They were on the way to Emmaus—
a small village, not too far from Jerusalem.
They were grief-stricken travelers,
saddened by the crucifixion
of only a few days before.
Their eyes were "holden" so that
they could not for the moment recognize their Master.
A stranger, traveling alone, joined them
and explained to them the Scriptures.
Later they "rose up ... and returned to Jerusalem."
Yesterday, beckoned by materialism's tempting call,
I left Jerusalem, my habitation of peace.
No Emmaus I sought but a village—any village—
that promised intoxicating laughter and joy.
I trudged an uncharted way, never dreaming
a lone-traveling stranger would join me
on my barren path. "Beginning at Moses," this
Way-shower pointed life's Scripture-charted path.
My heart aflame. I quietly "rose up," turned my back
on the viewless village and, peacefully, came home again,
to Jerusalem.
