Over the course of three Sundays in the last month, in two different churches across two states, I heard three different speakers teach out of the same story in Luke 24.
By the time we got to the third sermon, I started to take notice.
What rang out to me this time wasn’t an inductive Bible study or a particularly new perspective. It was infinitely more simple—and far more challenging. The speaker simply quoted the first three words of verse 21.
We had hoped…
And this, he said, “is the sum of the human condition.”
She had hoped he was the one.
He had hoped his suspicions were unfounded.
We had hoped we would wake up and this nightmare would be over.
I hear the echo of these disciples’ words on their way to Emmaus in so many parts of my story:
When my world fell apart after devastating spiritual abuse—
When my children made choices that left me worried and concerned—
When my prayers were answered in a way I would never have chosen—
I had hoped.
I had hoped it would go another way. I had hoped to avoid that pain. And perhaps most of all, I had hoped I would recognize Jesus on the road with me—the way He walked with Cleopas and his friend.
Proverbs 13:12 tells us that, “Hope deferred makes the heart sick,” and I have felt that.
The disappointments of this life, especially for those who have walked through trauma around their faith, threaten us with disillusionment.
But what if Jesus is with us, interrupting our stories in unexpected ways?
What if Jesus is with us, interrupting our stories in unexpected ways?
What if He is right there with us in our deepest disappointments?
I had hoped He would interrupt my story the way He did in Luke. But isn’t that an important part of the story? That they didn’t recognize Him at first?
In trauma and story work, we’re taught to “follow the affect,” which means to pay attention to what stirs your emotions.
Luke’s story hits me this way when I read, “We had hoped…” The same thing happens earlier in the passage when “Jesus Himself suddenly came and began walking with them.” I hear those words and I’m stirred, feeling something of longing.
Like many of us, my instinct is to push it away, but that yearning in my heart is good.
That yearning in your heart is good, too.
Too often we turn on ourselves for longing for goodness and redemption. But our deep yearning for God to be who we always hoped He would be is honest and raw and good. The disciples in Luke name it well when they say, “We had hoped…” And yet, this was not the end of their story. And it isn’t the end of our stories, either.
In places where you feel disappointment and yearning, take notice. Untended disappointment has a way of taking us under. Tend it well.
Where the words “We had hoped…” hit a chord, walk gently. Make room for longing. Talk with wise friends; write a lament; journal; eat good food. Be on the lookout for Jesus. You may not recognize Him yet, but He is with you even now.
“I remain confident of this: I will see the goodness of the LORD in the land of the living.” - Psalm 27:13 (niv)