The Journey of Mary Cleopas

This story was written in lieu of a sermon for our Zoom service on Sunday 26th April; the second Sunday after Easter. The gospel story was Luke 24:13-35 - The Road to Emmaus. In the story, only one of the disciples is named - Cleopas. In this reimagining of the tale, I have assumed the other to be his wife - the same woman mentioned who was present at Christ's crucifixion in John's gospel. I have tried to find parrallels between that initial time after Jesus' death, and the situation in which we all find ourselves today. I hope you enjoy reading it.

A statue of St Mary Cleophas

It was a much nicer day than it should have been. You’d have thought given everything that had happened, the sky would be dark and the rain would be lashing down – you know, the kind of rain that stings you as you try to rush your way through it, trying your vainest best to make your way home before you are almost literally soaked to the bone, and your skin is red and cold from the unheavenly onslaught. But, it wasn’t. The skies were blue, as if they had not a care in the world, and the sun shone clear and bright as if God himself was smiling.

But we had no idea why God would be smiling.

I’d said as much to Cleopas on our journey home. Cleopas is my husband. We’ve been married many years now, and seen a lot of things. But we’d never seen anything like this.

The weather had no right to be as nice as it was. It was only a few days since I stood on that hill and watched him die. No-one was able to comfort him when he died – his mother couldn’t even hold his hand. And when he was thirsty, they had to hold up a sponge on the end of a stick for him. We should have been able to gently hold a cup to his lips, and instead, we were so far away, they had to wave a stick in his face. A stick. The sky turned black then. It should have stayed black.

Cleopas and I were talking about it as we hurried back to our home at Emmaus. Of course we were; what else was there to talk about? We had had so much hope in him – he was supposed to be the one to save us all, to bring about a whole new world, but instead, he bowed down his head, held out his hands and let them kill him. We just couldn’t understand. The world had gone mad. No, not just mad – wrong. It was all broken.

And then, just as we were talking, the stranger joined us. Neither of us saw where he came from; one minute we were walking together, and the next, he was alongside us. It was disconcerting, to be honest, and to tell the truth, a bit frightening. You can’t be too careful, can you? I mean, if the powers-that-be had killed the teacher, then surely, they must be looking for his followers too? Who was this man working for?

He asked what we were talking about, and I was sure it must be a trap, so I said nothing – it was such an odd question; there was only one conversation topic these days. I gestured to Cleopas to keep silent too, but eventually he spoke.

It turns out the stranger was not some form of spy, but that he was a teacher too. When we expressed our sorrow and despair at what had happened, as we continued our journey, he walked us through the law and the prophets, showing us all the way through scripture how God’s chosen one was destined to suffer in this way. It all added up, but, to tell you the truth, I didn’t like the answer. What good was a saviour who gave up at the first sign of trouble? What good was a dead leader, other than as a martyr? Was one of the others now supposed to rise up and take his place? None of them – not one of us were in any position to do that. I told the stranger as much as we turned the final corner and entered our village – “we are defeated”.

Cleopas thanked him for his company and told him we’d come to the end of our journey.

“It’s not the end,” the teacher replied. “This is not the end.” And as if to symbolise what he’d just said, he went on with his journey. He didn’t even say goodbye.

I called him back – the hour was late, and that blue sky was fading into twilight. I know we must be careful about who we invite into our homes these days, but he’d been our companion for the last five or six miles. Besides, he must have been just as hungry as we were – we’d not eaten at all on our journey.

So, he came in to stay with us. We did not have much in the house to eat – we weren’t expecting to be leaving Jerusalem in such a hurry and nor so soon, but I found some bread, and some wine and brought them to the table and we started to relax for the first time in three days. Cleopas was about to offer thanks for our food, but then the teacher took it up. He broke the bread, and, like so many times before, he blessed it and gave it to us. 

And then we saw who he was.

He left. I don’t remember it happening, but it was as quickly as he appeared.

It’s funny – he was walking with us the whole time, and we did not notice. We were so caught up in the angst and the fear, and the news, and the weather, and even trying to work out what the teacher was trying to do, that we never thought to look for him, that we never saw he was with us all along – not until we just…stopped.

And now? Well, now Cleopas and I are on our way back to Jerusalem. That’s as much as we know really. I can’t pretend to know the teacher’s plans. I don’t know how all this ends, but I do know it isn’t ended yet. This is not the end. We are not defeated. I have seen the Lord, and he was with us all along.

And, whilst he might not be the messiah I had hoped him to be, I think he’s the one I needed. We had hope – I thought it was gone, but that hope is not lost; it is just different now. And it needs us to share it.