The Road We Walk When Our Hopes Have Been Deeply Disappointed
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The Road We Walk When Our Hopes Have Been Deeply Disappointed
Herb Montgomery | April 17, 2026
If you’d like to listen to this week’s article in podcast version click on the image below:
Our reading this week is from the gospel of Luke.
Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. And he said to them, “What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?” They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?” He asked them, “What things?” They replied, “The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place. Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him.” Then he said to them, “Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?” Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.
As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” So he went in to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were saying, “The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!” Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread. (Luke 24:13-35)
Our story this week is the walk to Emmaus found in in Luke 24:13–35. At its core, this is a story about disorientation, companionship, and the slow, often unrecognized emergence of hope. Two disciples leave Jerusalem in the aftermath of Jesus’ state execution, carrying with them shattered expectations of being part of movement for change that the empire has, once again, crushed. “We had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel.” Their words echo the grief familiar to anyone engaged in justice work today who has faced disappointing outcomes for their movement and labor: moments when movements falter, when violence prevails, when the arc of history itself seems to bend away from justice rather than toward it.
This passage speaks powerfully into my own lived experience in justice work because it refuses to deny despair. The disciples are not portrayed as faithless for their sorrow; they are honest. They had hoped for a different outcome, and instead they witnessed state violence, public execution, and the silencing of Jesus’ prophetic voice. In this way, the road to Emmaus begins not with triumph but with trauma. For modern justice movements confronting racism, economic inequality, gender unfairness, environmental collapse, LGBTQ exclusion, or other forms of systemic harm, our story mirrors the emotional landscape we often find ourselves inhabiting. Hope can sometimes be naive. Either way, hope also involves risk, and in moments where things don’t turn out the way we hoped, hope is something we can lose. We might even find ourselves feeling foolish.
It is precisely in this moment in our story, a moment of deep disillusionment, that the risen Jesus appears, though unrecognized. This detail is crucial. The presence of Jesus is not immediately obvious, nor does he come wrapped in spectacle or power. Instead, he comes alongside the disciples in the form of a stranger who listens and asks questions: “What are you discussing?” It’s a reminder that renewed hope begins with camaraderie. Recovering from such moments of disappointment begins with walking alongside others, hearing their stories, and honoring their grief.
In my own journey, I have too often given into the temptation to rush toward solutions, to fix, to speak, to act decisively. I agree that action is essential. Yet, this part of the Emmaus story suggests that listening is itself a form of sacred work. The stranger does not interrupt the disciples’ lament; he invites it. He creates space for them to articulate their pain and confusion. This models a form of solidarity rooted not in saviorism but in presence.
As the journey continues, the stranger begins to reinterpret their story, framing their experience within a larger narrative. He speaks of suffering not as defeat but as part of a broader movement toward liberation. I believe this reframing is vital. Systems of oppression often seek to define setbacks as final, to convince communities that resistance is futile. The Emmaus story resists that narrative. It insists that what appears to be the end may, in fact, be a hidden beginning. Jesus is about to show us the narrative meaning of resurrection: change is always forged through struggle and setbacks. The disciples are about to discover that, even in our most disappointing moments, injustice is neither permanent nor inevitable. Love and justice hold a power that cannot be buried.
Still, that recognition does not come on the road. It comes at the table.
When the disciples invite this stranger to stay with them, they enact a practice of hospitality. Their world is structured by exclusion and hierarchy, and so the simple act of welcoming the other becomes a site of transformation. It is in the breaking of bread, a shared, communal act that held great meaning for early Jesus followers, that their eyes are opened. They recognize the presence of the One who had been with them all along. He had been with them all along.
This moment carries some other profound implications, too. Liberation is not only something we strive toward. It is something we practice as we strive, through acts of inclusion, mutual care, and shared humanity. Our daily life choices harmonize with our overall vision for what we desire our world to be. The shared table in this week’s story becomes a symbol of the kind of world that movements seek to build, a world where resources are shared, where strangers become companions, and where ours and others’ humanity is affirmed.
It is here that recognition dawns. Recognition, in our story, happens in the context of these smaller, more communal actions not larger public ones. The disciples come to their awakening together. Justice movements, likewise, are also interpersonal endeavors. They depend on relationships, on shared community with others and with shared vision. The Emmaus story reminds us that clarity often emerges not in solitude but in the midst of communal life alongside others.
When recognition does finally dawn, the disciples recall, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road?” This language of a “burning heart” points to an awakening that is both emotional and embodied. Our work, too, is sustained by a deep, often visceral conviction that another world is possible. And this conviction many times will be renewed in the wake of deep disappointment. This renewal, even after we thought we had lost, is what keeps movements alive in the face of exhaustion and opposition for generations.
