Willie Nelson sings it. I'm sure some others sing it, too, but not like Willie! Now I want you to know that I don't live in the world of country music -- nor do I live in the world of opera. What some people who live in the world of opera and look down their noses at country music don't know, or haven't admitted, is that the story-line of opera and country music is often the same. It's the story of love and loss, of pain and suffering, of shattered dreams and courageous perseverance.

Consider this line from Conway Twitty's most recent album. "I couldn't see you leaving, but I can see you're gone."

Now consider this line from the opera, La Wally. Kallen Machen sang an aria from this opera at her marvelous concert a few weeks ago. The subject of the opera is the frustrated love of a young Swiss girl named Wally. At the end of Act I, her old father, a wealthy landowner threatens her with banishment from her house if she refuses to marry his overseer. Wally chooses to leave -- singing sadly, in her aria, "Wally is going very far away and you will never see her again."

Well, this sermon isn't about either country music or opera. It is about what both country music and opera are about: life...life in the raw, life as we experience it. And a good image for that is Willy Nelson's classic "On the Road Again." Listen to some of the words:

On the road again.Just can't wait to get on the road again.Goin' places where I've never been... I can't wait to get on the road again.

Willie romanticizes being "On the Road Again." But that's not a happy experience for most of us. For most of us, it's the symbol of lostness, loneliness, frustration, no-direction, little or no hope.

I don't know a better image to describe the experience of Cleopas and his companion, about whom we read in our Scripture lesson this morning, than Willie's refrain, "On the Road Again. Rehearse the story.

Cleophas and his companion were two followers of Jesus. They had counted on this man. With others, they had believed that he was the man -- the Son of Man, the long-awaited Messiah who would redeem Israel. There had been some convincing evidence. The power of his preaching, his healing ministry, the miracles he performed, his mastery even of nature. He refused to be controlled either by political or religious power blocks. The prophetic witness of his presence with the poor and oppressed which had always been the jubilee affirmation of Israel fit the longing. He even based his first sermon on the passage from the prophet Isaiah which proclaimed a day of jubilee, a day when God would bring relief to the poor, release to the captives, healing for the sick, liberation of the oppressed. The Jews believed that, and looked forward excitedly to that day. And Jesus witnessed to it in everything he said and did. So there was evidence that this was the man, the Son of man, the Messiah.

Then it happened -- the terror and the unbelievable nightmare of darkness which engulfed him and them so suddenly, shattering their spirits and devastating their lives. They crucified him. They took him out to a place of degradation and shame and strung him up like a common criminal. Little wonder Cleophas and other followers huddled together on Saturday -- scared for their skins, too stunned even for grief, uncertain and limp, all their dreams in ruins. This man, their man, was dead. There were rumors whispered about that his tomb was empty, that the women had come back after sunrise with the wild story about an angel speaking to them, about the stone being rolled back, and the grave clothes laying limp in the cave. But rumors are rumors. In their depressed state of mind, such stories seemed like "idle tales". So, Cleophas and Simon headed out of town -- downcast, defeated, doubtful, wanting to put some space and distance between them and the way they had committed their lives in previous days.

This is the scene as we enter the gospel drama. Dejected and in despair, they are leaving Jerusalem -- "on the road again" headed for Emmaus. Now bring the story home to ourselves. Two things are of special note.

I. EMMAUS IS EVERY PERSON'S TOWN

First, Emmaus is every person's town. I've been to the Emmaus of the Gospel story only once -- on my first visit to the Holy Land in 1968. That Emmaus is a village west of Jerusalem on the main road to the seacoast. But I've been to other Emmauses, too, for Emmaus is every person's town. It could have been any place, just as long as it was seven miles distance from frustration, confusion, grief and despair. They wanted to get out of town, to get away from it all in order to try to forget, to sort out their feelings and somehow find a way to start all over again. With chins dragging and hope at a low ebb, they head west talking together as if saying it again would somehow make it go away; retelling the story to one another to ease the pain and share the haviness.

"We know where Emmaus is, (don't we?). We have been there in one way or another at sometime in our lives...Emmaus is whatever we do or wherever we go to salvage and sort out our feelings, to summon the courage and desire to keep going on, or to try and forget. Emmaus is whatever we do or wherever we go to reclaim our sanity when our world goes to pieces; when our ideals and dreams are violated and distorted; when we discover the world holds nothing sacred; when love and goodness are rejected and profaned by selfish persons with demonic intent.

