BELOVED
MESSAGE FROM THE ROUGH PATHS OF LIFE
As I walked along the road to Emmaus, my mind was filled with a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. My heart was heavy with the weight of disappointment and confusion, as the events of the past few days had left me reeling. I had pinned all my hopes on Jesus, the man I had come to believe was the long-awaited Messiah. But now, he was gone, crucified on a cross like a common criminal.
Despite my despair, I found myself in the company of a stranger, who graciously offered to walk with me. As we journeyed together, I couldn't help but share my story, my heartache, and my deepest longings. I spoke of the miracles Jesus had performed, the wisdom he had shared, and the love he had shown to all who encountered him. I told this stranger how I had believed that Jesus was the one who would free us from the oppression of Roman rule, and how his brutal death had shattered those hopes.
My new companion listened attentively, offering words of comfort and understanding. He then began to share his own understanding of the Scriptures, drawing connections between the ancient texts and the life, teachings, death, and resurrection of Jesus. As he spoke, a new understanding began to emerge, like the first light of dawn breaking through the darkness of night.
I realized that Jesus had not only fulfilled the prophecies of the Hebrew Bible but had done so in a way that transcended my expectations. He had not come to be a political savior, but rather a spiritual one. He had not come to conquer through force, but through love, sacrifice, and selflessness. He had come to save us from ourselves, from the sin and darkness that had separated us from God.
My heart began to burn within me as I listened, as if I were hearing the Scriptures for the first time. I felt a newfound sense of purpose and hope, as if I were awakening from a deep sleep. And as we approached the village of Emmaus, I felt a sudden desire to invite this stranger to join us for a meal, to express my gratitude for his companionship and wisdom.
As we sat down to eat, the stranger took the bread, gave thanks, broke it, and began to give it to us. In that moment, my eyes were opened, and I recognized him as the resurrected Jesus himself. But just as suddenly as he had appeared, he vanished from our sight.
In the days and weeks that followed, I couldn't shake the profound impact that this encounter had on me. I felt compelled to share my newfound understanding with others, to spread the good news of Jesus and his teachings. I became an evangelist, traveling from town to town, sharing the story of Jesus and his love for humanity.
As I walked those dusty roads, I began to realize that my education had not ended with the formal schooling of my youth. Instead, it had only just begun. The true education I received on the road to Emmaus - the wisdom, the insight, the transformation - was one that could not be measured by diplomas or certificates. It was a deeper, more profound learning, rooted in the lived experiences of encountering the divine, of being open to the movement of the Spirit, and of allowing myself to be led by love and grace.
And so, as I continue on this journey of faith, I am constantly reminded of the importance of staying open to new learnings, to remaining teachable, and to embracing the ongoing process of transformation. For it is in these moments of encounter - with ourselves, with others, and with God - that we discover the true essence of education, one that is not limited by classrooms or curricula, but that permeates every aspect of our lives.
In the end, the road to Emmaus taught me that education is not merely an acquisition of knowledge but a way of life, a journey of growth and self-discovery, and a pursuit of wisdom that transcends the confines of our intellect. It is a path that leads us to the heart of what it means to be human, to be in relationship with one another, and to be in communion with the divine. May we all be so fortunate to embark on this journey, wherever it may lead us.
WE SHALL MOVE ON TO PART THREE...
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