They stopped, their faces drawn with misery,
and the one called Cleopas replied, “You must be the only stranger in Jerusalem
who hasn’t heard all the things that have happened there recently!” “What
things?” asked Jesus. “Oh, all about Jesus, from Nazareth. There was a man — a
prophet strong in what he did and what he said, in God’s eyes as well as the
people’s. Haven’t you heard how our chief priests and rulers handed him over
for execution, and had him crucified? But we were hoping he was the one who was
to come and set Israel free…. (Luke 24:18-21)
Phineas was up
before the sun. He'd hardly slept the night before, and long before a sound was
heard in the house he was racing downstairs with his bag packed, ready to climb
into the wagon. It was the summer of 1820, and Phineas was about to see an
island. His island. The island promised to him by his grandfather and presented
to him – by Gift Deed – on his second
birthday. It was a sizable portion of Connecticut land called Ivy Island. And today, for the first
time, Phineas was going to see it.
Of course, not
every boy is born a land baron, and Phineas' parents were always quick to
remind their son of that fact. They urged him not to forget them when he came
of age. But Phineas was different from his playmates. While they dreamed of
dragons and knights, his fantasies were of Ivy
Island. Someday he would be lord of his own territory. He'd build a house.
Start a farm. Raise cattle. Rule his own domain. Because when you own an island
you feel important. When you own an island, you want to see it. And Phineas had
yet to see his, so he pleaded with his father to take him to the island.
Three sleepless
nights preceded the expedition. Then, early that eventful morning, Phineas, his
father and a hired hand climbed into the buggy and began the long-anticipated
journey. Finally, Phineas would get to see his island. He could barely sit
still. At the top of each hill he’d ask, "Are we there yet? Can I see it
from here?” His father would encourage him to be patient, and assured him that
they were getting close. Finally, his dad pointed north beyond a meadow to a
row of tall trees stretching into the sky. "There," he said. "There’s
Ivy Island." Phineas was
overcome with emotion. He jumped out of the wagon and sprinted through the
meadow leaving his father and companion far behind. He raced to the row of trees
into an opening from which Ivy Island
was visible.
When he saw the
land, however, he stopped. His heart sank. Ivy
Island was five acres of snake-infested marshland. His grandfather had
called it the most valuable land in Connecticut. But it was worthless. His
father had told him it was a generous gift. But it wasn't. It was a joke; a
cruel joke. And as a stunned Phineas stared, the father and the hired hand
roared with laughter. Phineas was not the fortunate beneficiary of his
immediate family; he was the laughingstock of his entire family. Grandfather
Taylor had played a joke on his heir. But Phineas wasn’t laughing. And he never
forgot. That disappointment shaped his life. He made a lifestyle out of
deception. The little boy fooled made a career out of fooling others. You probably
don't know him as Phineas. You know him as P.T. You don't know him as a
landowner; you know him as a promoter. You know him as the one who coined the
phrase, "There's a sucker born every minute." He spent his life
proving it. Such was the life of P.T. Barnum.
And such is the
life of many others who’ve been told they'd be taken to the “Promised Land,”
only to find themselves taken to a swamp. The businessman who, a decade ago,
had an income ten times what he has today. But that was before his industry
slumped. That was before he went bankrupt. Or, the husband who cares more about
his golf game than he cares about his wife. Maybe even the cute couple who had
to file suit against their contractor who never finished the house of their
dreams.
Is there
anything wrong with these people? No, their desires are healthy. One wants a
strong business; another a husband who'll honor his promise; or a family who
wants a builder who'll keep his word. Who can fault them for their expectations?
Who’d blame them for dreaming? Who’d have thought their dreams would be
crushed? They certainly didn't. But now they’re faced with a decision. What do
they do with their disillusionment? What do they do with their broken hearts? And
we're not talking mere inconveniences or hassles. We're not talking about long
lines, or red lights, or a bad game of golf. We're talking heart-break. We're
talking about what two friends of Jesus were feeling a couple of days after his
death. Their world had caved in on them. It's obvious by the way they walk.
Their feet shuffle, their heads hang, their shoulders droop. The seven miles
from Jerusalem to Emmaus must have felt like seventy. And as they walk, they
talk "about everything that had happened." (John 24:14)
It's not hard to
imagine their words. "Why did the people turn against him?" "He
could have come down from the cross. Why didn't he?" "He just let
Pilate push him around." "What do we do now?" And as they walk,
a stranger comes up behind them. It’s Jesus, but they don't recognize him. Discouragement
will do that to you. It will blind you to the very presence of God.
Discouragement turns our eyes inward. God could be walking right next to us,
but despair clouds our vision.
Despair does
something else. It hardens our hearts. We get cynical. We get calloused. And
when good news comes, we don’t accept it for fear of being disappointed again. That's
what happened to these two disciples. Later on they say these words: “Yes, and as if that weren’t enough, it’s been three days since all
this happened; and some of the women from our group have really disturbed us. They
said they went to the tomb at dawn, and then when they couldn’t find his body
they said that they had a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some of
our people ran out to see, and sure enough, his body was gone, just as the
women had said!” (Luke 24:22-24)
When reading
Scripture we can't always tell in what tone the words were actually spoken.
Sometimes we don't know if the speaker meant to be happy or sad or peaceful.
This time, however, there’s no question about what they're thinking: “As if
it's not bad enough that Jesus was killed, now some grave robber has taken the
body and duped our friends.” These two followers aren't about to believe the
women. Cleopas and his friend are putting their hearts in a shell. They won't
take another risk. They won't be hurt again.