"It may happen at the betrayal of one we respect very much, or as the one we loved the most and with whom we have shared the intimacy of marriage leaves us for someone else. The death of our spouse or a parent may take us (to Emmaus). It may occur when we are terminated by a long-time employer without explanation, or as an illness confines us and there is no respite from pain, or when an illness strikes our child and she hovers between life and death and there is nothing we can do but hold her hand and just be there beside her. It may come with advancing age which forces us to pull up the roots of a lifetime, leave our home and accept the limitations of decreasing vitality.

"We may head for Emmaus when our involvement in the struggle to right a wrong winds up in utter defeat and the cause to which we gave a lifetime is undermined by the greed and deceit of trusted leaders. It may happen when our business fails and those whom we considered our friends suddenly shun us and treat us as forgotten failures. Or, it may come at a personal moral crisis when we wake up to how miserable we've made our own life and the lives of those who love us and we must decide whether we want to change, let go of the old and turn to God, receiving his saving power, pick up and start a new life.

"Yes, at the turning points and traumas of life, like those disciples of old, we head for some Emmaus to get away from it all, to wait it out or seek to discover how to live through it." (Don Shelby, "Close Encounters of The Third Day", a sermon preached on March 26, 1978).

You know what I am talking about, don't you? Emmaus is every person's town.

II. THE FRIEND WHO JOINS US

Then there is a second truth to be garnered from this story. Let it be etched clearly in our minds. In our Walk to Emmaus, in the midst of, or in the aftermath of defeat and despair, of suffering and pain, of confusion and doubt, there is always the friend who joins us. That's what happened to Cleopas and his companion. They were walking along in dejection and defeat, when all of a sudden they became aware of a third person.

Note three things about this encounter with "the stranger" who joined these disciples on the Emmaus Road. One, they didn't know who he was. Now what's important about that?, you ask. It's all important. Jesus often comes to us incognito.

Mother Theresa says He comes most often through those who are suffering, the poorest of the poor, those disenfranchised by the world. She tells the story of walking past an open drain and catching a glimpse of something moving in it. She investigated and found a dying man whom she took back to a home where he could die in love and peace. It took Mother Theresa and her sister two hours to get the lice off the man and give him the bath he had not had in who knows how long. "I live like an animal in the streets," the man told her. "Now I will die like an angel."

"How wonderful to see a person die in love," Mother Theresa exclaims, "with the joy of love, the perfect peace of Christ on his face." Then she added, "The dying man in the gutter is Jesus in distressing disguise.

That's the way Jesus often comes -- incognito. He joins us on the way and many times we don't even recognize Him.

But, not alone in such a dramatic commitment, and ministry, Jesus comes through a friend who will sit and listen. He comes through a husband or a wife who keeps on loving us when we are selfish and uncaring, calloused, even mean. He comes through a person who loves us enough to be honest with us, to help us face up to ourselves, and to see ourselves as we are. He comes through a friend who won't let us off the hook -- but keeps our feet to the fire in calling us to live out our Christian commitment. Jesus often comes to us incognito.

The second thing to note is that this stranger on the road helped them to make sense out of things. The whole situation seemed to these two men to have no explanation. Their hopes and dreams were shattered. There is all the poignant, wistful, bewildered regret in the world in their sorrowing words, "We were hoping he was the one who was going to rescue Israel." They are the words of men whose hopes are dead and buried. And then Jesus came and talked with them, and the meaning of life became clear to them, and the darkness became light. A story teller makes one of his characters say to the one with whom he has fallen in love, "I never knew what life meant until I saw it in your eyes." It is only in Jesus, even in the bewildering times, that Christians learn what life means. (Barclay, Daily Bible Study, The Gospel of Luke, page 309).

Jimmy Buskirk shared with some of us the story of a friend for whom Jesus had made sense out of life. Her life was an almost endless story of suffering -- very little relief at any time for the last 20 years of her life. It was almost like an expanding drama of suffering worked out to make each scene worse than the previous, and climaxing with cancer.

But, listen to this poem she wrote near the end of her life:

I've known a whole lot of Gravy
In my life,
Notwithstanding some turmoil and strife --
When all is said and done,
In the long, long run,
I've known a whole lot of Gravy
In my life!

I've known a whole lot of Chocolate Sauce And Nuts.
Notwithstanding some "ifs", "ands" and "buts" --
When all is said and done,
In the long, long run,
I've known a whole lot of Chocolate Sauce And Nuts.