After they recognize Jesus, the disciples immediately return to Jerusalem. This is another important detail. Jerusalem is the place they had just left, the place of danger and repression, where their loss just took place. Yet their encounter with Jesus on the road transforms their original trajectory. They move back toward the center of struggle, not away from it. Hope does not lead them to escape the world’s pain but to re-engage it with renewed purpose.
For me, when I think of justice work today, this moment in the story deeply resonates. Encounters that rekindle hope, whether through relational community or private reflection, do not lead us away from our work; they send us back into it. They empower us to take it up again. The goal is not to find a safe distance from injustice but to return with a deeper sense of possibility and resilience.
The Emmaus story also challenges dominant notions of power. The risen Jesus is not revealed through domination or force but through vulnerability, relationship, and shared humanity. This stands in stark contrast to the systems of oppression that justice movements seek to dismantle today. These systems rely on coercion, exclusion, and control. The way of Jesus on the road to Emmaus reminds us that true transformation emerges not from replicating the patterns and methods we are trying to change, but from embodying alternative forms of influence rooted in love, solidarity, and walking alongside others on the way.
Finally, the story underscores the importance of storytelling itself. The early Jesus followers’ journey was shaped by the stories they tell: first a story of defeat, then a story of hope. Justice movements today are similarly narrative-driven. They challenge dominant stories that justify inequality by offering alternative narratives that envision a world shaped by liberation and justice, a world that is a safe home for everyone. The work of justice, in many ways, begins with the work of reimagining what our world could be and inviting others into that imagining.
What I love about our story this week is that the walk to Emmaus does not erase deep disappointment, glossing over it with easy, pat, or trite answers. Instead, it provides a framework for navigating the complexities of justice work in our midnight hours. In moments when things don’t turn out the way we had hoped, we can acknowledge our grief, we can practice presence with one another. We can lean into our community. It is here that hope is often renewed, new visions are born, hope reawakens, and we return to the struggle with a new understanding of what we have just encountered. Our story reminds us that even when hopes are dashed and the path forward is unclear, we are not alone, and, sometimes, the very act of walking together is where transformation begins.
Discussion Group Questions
1. Share something that spoke to you from this week’s podcast episode with your discussion group.
2. Share an experience (if you’re comfortable doing so) with your group of when you had your hope rekindled after a disappointing outcome.
3. What can you do this week, big or small, to continue setting in motion the work of shaping our world into a safe, compassionate, just home for everyone?
Thanks for checking in with us, today.
I want to say a special thank you to all of our supporters out there. And if you would like to join them in supporting Renewed Heart Ministries’ work you can do so by going to renewedheartministries.com and clicking donate.
My latest book Finding Jesus: A Fundamentalist Preacher Discovers the Socio-Political and Economic Teachings of the Gospels is available now on Amazon in paperback, Kindle and also on Audible in audio book format.
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Right where you are, keep living in love, choosing compassion, taking action, and working toward justice.
I love each of you dearly,
I’ll see you next week.
New Episode of The Social Jesus Podcast
A podcast where we talk about the intersection of faith and social justice and what a first century, prophet of the poor from Galilee might have to offer us today in our work of love, compassion and justice.
This week:
Season 3 Episode 17: The Road We Walk When Our Hopes Have Been Deeply Disappointed
Luke 24:13-35
Our story this week speaks powerfully into our own lived experiences in justice work because it refuses to deny despair. The disciples are not portrayed as faithless for their sorrow; they are honest. They had hoped for a different outcome, and instead they witnessed state violence, public execution, and the silencing of Jesus’ prophetic voice. In this way, the road to Emmaus begins not with triumph but with trauma. For modern justice movements confronting racism, economic inequality, gender unfairness, environmental collapse, LGBTQ exclusion, or other forms of systemic harm, our story mirrors the emotional landscape we often find ourselves inhabiting. Hope can sometimes be naive. Either way, hope also involves risk, and in moments where things don’t turn out the way we hoped, hope is something we can lose. We might even find ourselves feeling foolish. This week Emmaus does not erase deep disappointment, glossing over it with easy, pat, or trite answers. Instead, it provides a framework for navigating the complexities of justice work in our midnight hours. In moments when things don’t turn out the way we had hoped, we can acknowledge our grief, we can practice presence with one another. We can lean into our community. It is here that hope is often renewed, new visions are born, hope reawakens, and we return to the struggle with a new understanding of what we have just encountered. This story reminds us that even when hopes are dashed and the path forward is unclear, we are not alone, and, sometimes, the very act of walking together is where transformation begins.
