Patience: Faith in the Slow Lane | 7/6/25
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What situations in your own life test your patience the most?
How might you reframe those experiences through the lens of “Christ-like patience”?
When have you experienced someone showing persistent patience on your behalf?
What did that mean to you, and how did it shape your own sense of worth or faith?
Read Luke 24:13–35 again. How does this story challenge the way we often expect Jesus to work in our lives or in the world?
Are we sometimes missing his presence because we are too focused on quick results?
Where do you see Christ-like patience needed in our community today?
Are there long journeys of justice, healing, or reconciliation that your church or neighborhood is still walking?
What’s one small act of “active patience” you could take this week?
It could be a conversation, a commitment to listen, or staying present in a slow or frustrating process.
Transcript:
“Mom, are we there yet?”
This is a phrase I remember saying on repeat. Any time that my family would go on vacation, almost like every ten minutes, I needed to know. Are we there yet? Are we there yet? How about now? Are we there yet? On this side of adulthood—and now that I have two beautiful children of my own—it hits a little bit differently.
And it's amazing how a phrase that originates from a place of impatience tends to stir up even more impatience, until all of us in the car are pleading, “Can we just get there already?” I'm sure none of you know what that feels like.
Patience is a hard fruit to foster. We live in a world where we don't have to wait for much of anything anymore. The whole world is at the touch of our fingertips. With one Google search, we can have all the information we want to know about everything at the click of a button. My whole Amazon cart can be here tomorrow.
We claim that patience is a virtue, but I wonder if we as a society have forgotten what it looks like to wait patiently—for answers to hard questions, to wait for treatment to end, to wait for a new season of life to begin, to wait for something, anything, to change for the better.
So I wonder what it looks like for our lives today—what it means to practice patience in the world that we live in right now.
To help us understand the nature of patience, we turn to a story of a different kind of journey this morning from the Gospel of Luke, chapter 24, the very last chapter, verses 13 through 35.
It’s the third day after Jesus’ death, and two disciples are leaving Jerusalem and trying to make sense of all that had just happened.
Hear now these words:
On that same day, two disciples were traveling to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem. They were talking to each other about everything that had happened. While they were discussing these things, Jesus himself arrived and joined them on their journey, but they were prevented from recognizing him.
He said to them, “What are you talking about as you walk along?” They stopped, their faces downcast. The one named Cleopas replied, “Are you the only visitor to Jerusalem who is unaware of the things that have taken place there over the last few days?”
Jesus said to them, “What things?”
They said to him, “The things about Jesus of Nazareth. Because of his powerful deeds and words, he was recognized by God and all the people as a prophet. But our chief priests and our leaders handed him over to be sentenced to death, and they crucified him. We had hoped he was the one who would redeem Israel.
All these things happened three days ago. But there is more. Some women from our group left us stunned. They went to the tomb early this morning and didn’t find his body. They came to us saying they had even seen a vision of angels who told them that he’s alive. Some of those who were with us also went to the tomb and found things just as the women said. They didn’t see him.”
Then Jesus said to them, “You foolish people! Your dull minds keep you from believing all that the prophets talked about. Wasn’t it necessary for the Christ to suffer these things and then enter into his glory?”
Then he interpreted for them the things written about himself in all the scriptures, starting with Moses and going through all the prophets.
When they came to Emmaus, he acted as if he was going on ahead. But they urged him, saying, “Stay with us. It’s nearly evening and the day is almost over.” So he went in to stay with them. After he took his seat at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them.
Their eyes were opened and they recognized him, but he disappeared from their sight. They said to each other, “Weren’t our hearts on fire when he spoke to us along the road and when he explained the scriptures for us?”
They got up right then and returned to Jerusalem. They found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were saying to each other, “The Lord has really risen! He appeared to Simon!” Then the two disciples described what had happened along the road and how Jesus had been made known to them as he broke the bread.
My friends, this is the Word of God for us, the people of God. And we say together, “Thanks be to God.”
Will you pray with me?
God of holy patience, we ask that by your Spirit you would meet us in this place this morning. Open our hearts and our minds, Lord Jesus, that we would hear all you have to say to us this day. Amen.
