One of the things that strikes the Catholic convert (the convert from Protestantism) is the degree to which Catholic themes “pop out” in ways earlier missed. The lectionary reading for this reflection was Luke 24:13-35:
13 That very day two of them were going to a village named Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, 14 and they were talking with each other about all these things that had happened. 15 While they were talking and discussing together, Jesus himself drew near and went with them. 16 But their eyes were kept from recognizing him. 17 And he said to them, “What is this conversation that you are holding with each other as you walk?” And they stood still, looking sad. 18 Then one of them, named Cleopas, answered him, “Are you the only visitor to Jerusalem who does not know the things that have happened there in these days?” 19 And he said to them, “What things?” And they said to him, “Concerning Jesus of Nazareth, a man who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, 20 and how our chief priests and rulers delivered him up to be condemned to death, and crucified him. 21 But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things happened. 22 Moreover, some women of our company amazed us. They were at the tomb early in the morning, 23 and when they did not find his body, they came back saying that they had even seen a vision of angels, who said that he was alive. 24 Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but him they did not see.” 25 And he said to them, “O foolish ones, and slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have spoken! 26 Was it not necessary that the Christ should suffer these things and enter into his glory?” 27 And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he interpreted to them in all the Scriptures the things concerning himself.
28 So they drew near to the village to which they were going. He acted as if he were going farther, 29 but they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, for it is toward evening and the day is now far spent.” So he went in to stay with them. 30 When he was at table with them, he took the bread and blessed and broke it and gave it to them. 31 And their eyes were opened, and they recognized him. And he vanished from their sight. 32 They said to each other, “Did not our hearts burn within us while he talked to us on the road, while he opened to us the Scriptures?” 33 And they rose that same hour and returned to Jerusalem. And they found the eleven and those who were with them gathered together, 34 saying, “The Lord has risen indeed, and has appeared to Simon!” 35 Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he was known to them in the breaking of the bread. (ESV)
Our setting is the Sunday of the resurrection, and we have two seemingly unimportant disciples traveling from Jerusalem to Emmaus (although we come to learn in v. 34 that one of them was Simon). And they encounter Jesus, but they encounter him progressively. They speak with him, share their religious hopes with him, and reiterate nearly all of the historical Gospel facts with him. They seem to know the Gospel; they are just having a hard time believing it, like we do some days. After asking a few questions, Jesus chose to spend time teaching about Himself from the Scriptures. Though we do not know at exactly what point Jesus joined them, a seven-mile walk can easily take over two or more hours at a leisurely pace (i.e., a conversational pace). These men may have had quite a bit of time together, and what strikes the reader is that for nearly all that time, the disciples did not recognize their Lord.
Now, if you come to the text primarily with a historical-grammatical lens, this strangeness will be a bit unsettling, or at least demand an explanation. Perhaps Jesus’ body was sufficiently exalted so as to be partially unrecognizable. Perhaps these disciples had never seen Jesus up close or at all (but wasn’t the “Simon” Peter?). Perhaps a sand storm obscured their vision. Okay, and why did they suddenly recognize Jesus when he broke the bread? Perhaps they noticed the holes in his hands for the first time? And why, if Simon Peter was one of the disciples on the road to Emmaus, was he not mentioned before Cleopas. More importantly, why did he not recognize Jesus? And if so, the sand storm and discipular unfamiliarity theories seem severely strained, if being able to hear but not see in the face of flying sand wasn’t problematic enough. Or maybe it wasn’t our Simon Peter at all, or any of the Simons in Jesus’ train, but then how did they get access to the Eleven? On the other hand, if it was Simon Peter, isn’t it a bit awkward to say that they returned to the Eleven, since there were technically only ten without Peter? Perhaps “Eleven” was used as a new title for the apostolic company now that Judas was gone? These are possibilities, but it must be acknowledged that such mysteries tend to settle the skeptic in his skepticism because, if the Scriptures aim to merely unveil the historical story of Jesus, then leaving things unexplained, creating mysteries, or making room for doubt seems counterproductive. Under such expectations, this text seems to bring more fog than light.
Unless the fog is the point. If we read the text from a devotional standpoint, the relational and liturgical aspects flare up like neon lights at night. We see something of a paradigm for our own experiences. That is, entering into doubt is the rhetorical function of this passage because it was the experience of Peter and the disciples at precisely this point, and we must participate with them because this same doubt is among the chief and ongoing existential questions each Christian faces in his or her daily life. So the disciples were riddled by doubt. We face doubt too. And we are left wondering what Jesus is going to do with their doubt. Broadly speaking, what does Jesus do with doubt? And as the disciples were going along, he met them and “opened” the Scriptures to them. This opening (διανοίγω) has nothing to do with physical opening of a scroll or codex. It has to do with understanding in the mind. They now understood the Scriptures properly because he showed them himself in them.