Available on all major podcast carriers and at:
Finding Jesus: A Fundamentalist Preacher Discovers the Socio-Political & Economic Teachings of the Gospels.
by Herb Montgomery
Available now on Amazon!
In Finding Jesus, author Herb Montgomery delves into the profound and often overlooked political dimensions of the gospels. Through meticulous analysis of biblical texts, historical context, and social discourse, this thought-provoking book unveils the gospels’ socio-political, economic teachings as rooted in a profound concern for justice, compassion, and the well-being of the marginalized. The book navigates the intersections between faith and societal justice, presenting a compelling argument for a more socially engaged and transformative Christianity.
Finding Jesus is not just a scholarly exploration; it is a call to action. It challenges readers to reevaluate their understanding of Christianity’s role in public life and to consider how the radical teachings of the gospels can inspire a renewed commitment to justice, equality, and compassion. This book is a must-read for those seeking a deeper understanding of the social implications of Christian faith and a blueprint for building a more just and inclusive society.
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The Pain of Unanswered Prayer
Herb Montgomery | July 22, 2022
To listen to this week’s eSight as a podcast episode click here.
“When we don’t directly face the anguish caused because some of our most desperately wanted prayers are unanswered, the reality puts us in a state of torment. The conflict between what we think we are supposed to believe and the way things are causes a deep need for resolution that many never find. Some choose to simply live with the torment, and some of them are haunted by it. Others challenge what they have been taught to believe, and find rest.”
Our reading this week is from the gospel of Luke.
One day Jesus was praying in a certain place. When he finished, one of his disciples said to him, “Lord, teach us to pray, just as John taught his disciples.”
He said to them, “When you pray, say:
‘Father,
hallowed be your name,
your kingdom come.
Give us each day our daily bread.
Forgive us our sins, for we also forgive everyone who sins against us.
And lead us not into temptation.’
Then Jesus said to them, “Suppose you have a friend, and you go to him at midnight and say, ‘Friend, lend me three loaves of bread; a friend of mine on a journey has come to me, and I have no food to offer him.’ And suppose the one inside answers, ‘Don’t bother me. The door is already locked, and my children and I are in bed. I can’t get up and give you anything.’ I tell you, even though he will not get up and give you the bread because of friendship, yet because of your shameless audacity he will surely get up and give you as much as you need.
So I say to you: Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened.
Which of you fathers, if your son asks for a fish, will give him a snake instead? Or if he asks for an egg, will give him a scorpion? If you then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give the Holy Spirit to those who ask him!” (Luke 11:1-13)
For many people, this week’s reading brings up painful memories and deep questions about unanswered prayers.
The first portion of the prayer is believed to have come from the same source as Matthew’s version:
“Father, hallowed by your name, your kingdom come.”
Here, within his own cultural setting, Jesus is praying for a world where resources are justly distributed to all. Where everyone has what they need to thrive. In that patriarchal culture, the father was the householder who had the responsibility of maintaining a just distribution of resources for all within the household. No one was to have too much while others didn’t have enough. (For more on this see God the Father, Exclusive Othering, and a Distributive Justice for All)
I know the language of kingdom is also problematic, being both patriarchal and undemocratic. Today, we live in different social contexts from the audiences for which the gospels were originally written. In our social contexts, we can use better language to describe a just world where everyone has what they need to thrive.
Nonetheless, what this language is attempting to describe is a just world order. This prayer is a patient expression of longing for some other iteration of our present world. It is a prayer that this world, with all its injustice, violence, and hurt, will be put right.
This context helps explain the next phrase that both Matthew’s and Luke’s versions have in common—that we will together all have our daily bread. This means that we will have what we need, not simply to survive but also to thrive. It is not a spiritual prayer but a physical one. It is concerned with the concrete needs of people living their daily lives in the here and now.
From time to time I hear pastors say that saving souls for the afterlife is to be our mission as followers of Jesus. They denounce being concerned with matters of justice and rights and equality in this life and so reveal their own privileged social locations here. Jesus’ prayer calls that gross other-world focus squarely into question.
Luke’s version changes the third prayer request from the debt cancelation Matthew’s version includes to forgiveness for sins. This might represent a shift taking place in the Jesus movement away from calls for economic justice to forgiving sins in general. I’ve written before on my preference for Matthew’s version and why in our context today Matthew’s call for economic justice and plea for reduced inequality and the year of Jubilee is more life-giving. (For more on this, see A Prayer for Debts Cancelled.)