Jesus had just played the best party trick of all time. He had defeated death, and he was alive. And so as he approached the disciples on the dusty road to Emmaus, I wonder if he was contemplating what their responses would be to his presence.
This was the first physical appearance of Jesus noted in Luke’s gospel. The women and Peter simply discovered an empty tomb at this point. I wonder if Jesus was expecting tears of joy or shocked expressions or at least a celebration that would last the whole way to Emmaus.
But he quickly realizes that there would be no tears, there would be no shock, there would be no celebration—because these disciples had no idea who was walking alongside them. They didn’t recognize the presence of the risen Christ who was traveling with them.
Instead, they were caught ruminating and wrestling with all that had just happened—which is understandable. They were confused and disappointed. Their chief priests, the appointed and trusted leaders of their Jewish nation, along with the Roman governor, had their beloved teacher put to death.
They had hoped, with all hope, that Jesus would be the Savior they had been waiting for. But now? Now, they weren’t so sure.
In frustration, Jesus exclaims, “How foolish you are!”
At this point in the conversation, Jesus could have made a different choice. He could have revealed his identity and the celebration could commence. But that’s not what Jesus chose.
Instead, Jesus invited them to a different kind of journey.
In the span of seven miles—effectively, the distance between right here where we are sitting at Trinity to Bo Diddley Plaza in downtown Gainesville—that’s roughly 2.5 hours of leisurely walking. During that time, Jesus patiently summarizes 1,500 years of prophetic history, beginning with Moses all the way through the prophets who were right before his birth.
Jesus wanted them to not only see him, not only identify him as Jesus the Christ, but to truly believe with all of their heart, soul, mind, and strength that he was the fulfillment of the hope they had been waiting for their entire lives. Jesus was the Messiah.
But that revelation could not have happened in an instant. Jesus needed to be patient—persistently patient.
Jesus knew that patience is not passivity. It’s timing to achieve something dear, something of deep importance. It wasn’t until the end of that journey of learning that these disciples understood with their whole beings—sitting at that dinner table in Emmaus—when Jesus broke the bread, gave thanks, and then, only then, did they see his true identity.
But then… he was gone.
The miracle of this story is not the revelation. It is not that moment of recognition. The miracle is the journey itself.
After Jesus’s entire ministry, for these disciples not to have recognized him for who he was from the get-go—I think that would have frustrated any of us, right?
But Jesus was patient. He was patient as he listened, as he taught, as he walked. He made a lasting and permanent impression not only for those two disciples, but for those still waiting for the news of the resurrection in Jerusalem.
The miracle of Christ’s presence—or patience—is not unlike the miraculous patience of the civil rights activists of the 50s and 60s.
For years, activists working and marching for their identity as Black Americans to be seen and their humanity to be acknowledged. For years, they were told by those in power to wait—to be patient.
In a press conference on July 17, 1957, Dwight Eisenhower lamented the forwardness and the outspokenness of the activists of the civil rights movement. He said, “I personally believe if you tried to go too far, too fast in laws in this delicate field…”—mind you, this delicate field is someone’s personhood, someone’s sacred worth, someone’s identity—“…you’re making a mistake.”
The call to have patience here was not a virtue to be admired or celebrated, but rather a way to keep people oppressed. To keep Black Americans from experiencing the same well-being and opportunities afforded to white Americans.
All the while, society seemed to be hurling itself toward progress at a rapid pace—a sharp contrast to this call from the president to wait. “Just wait a little bit longer.”
In response, Jackie Robinson, the first Black American to play in the MLB, wrote, “We are wondering to whom you are referring when you say we must be patient. It is easy for those who haven’t felt the evils of a prejudiced society to urge it. But for us, as Americans who have patiently waited all these years for the rights supposedly guaranteed us by our Constitution, it is not an easy task.”
They were tired of waiting. They were tired of having patience used as a tool of oppression. So they changed the game.
Through the brilliant use of the arts—through theater and poetry, music and literature—activists transformed what were deemed appropriate ways of being in society for white folks into a way to gather as a community, to share stories of what it was like to experience American society in a Black body. To practice patience as a tool for progress and change, rather than a tool to maintain the status quo.
