“Lost in the Mountains, Found on the Road to Emmaus”

De Colores

I’ve got this memory that still makes me shake my head.

We were in that sweet spot of family vacation...middle of nowhere, winding mountain roads, a van full of snack wrappers, and Veggie Tales blaring somewhere behind me. The kids were singing “His Cheeseburger” like it was a worship anthem. My GPS was working fine one minute, then boom-nothing. Just a blank screen and a spinning circle. Dead zone.

I didn’t panic. (At least not out loud.) I figured I’d trust my instincts and keep driving. Surely the road would eventually lead somewhere familiar.

Spoiler: it didn’t.

After several miles of “I think it’s this way,” my wife leaned over and said, “You know… we could just pull over and ask someone.” And in my head, I thought, that feels like defeat.

But it wasn’t. It was wisdom. It was humility. It was recognizing I didn’t have to be the one with all the answers. Letting go didn’t mean I failed…it just meant I trusted someone who knew the road better than I did. This is where EMMAUS comes into view. People, or Pilgrims as they are called who have walked these well worn paths and come back to lead others.

That moment came flooding back to me recently as I was thinking about how much pressure so many of us carry, not just students, not just parents, but people. People who are quietly exhausted from trying to keep everything from falling apart. (Have you read my blogpost for Mother’s Day yet?)

If that’s you right now, I hope you’ll keep reading.

What IS Emmaus?

I think Chad Yoho described it best for me when he said "I can sit and describe the Grand Canyon to you and expect you to have the same excitement and feeling as I had when I went...OR I can simply show you and let you experience it for yourself.

That best describes why people are so funny about talking about Emmaus. It's THEIR VIEW of the awe of God and His Majesty. A private view reserved for the one who sat at the feet of our Creator during those sacred moments on those four days.

THis is a 5,00 foot view of what I experienced during my Emmaus Walk and I think that you might be surprsed about where it led me.

Here's what I Learned Through My Walk

I want to remind you of something I’ve needed to relearn over and over: You know, when David writes, “The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want,” I’ve got to be honest—my first thought when I was a teen was:

"Wait… you don’t want Him? Like, “Sorry God, you’re nice and all, but I’m good”?

Of course, that’s not what David meant, but if I’m real, there have been times I’ve acted like that’s exactly how I felt. Times when I wanted to be my own shepherd. I wanted to pick my own path, graze in my own pastures, drink from whatever stream I felt like. And to be fair… that sounds way more independent and exciting until you realize you’ve just eaten poison ivy and are drinking from a puddle in the middle of a cow pasture.

When I finally slow down enough to realize that He is the perfect Shepherd to lead me, it changes everything. Because being my own shepherd? Exhausting. But letting God lead? That’s when I can finally rest.

I really like the way another puts it:  “The Lord is my Shepherd, I lack nothing.”

I lack Nothing.

It’s one of those verses I’ve read a hundred times, but sometimes it hits different, especially when I’m feeling like I’m coming up short in all the areas that seem to matter most.

I’ll be real…that’s not always easy to live like it’s true. Most of us are so used to holding everything together that the idea of letting go doesn’t sound like trust… it sounds like weakness. (Like my GPS experience.)

But maybe that’s the challenge.

What if trusting God doesn’t look like holding on tighter, but letting go of the need to control? Letting go of the pressure to fix it. Letting go of the fear of what’s next. Letting go of the lie that it’s all on you.

When the Valley Feels Too Dark

Psalm 23 doesn’t pretend that everything’s always green pastures and still waters. David shifts gears fast. Because life shifts fast, too.

“Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for You are with me.” —Psalm 23:4

I know the phrase has been used in a million dramatic movie trailers, but David isn’t being poetic for the sake of it. This was real for him. The man had literal enemies. Saul was hunting him down.

And I think that’s the part we sometimes forget when life blindsides us. Whether it’s plans falling apart, relationships shifting, or the future looking foggier than ever… it’s not evidence that God’s missing. He’s still right there.

Not ghosting you. He's not tapping out, and He's NOT waiting for you to “get it together.”

