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15 As they talked and discussed these things with each other, Jesus himself came up and walked along with them; 16 but they were kept from recognizing him...31 Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him…(Luke 24:15-16, 31)
I was sitting in the ophthalmologist’s office this past week waiting to see the doctor. Because most appointments are never on time, I had a book with me—The Third Day (Living the Resurrection), by Tom Berlin. I was reading the chapter on Emmaus, a section that talks about how the disciples did not recognize the risen Christ who shared conversation with them as they walked. The author wrote of how often we can’t see God in our midst because of disappointments in our life—because of hopes, unfulfilled.
Mr. Berlin used the metaphor of a cataract (ironically, the reason I was in my appointment). He explained how often our vision becomes clouded, a film literally coating our lenses, because we assume that, when God does not work in ways we expect that, God has abandoned us. Was this metaphor arriving in my day, just as I was waiting to talk about my own physically faulty eyesight; was this a coincidence? I believe not. I’ve written before about “God-incidences”, and when I shared the passage with my doctor, she agreed, wrote down the name of the book, and thanked me because this was something she needed to hear right now in her life.
Imagine being one of the disciples who followed Jesus around in the days leading up to His death. Imagine the grief and bewilderment when the tomb was sealed with His body inside. Imagine believing that some type of magnificent miracle would happen, far greater than all the miracles you had witnessed Jesus perform before. Imagine the disappointment and loss of hope that no miracle would come, your beloved teacher and friend was surely dead. Imagine even having thoughts that you had been abandoned. Your mindset was that of your own unfulfilled expectations, your disappointments, your bewilderment, and your personal grief.
It is like the once clear lens in your eyes, the eyes that had been open to the Messiah’s earthly presence and teachings, had been clouded over with a dark film that hazed your vision. If you have ever experienced an actual cataract, you know what this is like. Colors yellow in the world, your vision becomes cloudy, sensitive to light, and you cannot travel well in darkness. The crisp edges and outlines are blurred, and you cannot recognize road signs or faces of loved ones. It makes journeying difficult, even anxiety riddled.
This is what happened to the disciples in a metaphorical, spiritual way. Jesus was with them, but they could not recognize him because their vision was clouded in doubt and despair. The “stranger” that walked with them asked what they were talking about. They shared about the life and death of their friend and teacher, that they had “hoped” that the Messiah would redeem Israel. But it had been three days since Jesus’ crucifixion. Hope was fading.
How often do we hope for things to happen in our lives? Hope for healing, success, financial help, or for loved ones to be saved from death? How often, if we are honest with ourselves, when our prayers for these things are not answered, we think that God was not listening or had forgotten us. Think of all the psalms and the cries for help and saving, and to Jesus’ own words on the cross: “my God, my God, why have you forsaken me.” Jesus never said that our lives would be easy, or free of pain and suffering. The Son of God suffered much in this world, too. But in the end, Jesus had risen to walk alongside the disciples, waiting for their eyes to become unclouded, so they could realize that indeed the prophesies were being fulfilled. Christ was journeying with them.
So, as I talked with my doctor about two kinds of cataracts: the one that keeps me from being able to drive well at night, and the spiritual one that clouds my faith so I may not see God with me day to day. About how I sometimes lose clarity and hope in the difficult times. I realized that solution for the first is a relatively simple surgery that changes out my bad lens for a new one. But to clean off my spiritual eye’s lens, I must ask God (the great physician) to laser it clean so I can see Christ walking alongside me.
Now, in this season of Lent, ask yourself: when do I see God clearly in my life? When I lose hope, do I feel like God is not near? How cloudy are your own “spiritual cataracts”? And can you ask God to remove them so you can see more clearly? In doing so, you can recognize Jesus walking with you in your own journey of your life. Amen.
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