In 1964, Langston Hughes wrote a powerful drama for the stage called Jericho-Jim Crow. In that play, he included storytelling and gospel music, freedom songs and empowering images that stirred people up to action.
The play ran for four months in New York City’s Sanctuary Theater. He dedicated it “to the young people of all racial and religious backgrounds who are meeting, working, canvassing, petitioning, marching, picketing, sitting in, singing and praying today to help make a better America for all—and especially for citizens of color.”
This is Christ-like patience.
The Civil Rights movement knew that the journey of justice is a long one, and it is made even longer when you wait idly.
I want to share a story with you.
When I was eight, my little sister Katelyn was diagnosed with high-functioning autism. She was diagnosed at a time when people didn’t quite understand what autism was, or what that meant, or what it looked like.
For years before, my mom patiently took her to doctor after doctor, always hearing the same response: “Nothing’s wrong with her. She’s just a brat.” Or, “Nothing’s wrong with her. You’re a bad parent.” Time after time, Mom would not take no for an answer. So she patiently, on repeat, told Katelyn’s story until someone listened.
I remember sitting—when I was about thirteen—after school, my activity was sitting in waiting rooms while Katelyn was getting the therapy she needed. Physical therapy, occupational therapy, speech therapy. And sometimes, they even let me join in the fun. And it was fun, because of Mom’s patient work in pursuing what she knew was right for her child.
Fast forward 20-plus years. My little sister Katelyn—who no one thought would graduate from college—did just that in May. And in just a few months, Katelyn is going to get married.
No one expected this to happen. And yet, because of Mom’s patient persistence across Katelyn’s entire life, Katelyn is experiencing the well-being and the wholeness that we all deserve.
That was Christ-like patience.
Because patience is about intentionality. It is about walking and singing, dancing and—sometimes—even screaming down the road toward something better, one step at a time.
It is a patience that moves. A patience that is persistent. It is divinely inspired perseverance and persistence, even when it feels like you are pushing against a large brick wall that seems to be unmoving.
Richard Rohr, in one of his daily reflections from 2019, puts it this way:
“Humans and history both grow slowly. We expect people to show up at our church doors fully transformed and holy before they can be welcomed in. But change of consciousness can only come with time. Patience is the very shape of love.”
Love is constantly moving. Love is constantly showing up. And patience—patience is what love looks like in action.
Friends, it is evident to me that we haven’t made it to Emmaus just yet. We are still on the journey toward the Kingdom of God that was envisioned when this world was spoken into being.
On this journey, we need more love shaped like patience, as we work together with God’s Spirit to transform our world into that beautiful table of welcome and well-being for all. To be able to clearly see the face of Jesus Christ in every single person that we encounter.
In a time when a person’s sacredness is overlooked—or maybe even criminalized—we as Christ followers need to demonstrate a Christ-like patience.
Christ-like patience is not idle. It’s active.
Christ-like patience spends time with the book that we believe is the Living Word of God. It takes time reading through the pages of the gospel in an effort to understand the person that we meet in Jesus Christ—and then to tune our hearts to be in tune with his.
Christ-like patience looks like intentionally gathering with communities that value and celebrate all differences.
Christ-like patience looks like learning together—listening to the history and the experiences and the stories of other people.
Christ-like patience looks like allowing the Holy Spirit—which is God’s ongoing presence in our lives today—to shape the way that we live out the lessons that we learn.
Christ-like patience looks like what we experience and exhibit through our Circles program, as leaders persistently work their way out of poverty alongside their Circles Allies.
There is a relationship that is formed between these two people that weathers this long journey—no matter how long it might take, no matter what obstacles come in their way toward wholeness, they do so together and with patience.
This is a patience that chooses to walk with, rather than walk alone.
It is a patience that moves us—both personally and communally—toward understanding, revelation, and then wholeness.
Christ-like patience knows that the journey toward the Kingdom of God—the kingdom of well-being and wholeness for all people—man, that’s a long journey. But it trusts in the grace and the power of the Holy Spirit, which empowers us along the way, one faithful step at a time.
In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.