It has now been almost six weeks since our schools sent children home, businesses closed their doors, parks and playgrounds were wrapped in caution tape, churches switched to virtual worship, and we were all introduced to the term “flattening the curve.” For most of us these last six weeks have been full of both ups and downs, moments of panic surrounded by hours of complacency, days of semi-normalcy interspersed with constant underlying uncertainty, weeks that have been good, weeks that have been bearable, and weeks that have been low.
This past week for our family was definitely a low week. At the beginning of the week we received some bad news that seemed to exacerbate the reality that we had all reached our limit for being stuck inside a house together. All week long our tempers seemed to run hotter than the stove, selfishness trumped sharing in every turn played, shouts echoed from the walls more than singing voices, and our kindness and patience ran thinner than the water circling the drain. Reaching out to friends and family, I know many have experienced similar weeks.
Accepting that this “curve” is more like a mountain that needs flattened and we are in this for the long haul, what do we do when we have days or weeks when, despite our best efforts, we cannot seem to turn it around for the better? When we are overcome by frustrations and impatience for ourselves, for others, and for this situation? When we struggle to sense the presence of Jesus and feel comforted by our faith? What do we do when we feel like we have walked a whole day’s journey alongside Jesus and had no idea he was walking with us, illuminating the scriptures and our lives?
I think it is for this very reason that the walk to Emmaus is such a comforting Bible story for so many of us. It reminds us that even when we are walking blindly, heads hung low consumed in our own sorrows and confusion, Jesus is walking beside us, patiently explaining everything again starting at the beginning. And when we reach what we think is our destination, Jesus waits to be invited to dinner, where he will break bread, open our eyes and hearts, reveal himself to us and set us forth again on, not ours, but his mission.
Every night my family says grace before dinner. It is a simple grace that has been passed down through generations:
Come Lord Jesus be our guest, let all this food to us be blessed.
If I am honest, I must admit there are evenings after difficult, ugly days when I force myself to say this prayer. I am not sure I want Jesus to be a guest at our table. But that is exactly why Jesus turned our ordinary into his extraordinary. So that every evening at dinner, whether my eyes have recognized him that day or not, Jesus waits patiently to be invited to join us, to reveal himself as we break bread and remind me that he has been here all along. Then he disappears back into our hearts where he belongs and his presence interprets his promises all again from the beginning, giving me hope and making all things new.
What is keeping you from recognizing Jesus walking beside you? Take a few moments in prayer and ask Jesus to reveal himself to you today opening your eyes to the extraordinary in the ordinary.
Written by Andrea Laux, Director of Adult Discipleship.
