight, but something changed. The heaviness started to lift. Light began to break through. Jason reminded me that we do not walk alone. He reminded me that we need others to journey with us.
Author and Theologian Henry Nouwen, in his book “Out of Solitude,” reminds us that sometimes the most meaningful companion isn’t the one who has answers, but the one who stays. The one who can sit with us in confusion, remain with us in grief, and resist the urge to fix or explain… but to just be there. Steady. Present.¹ Nouwen suggests that the people who shape us most deeply are not always the ones who solve our problems, but the ones who step into our pain with us…who meet us where we are and offer a quiet, compassionate presence that reminds us we’re not alone.²
Don’t we all need that? If we were to pause for just a moment and look at our own lives… at the faces around us… the people who have walked alongside us in different seasons… I imagine we could begin to name them. Family members. Friends. Mentors, coaches, teachers. Maybe even someone unexpected… perhaps a stranger who showed up at just the right time. People who, in one way or another, reminded us that we were not alone. We all need that kind of reminder. And yet, if we’re honest, it’s not always easy to receive it. Sometimes it takes strength… courage… even a bit of humility… to reach out, to open up, to let someone else walk with us for a while.
Towards the end of our story this morning, the group of three is about to part ways, but something very interesting happens. The two on the road to Emmaus reach out to the man who’s been walking with them. They say to him, “Stay with us.” “Stay with us.” It is a plea, it is an honest invitation for this new companion to stick around and be part of their lives. At times along our journey, when we reach those difficult patches, we too have a choice. Will we have the faith and the courage to reach out for help…. OR will we continue walking alone and trying to make it all work by ourselves?
If we’re honest, most of us default to going it alone. We’ve learned how to carry things quietly. We tell ourselves we’re fine. We convince ourselves we don’t really need anyone else. And so we keep moving—pushing through, holding it together—until eventually we find ourselves worn down… maybe even standing still again in sadness, or loneliness, or whatever it is we’re carrying. We hesitate to reach out because it feels like weakness. But I don’t think it is. Reaching out is courage. Because the truth is, none of us has ever really walked this life alone. At some point or another, we’ve all needed someone to stay… to listen… to walk with us for a while. We’ve all needed some help along the way.
Nouwen suggests that we are both healers and we are in need of healing. Faith is lived in that tension; we are both caregivers and care receivers. And we don’t have to wait until we have it all together before we walk with someone else, for it is often through our own experiences of brokenness and all of life’s twists and turns that we are able to authentically sit with others, to listen, to understand… to offer space… to stay. And friends, that’s when the mini-miracles happen.
It’s been a busy season—at home, in the life of the church, and in my own responsibilities. Like all of us, the days fill up quickly. Meetings, family commitments, things that need attention… even taxes. And somewhere in the middle of all that needs to get done, it’s easy to lose sight of just how meaningful it can be to simply sit with someone… to be a companion along the journey. This past week, someone stopped by my office. Not for a meeting. Not for business. Just to share life. We talked about challenges… about needs… about difficult seasons… about our faith. There was a shared vulnerability in the room. We shared a moment of connection, a prayer… and through it some healing occurred… Nothing miraculous, but it was still deeply meaningful. And somewhere in that honest conversation, I believe Christ was present… right there in the middle of it. Moments like these are important reminders of how impactful it is when we pause… and make space for one another… even for a little while.
When the two travelers sat down with their new companion, a mini-miracle occurred. When the stranger blessed and broke the bread, their eyes were open so that they could see Christ in him – their eyes were open to see Christ in the man who had been walking with them the entire time.
Friends, this walk to Emmaus, it is an affirmation that Jesus is alive and well within all of us…. That the risen Christ walks with us… around us… within us…and within the people who walk beside us. So keep your eyes open along the journey. Keep your eyes open for the opportunity to reach out like the stranger in our story. For perhaps, if we simply do that this week…then maybe…just maybe… the people we journey with may even see the risen Christ alive and well, within us.
In the name of the Father and the Son and the holy spirit. Amen.