I've known a whole lots of Icing On the Cake
Notwithstanding one or two heartbreaks --
When all is said and done,
In the long, long run,
I've known a whole lot of Icing On the cake!

I've known a whole lot of Rainbows In my skies
Notwithstanding one or two good cries --
When all is said and done,
In the long, long run,
I've known a whole lot of Rainbows In my skies!

Now that came from a woman whose life story was almost like that of Job, and who was dying of cancer when she wrote it.

It can be that way with us. Not that we will not be "on the road" of debilitating confusion or unexplained suffering, not that we will not know those hard times and wonder where God is in it all, but that Jesus will help us make sense out of it.

Then, the third thing to note is the courtesy of "the stranger" on the road. It is captured in the 28th and 29th verses. "So they drew near the village to which they were going, Jesus appeared to be going further, but they constrained him, saying, Stay with us, for it is toward evening and the day is now far spent."

Jesus does not force himself upon us. He awaited their invitation to come in. Here is focused for us the greatest and the most perilous gift God has given us -- the gift of free will.

A man owned a parrot and for five years, it refused to talk. He tried everything. He read books on the subject. He bought long-playing albums so the bird could repeat the words. Nothing helped.

Disgusted, he took the caged bird and started back to the pet store. As he crossed the street, a car was coming right at him. The bird yelled, "Look out!" The car hit the guy. And the bird said to a passerby, "How do you like that? For five years, he wanted me to talk, and when I finally said something, he didn't even listen!"

I wonder if, in the years that followed, Cleophas and his companion ever reflected upon what might have happened had they not invited Jesus to come in for supper. I've thought about it -- where would I be had I not invited Jesus into my life when I felt that strange presence and that insistent knocking on the door of my heart as I listened to that country Baptist preacher proclaim and explain the Gospel. I wonder where I would be if I had not invited Jesus to lead me vocationally when I felt that heavy pull to be a preacher of the Gospel, and couldn't understand how I could ever fulfill that calling.

What about you? Have you heard the gentle but persistent knock, and refused to open the door?

Young person, has Christ called you in some specific way -- to preach, to teach, to be a missionary, a hospital administrator or doctor, a nurse, a church musician, a Christian educator. Have you felt a strange and unexplained pull on your life -- drawing you to spend your life in a specific Christian vocation and service? Have you talked to anyone about that? You see, the choice is ours. Jesus won't force himself upon us. We have to invite him in.

Rehearse now. We are often "On the Road Again" for Emmaus is every persons' town. We head there -- or we seek such place, to get away when life deals harshly with us.

But when we are "on the road again, there is the Friend who joins us. Jesus may come incognito. But He comes and it's up to us to recognize Him. When He comes, He helps us make sense out of life.

And then this final thing: Whether He stays with us is up to us. He doesn't force Himself upon us. We have to invite Him.

Since our image is that of being "on the road again", I close with this.

Many have read the books of Peter and Barbara Jenkins, Walk Across America, and The Walk West: A Walk Across America 2. It's an amazing tale, a true life odyssey. Peter Jenkins walked by himself (with only his dog as a companion) from New York State to New Orleans. There he met his future wife, Barbara, and they took up the trek from New Orleans heading northwest across Texas, New Mexico, Utah, Idaho and then across Oregon to the Pacific Ocean. As they approached the end of the journey, they wrote to many of the people who had befriended them along the way inviting them to meet in Florence, Oregon, and walk the last mile with them and celebrate the completion of their dramatic journey. One of those who joined them for this moment of triumph in persistence was Barbara's 83-year-old grandmother, her only living grandparent, leading them. And she was singing. Jenkins said:

"Her voice was squeaky and high but sounded sweet to me as the slapping ocean waves that were just over the ridge ahead of us.Grandma's 83 year old hands were wrinkled,little and frail, but she held to us with a firm grip, walking in brisk steps. She wasn't even five feet tall and weighed a light 85pounds, but her tiny steps led the way, setting the pace for all of our friends behind us."

As they came over the dunes Barbara's grandma led them, singing the old church hymn called "The Last Mile of the Way":

If I walk in the pathway of duty,
If I work till the close of the day,
I shall see the great King in His beauty
When I've gone the last mile of the way.

So it is! We may think we'll never get to Emmaus and even when we get there, if we do, we may still be doubtful, and weary, and frustrated, and directionless.

We may think that we are going to be "on the road forever". And there is a sense in which we will be. But along the way -- and certainly at the end of the way, the stranger who is our Heavenly Friend, will meet us.