Remember Cleopas?
(I have a picture of him just above my computer screen.)
He was having a really bad day. At great personal risk, he invested everything he had into this new movement, this movement that was going to change the world. Their leader was unstoppable. He could do anything. He wasn’t afraid of anyone. Of course they had enemies (who doesn’t?), but they weren’t afraid. God was at their back, and the future belonged to them.
But then the unthinkable happened. A member of the inner circle turned into a mole, a traitor. He secretly arranged for their leader to be ambushed in the middle of the night, hauled off to a sham trial, convicted of crimes never committed, and then publicly executed in the most painful, humiliating way possible.
The message was clear: You don’t mess with the powers that be.
Now every member of the movement was like a rat in sudden sunshine, scurrying for cover, trying to find a place to hide.
Cleopas and his buddy (sorry, I don’t have his name), were getting out of town, trying to find a place to lie low, and figure out what to do with their broken dreams.
They’re walking along, and this stranger decides to join them.
“What’s going on?” the stranger wants to know.
“You haven’t heard?”
What follows is the conversation Cleopas never expected—about how human bullies don’t have the power to mess with the plans and purposes of God, how hope can be found in the most unexpected place, how even death cannot stand in the way of God.
Then their eyes were opened. The stranger wasn’t a stranger at all.
He was Jesus.
(You can read the story in Luke 24.)
Yes.
That’s how it works.
It is both comforting and startling, seismic at a soul level, it changes everything. One moment it feels true inside that we are all alone, we will never be loved, we don’t have what it takes, something bad is going to happen, and it’s all our fault—we will be ruined.
And then Jesus.
Call it a paradigm shift. The wind has stopped, the lake is still, and now, finally, we realize who is in the boat with us—the Master of all our storms, the only one who can say, “Peace, be still; don’t cry; Lazarus, come forth!”
Jesus changes what feels true inside, and in the place of all our panic, where we once felt the need to hide—even from ourselves, the storm has stopped, our soul is still, and the peace that cannot be explained remains.
So yeah.
Any time you can check that box, that’s a big win for the Kingdom of God.
Be encouraged!
Dwight