After the prayer, Jesus and the disciples share an anecdote intended to emphasize the importance of persistence in prayer. The story is rooted in Mediterranean shame/honor cultural expectations and the social tensions connected to them. In that region it would be shameful not to show hospitality to a friend who arrives late from a journey, and it would also be shameful for someone to approach their neighbor to help show hospitality very late at night. The person in the story chooses to risk the shame of going to their neighbor late at night over risking the shame of not being hospitable to their unexpected guest.
It’s difficult for us in our contexts today to understand how deep these social expectations of hospitality were in this culture and how strong the sense of shame would be if someone failed to meet them. A host cannot bring themselves to deny sustenance to their guest and must thus ask for help, despite the inconvenience hour. Luke adds that the neighbor finally decides to help because of the host’s persistence.
It’s awkward to use a story about hospitality to teach a different value, persistence in prayer. But Luke’s gospel attempts it nonetheless.
That’s how this reading becomes problematic. Presuming that God is good and that goodness is the only variable in prayers being answered, Luke’s Jesus uses some troublesome absolute language:
“Ask and it will be given to you; seek and you will find; knock and the door will be opened to you. For everyone who asks receives; the one who seeks finds; and to the one who knocks, the door will be opened.”
If only it were that simple. If only answered prayers were solely dependent on the variable of an all powerful, good Divine being. Absolutes like this have produced atheists when reality doesn’t line up with the teaching.
Because everyone who asks doesn’t receive.
Sometimes those who seek don’t find.
Sometimes the door remains closed in spite of our persistent knocking.
And it’s okay to admit this!
I don’t claim to know how God, the universe, or prayer work. What I do know is that absolute language like this, used by the author of Luke’s version of the Jesus story, has proven to be more troublesome than helpful when people experience bad things in their lives and the prayers we need answered are not.
In this month’s recommended reading from Renewed Heart Ministries, Nancy Eiesland quotes Nancy Mairs’ book, Carnal Acts: Essays:
“The bodies we inhabit and the lives those bodies carry on need not be perfect to have value. Bad things do happen, we know—to bad and good people alike—but so do good things. Life’s curses, like life’s blessings are always mixed.” (In The Disabled God: Toward a Liberatory Theology of Disability, p. 13)
I find the expectation that some prayers may not be answered or are even unanswerable to be more life-giving in my own work of endeavoring to shape our world into a safer, more just, more compassionate home for everyone.
I never see the Jesus of the gospels waxing eloquent in Hellenistic philosophical fashion to explain why bad things happen and why some prayers go unanswered. What I do find is a Jesus who calls his followers to keep doing what they have the capacity to do to be the answer to other people’s prayers. Being someone else’s answer is something I can often do (not always). I’m going to have to accept that is enough.
Not all prayers are answered. And they are not all answered for a multitude of reasons.
Yes, we can say that. We must, because it’s true.
When we don’t directly face the anguish caused because some of our most desperately wanted prayers are unanswered, the reality puts us in a state of torment. The conflict between what we think we are supposed to believe and the way things are causes a deep need for resolution that many never find. Some choose to simply live with the torment, and some of them are haunted by it. Others challenge what they have been taught to believe, and find rest.
I believe there is wisdom in facing this pain rather than living in denial.
It is in facing our disappointments that we begin to grieve and in the end our spirits are released.
Believing that everyone who asks receives can impact our personal well-being when we don’t receive. This doesn’t even begin to address how believing the absolutes about answered prayer can often relieve us of our own responsibilities to take action on behalf of others and sometimes even ourselves.
But I believe the path of healing begins not with believing that the door is always opened for those who just knock long enough, nor even with the belief that all prayers are answered, but instead with coming to terms with the reality that, for whatever reason makes the most sense to you and is most life-giving for you, sometimes we pray, and don’t receive.
HeartGroup Application
1. Share something that spoke to you from this week’s eSight/Podcast episode with your HeartGroup.
2. If you feel comfortable, please share with your group a story of how you had to come to terms with a prayer that went unanswered, and how you processed that experience.
3. What can you do this week, big or small, to continue setting in motion the work of shaping our world into a safe, compassionate, just home for everyone?
Thanks for checking in with us, today.
Right where you are, keep living in love, choosing compassion, taking action, and working toward justice.
I love each of you dearly,
I’ll see you next week
Begin each day being inspired toward love, compassion, action, and justice.
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