Ever been hurt
by love? Then don't love. Had your heart broken? Then don't give it away. Do
like P. T. Barnum – settle the score by blaming the world and hardening your
heart. However, there’s a fine line which, once crossed, can be fatal. It's the
line between discouragement and anger. Between hurt and hate, between
bitterness and blame. And if that line’s near, step back for a moment and ask
yourself: “How long am I going to pay for my discouragement? How long am I
going to nurse my hurt?”
At some point we
have to move on. At some point we have to heal. At some point we have to let
Jesus do for us what he did for these men. First, he came to them. He didn’t
sit back and cross his arms and say, “Why can’t these two guys get with the
program?” He didn’t complain to the angel and say, “Why won’t they believe the
empty tomb? Why are they so hard to please?" Instead, he met them at their
point of pain. Though death had been destroyed and sin annulled, Jesus hadn’t retired.
The resurrected Lord had once again wrapped himself in flesh, put on human
clothes and searched out hurting hearts.
See if you can
find their hurt. “Jesus said to them, ‘What are you talking about?’ They said, ‘About
Jesus of Nazareth. He was a prophet who said and did many powerful things before
God and all the people. Our leaders and the leading priests handed him over to
be sentenced to death, and they crucified him. But we were hoping that he would
free Israel.’" (Luke 24:19-21) There it is. "But we were hoping . . .
." The disciples had hoped Jesus would free Israel. They had hoped he'd
kick out the Romans. They'd hoped Pilate would be out and Jesus would be in.
But Pilate was still in, and Jesus was dead.
Unfulfilled
expectations. God didn't do what they wanted him to. They knew what they
expected of Jesus. They knew what he was supposed to do. They didn't have to
ask him. If Jesus is the Messiah, he won't sleep in my storm. He’ll never die.
He won't defy tradition. He'll do what he’s supposed to do. But that's not what
he did. And aren't we glad the prayer of Cleopas and his friend went
unanswered? Aren't we glad God didn't adjust his agenda to fulfill the requests
of these two disciples? They were good disciples. With good hearts. And sincere
prayers. They just had the wrong expectations.
God knows more
about life than we do. People wanted him to redeem Israel, but he knew better.
He would rather his people be temporarily oppressed than eternally lost. When forced
to choose between battling Pilate and battling Satan, he chose the battle we
couldn't win. He said “No” to what they wanted and “Yes” to what they needed.
He said “No” to a liberated Israel and “Yes” to a liberated humanity. And once
again, aren't we glad he did? And aren't we glad he does? But let’s be honest.
Are we glad he says “No” to what we want and “Yes” to what we need? Not always.
If we ask for healing, and he says learn through the pain, we aren't happy. If
we ask for more money, and he says treasure the unseen, we’re probably not
doing any cartwheels.
When God doesn't
do what we want, it's not easy. But faith is the conviction that God knows more
than we do about this life and he will get us through it. Remember, discouragement
is caused by unmet expectations. But discouragement can be cured by revising
our expectations. It’s like the story about a guy who went to the pet store in search
of a singing parakeet. The store owner had just the bird for him, so the man bought
it. The next day he came home from work to a house full of music. He went to
the cage to feed the bird and noticed for the first time that the parakeet had
only one leg. He felt cheated that he'd been sold a one-legged bird, so he
called to complain. "What do you want," the store owner responded,
"a bird who can sing or a bird who can dance?"
Good question
for times of discouragement. What do we want? That's what Jesus asks the
disciples. What do you want? Do you want temporary freedom, or eternal freedom?
Jesus sets about the task of restructuring their expectations, and he did it by
telling them a story. But not just any story.
He told them the
story of God and God's plan for his people. "Then starting with what Moses
and all the prophets had said about him, Jesus began to explain everything that
had been written about himself in the Scriptures." (v. 27) Interesting.
Jesus' cure for the discouraged and broken-hearted was the story of God –
beginning with Moses, and finishing with himself.
Why’d he do
that? Why did he give them a history lesson? Why did he go all the way back two
thousand years to the story of Moses? Maybe it’s because what they heard is
what we all need to hear when we’re discouraged: we need to hear that God is
still in control. We need to hear that it's not over until he says so. We need
to hear that life's mishaps and tragedies are not a reason to bail out. They’re
simply a reason to sit tight.
Corrie ten Boom
used to say, "When the train goes through a tunnel and the world gets
dark, do you jump out? Of course not. You sit still and trust the engineer to
get you through." Why did Jesus tell the story? So we'd know that the
engineer still controls the train. So how do we deal with discouragement? And
what’s the cure for disappointment? Go back to the story. Read it again and remember
that their story is yours.
For instance, is
the challenge too great? Read the story because that's you crossing the Red Sea
with Moses. Too many worries? Well, that's you receiving heavenly food with the
Israelites. Are your wounds too deep? Read the story because that's you, Joseph,
forgiving your brothers for betraying you. Your enemies too mighty? Picture
yourself marching with Jehoshaphat into a battle you’ve already won. Is your discouragement
too great? Read the story of the Emmaus-bound disciples. The Savior they
thought was dead now walked right there beside them. He entered their house and
sat at their table and ate with them. And something happened in their hearts.
"It felt like a fire burning in us when Jesus talked to us on the road and
explained the Scriptures to us." (v. 31)
So, the next time you're discouraged,
don't panic. Don't jump out. Don't give up. Just be patient and let God remind
you that he's still in control. Or as Yogi Berra would say, “It ain't over till
it's over.”
Grace,
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