Now, while the historical-grammatical reader will tend to get distracted by the Messianic prophecies of Isaiah, we must think more holistically in terms of Moses and his books. Through this appeal to Jesus in the Pentateuch, we are to understand more than just predictive prophecies are in view, but also the typological and theophanic appearances of Christ throughout the Old Testament. Once we do, what was obscure becomes lit.
But what was obscure really wasn’t the predictive prophecies. For example, whether or not Hebrew almah should be interpreted as “virgin” (as the LXX) or “young maiden” in Isaiah 7.14, the historical-grammatical options were generally understood. At this level, whether Christ peeks through or not depends upon which way the language is taken, and so debates about grammar and referent are to be expected. But such debates should not be of much concern to the Christian because what Luke is telling us here is something much more important. We do not rely upon bits of evidence that may or may not eke out when the grammar is construed in a specific way. We rely upon the being whose presence fulfills the broad and inarguable contours of the larger whole.
In other words, hidden beneath the surface of Scripture is One who is typified by Isaac the Burnt-Offering, Moses the Deliverer, David the King, and Jeremiah the Weeper; whose work is contextualized by temple and sacrifice and perpetual slavery; whose acts are typified by deliverance from Egypt, the Philistines, the Assyrians, and Babylon; whose attitude is played out over and over in the Psalms; who is embodied not just in the Old Testament but by its every jot and tittle; and whose face becomes clearer and clearer as it is put increasingly into proper perspective.
Now that perspective can never be decisively ascertained by historical-grammatical approaches to Scripture because what to emphasize and what not to, what to connect with what, and what to make of a text are questions that will remain without consensus. But as for our disciples, with docile hearts and Jesus as their teacher, the fog in their minds was pierced by the light of the Sun, and the doubt in their hearts was burned away by its heat. But still Jesus remained opaque to them.
Should such signs not signal to the reader that something paradigmatic is in play? It did for the disciples involved. As their hearts burned, they realized that there was something here for them, but they did not yet have full grasp of it. In fact, they did not perceive who Jesus was until he broke bread with them. Do we not recognize here the order and purpose of the liturgy? Jesus comes to us where we are, in a way that is not fully palpable. Perhaps he is not fully palpable because of where we are. Yet he approaches us in two stages, like the two halves of the liturgy (i.e., the liturgy of the Word and the liturgy of the Eucharist). In that order, we encounter the Word, which opens our eyes up to the Lord in preparation to meet him in the Eucharist. And the testimony of these disciples was “how he was known to them in the breaking of the bread” (v. 35).
Now, whether you read this text historically or devotionally, a few critical questions are difficult to escape: Why was it that the chief activities of the Risen Christ were to teach the Scriptures and then break bread with his disciples? Why wasn’t he known to his disciples until the bread was broken? And how was he known to them in the breaking of the bread?
The reader is invited to acknowledge the pattern of (and precedent for?) Sunday liturgy, what it means that Jesus chose these specific activities, in the order that he performed them, and that the disciples came by the fullest perception and knowledge of Jesus’ identity only in the breaking of the bread. Such things strongly suggest that Jesus’ institution of the Lord’s Supper the day before he was executed was more than a passing invitation to remember him every once in a while. Instead, it would seem to be the fulfillment and finale of conversations that Jesus is having with his disciples each and every day through Scripture–conversations preparing us for a fuller revelation in the Eucharistic celebration.
Jesus put it best: “You search the Scriptures because you think that in them you have eternal life; and it is they that bear witness about me, yet you refuse to come to me that you may have life” (ESV). The Scriptures are holy, amazing, and wholly amazing. They are heart-piercing and and heart-wrenching. They are educative, enduring, and essential. But they are also incomplete. Despite their magnificence, they are relativized by the One to whom they point, as words are eclipsed by the person who uttered them. It would seem that, as all great love stories, words woo into a fuller communion. So don’t be content with Scripture without Eucharist. Why operate with only half of the revelatory resources God has given you? And once you figure out just what type of Eucharist is implied in order to be the conclusion and denouement of Scripture, let your witness also be, like that of Simon and Cleopas, how the Lord was made known to you in the breaking of the bread.