He stays close. Like… uncomfortably close. The kind of close where you’re standing in the kitchen at 11 p.m. eating cold pizza over the sink...still there. (You know the scene. Maybe you’ve lived it.)

I’ve had my own valley seasons, those moments where I honestly just wanted life to hit pause so I could catch my breath or catch a break. Where I thought, If I just pray harder… lead better… push through a little more… maybe I can fix it.

But I couldn’t. And the breakthrough didn’t come through some big miracle moment or dramatic spiritual breakthrough.

It came in the quiet.

It was a dying moment...when I finally admitted I couldn’t carry it all. When I stopped trying to be the hero of my own story and started asking God to carry what I couldn’t. And I’ll tell you the truth, it didn’t fix everything. But it changed something in me. I wasn’t carrying it alone anymore.

For me, that’s what makes Psalm 23 so powerful. It doesn’t promise us an escape hatch from the hard stuff. It promises presence. God’s presence.

A Shepherd who doesn’t leave.

Who doesn’t flinch at our fear.

Who doesn’t require us to be strong before He steps in.

But Psalm 23 flips that whole idea on its head. It doesn’t show us peace that waits until everything’s perfect. It shows us peace that walks right into the middle of the chaos and sits down with us.

It’s a different kind of peace, the kind that doesn’t depend on circumstances. You could even call it “a peace that passes understanding” (Phil 4:7). The kind that sticks around when everything feels like it’s falling apart.

David writes:  “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies. You anoint my head with oil; my cup overflows.” Psalm 23:5

Let’s pause on that for a second, because that’s kind of wild.

David doesn’t say that:

  - God removed his enemies,

  - cleared the battlefield, and then invited him to dinner.

No. He says in the presence of my enemies, right there in the chaos, in the tension, in the unresolved mess, God sets a table.

You Can Rest Even When It’s Not Resolved 

That might sound nice, but let’s be real…who actually does that? Who sits down to feast when the drama is still brewing and when your heart is still racing.

According to David, someone who knows the Shepherd. Someone who trusts that peace isn’t about perfection or control. Most importantly,… it’s about who’s with you.

Singer Sheila Walsh says that “Peace is not the absence of trouble, but the presence of Christ.”

God isn’t waiting for you to get it all together before He shows up with peace. He’s already at the table, already pouring the drink, already pulling out the chair saying, “Come sit. I’ve got this.”

And not just barely got it. David says, “my cup overflows.” That’s more than enough. That’s abundance. That’s God saying, “I’m not just giving you a little bit of help. I’m giving you more than you even realized you needed.”

That’s hard to wrap our minds around—especially when we’re used to thinking peace only comes after the drama ends, after the test is over, after the stress is gone.  But maybe that’s why this kind of peace is different. Maybe it’s not something we can create. Maybe it’s something we have to receive.

Humor me, let’s read this in its entirety for a moment:

Psalm 23

The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures.

He leads me beside still waters.

He restores my soul.

He leads me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake.

Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.

David’s pictures here are the fix:

Green pastures. Still waters, a rod and a staff.

The green pastures remind me that God gives me what I need, not just food for my stomach, but rest for my soul. But I have to lie down to enjoy it. Sheep can’t graze at a sprint, and neither can we. Sometimes the holiest thing you can do is stop striving and rest in what God has already given you.

The still waters are about refreshment. Rushing rapids might look exciting, but sheep can’t drink there, they’ll get swept away. Still water is safe water. God knows when our pace, our schedule, or our stress is pulling us into unsafe waters, and He slows us down so we can drink deeply without fear.

When you feel the anxiety building, don’t just push through. Stop and ask, “Where’s my green pasture right now? Where’s the still water?” Then look for ways to rest and be refreshed whether that’s a quiet moment with Scripture, a walk outside, or simply sitting in silence. And as you rest, remember: the Shepherd is holding the rod and the staff. You are guarded. You are guided.

This is what the EMMAUS Community has meant to me. This is what it meant to "get away" and to experience healing and Peace on another level that can't be taken for granted or quickly forgotten. I am so very thankful that Kristin got to experience that for herself this past weekend. Thankful for the men and women who helped support her and to make that possible.

-Until All Have Heard

Pastor Mark