Third Sunday of Easter (A): Luke 24:13-35
You find the sparrow that falls
When boughs break, to you she calls
With broken wing, still she sings
You find the sparrow that falls
– from The Language of Flowers, by Connie Dover
In my last episode, I spoke of how Thomas and the other disciples were able to meet the Risen Lord through his wounds. They had learned that they were far more vulnerable and wounded than they knew. The wounds of the Risen Lord gave them hope.
Today, we have another appearance of the Risen Lord, given to us by Saint Luke. Before we move into the story itself, it’s important to recall what the Gospel writers were up to in giving us accounts of the Risen Lord’s appearances to his disciples. They wanted to accomplish at least two things: to show how the disciples, who had (for the most part) abandoned Jesus after he was arrested, came to encounter him risen from the dead. However, the Gospel writers had their own readers in mind, both those of their own time and us. How do people who have not seen the Risen Lord Jesus come to have faith in him? What sustains our faith in him? Conversely, what challenges and wears down our faith in him?
This account of the two disciples who unknowingly encounter the Risen Lord on the road to Emmaus is one of my personal favorites. It shows Saint Luke’s masterful literary ability. It is awash in levels of meaning and symbolism. It isn’t possible to say everything that could be said about this passage here. I will confine myself to pointing out one obstacle to Easter faith that this story offers us, and then speak of three ways in which we may encounter Jesus, risen and with us still.
The Obstacle
As we begin the story, it’s the first day of the week. In other words, it’s the first Easter Sunday. Two of Jesus’ disciples have left Jerusalem and are heading for a town called Emmaus. They are discussing the events of the past few days – from Jesus’ entrance into Jerusalem just a week before to his arrest, condemnation, crucifixion and death. They are aware of reports that Jesus’ tomb was found empty that very morning, but they fail to see the meaning of this. They are dejected, downcast. They would soon speak of Jesus as “a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, how our chief priests and rulers both handed him over to a sentence of death and crucified him. But we were hoping that he would be the one to redeem Israel.” We might conclude that these disciples were disillusioned. They had believed that Jesus was a great prophet and that he might even be the long-awaited Messiah. If Jesus truly were these things, these disciples could not understand how he could have suffered such a violent death. A seeming defeat. A crushing defeat, by all appearances.
But it was more than disillusionment. For the people of the Mediterranean world of the time, the best thing that can happen to you is to receive honor and praise from others. The worst thing that can happen to you is dishonor – being shamed in front of others. The enemies of Jesus could have put him to death in any number of ways. They chose crucifixion, precisely because it was considered the most dishonoring and shameful way to die. The idea was not just to kill Jesus, but to utterly discredit him in front of everyone. How could someone who suffered and died such a death be who he claimed to be?
Have we not, at least at times, felt shamed in some way for our own faith in Jesus and our own commitment to the Church? Some people dismiss any belief in anything that can’t be scientifically studied or written in computer code as sheer childish fantasies. Others may point to the clergy sexual abuse crisis, or tell stories of how some priest or nun mistreated them. Still others will point out what seem to be inconsistencies in our faith, or to some of our moral teachings which run counter to some tendencies in contemporary culture. We may not be literally crucified (though many people even today die for their faith in some areas of the world), but some will try to shame us for having faith in the Lord and the Church.
This shame can be a serious obstacle to faith. It can pressure us to, like Peter, deny our faith in some way or at least to try to fade into a “stealth mode”, where our faith isn’t apparent to others. At the same time, such shame can cause us to question our faith in some way. Like these disciples, we may find ourselves on our own road to Emmaus.
What might our Emmaus be? It’s the place (interior or exterior) where we go when we feel discouraged, shamed, or adrift. It might be some online browsing which could draw us into addictions to shopping or pornography, among other things. It might be some hobby or activity we engage in to escape the discomfort and the doubts. It could be the more ‘traditional’ addictions of drink or drugs. It could be some watered-down philosophy of life that gives us warm fuzzies but asks nothing of us.
However, as the disciples are on the way to their Emmaus, something unexpected happens. Jesus himself joins them. They cannot recognize him, however. Some commentators tell us that this is because the risen Jesus is both like and unlike he was before the Resurrection. This is surely true. But I believe there is more. These disciples saw Jesus as a great prophet and hoped that he was the Messiah. But they said no more. They had faith, but not enough faith. For them, Jesus was a great man, but now he’s dead. The story is over, they think. They never say that they believed him to be the Son of God. How, then, does Jesus lead them to a greater and deeper faith?
Jesus begins by drawing them out, pretending not to know what they were discussing and giving them the space to voice their shame and disillusionment to the full. They do. Then Jesus begins to lead them to a faith, a faith that we, too, can share, even without seeing the risen Jesus as these disciples did.
First Way: The Scriptures
Once these disciples have let out their disillusionment and shame, Jesus begins to challenge their assumptions. They did not understand the very Scriptures they read and prayed all their lives. All that happened to Jesus didn’t “just happen”: it was all, in some unfathomable way, part of the very plan of God. The theme of the righteous person who suffers unjustly and yet trusts in the Lord for salvation and vindication runs through many psalms. The prophets also come back to this theme. Isaiah speaks of the “suffering servant” of the Lord who will suffer terrible things and yet be vindicated by God. Jeremiah becomes, in his own life, someone who suffers for his faithfulness to the Lord. The disciples, then, could see their own story captured in these Scripture accounts. Jesus was truly the Righteous One, the Suffering Servant who suffered for all the people, the one whom God would vindicate after his sufferings. Later, the disciples would remark that their own hearts were burning as they heard these Scripture passages find new life and meaning in the Risen Jesus. We, too, can turn to the Scriptures every day, praying that the Spirit will guide and inspire our reading. We will find our own stories somehow contained there. Our own dejection, suffering, shame, doubt. But more. We may also find that we have been led to a point like this so that we might encounter God in a more powerful way than ever before, believe in him more deeply, and be transformed by his presence more completely. The very power of the Word in the Scriptures is one sign of the presence of the Risen Lord among us.
Second Way: Hospitality
The disciples reach Emmaus, and Jesus acts as if he means to travel further. At this point, Jesus is still a stranger to the disciples. They don’t know who he is. Other disciples have locked themselves in a room in Jerusalem, out of fear for their lives. These two disciples had reason not to invite this Stranger into their home. Nevertheless, they do – in spite of their previous disillusionment, shame and fear. Somehow, hearing the Scriptures in this new way has been an invitation to them, and they have responded. Their hospitality would soon be rewarded beyond their wildest imaginings.
We live in an age when disillusionment is common and fear is rampant. We distrust most institutions. We also distrust nearly everyone who does not see things as we do. Hospitality to the stranger among us does not come easy, then. It may be harder for us now than it was for those Emmaus disciples. Yet, one of the most persistent themes in the Old Testament is that we are to be especially sensitive to the needs of the widow, the orphan, and the stranger among us. It’s easy to welcome one of our own kind. It’s much harder to welcome one who is different from us in some way. But God reminds us that his ways are not our ways. God is utterly different from us, and yet close to us. If we cannot welcome the stranger who shares our humanity, how can we welcome the unseen and infinite God? In welcoming the stranger, these disciples were also welcoming God, as they would soon come to see.
Third Way: Eucharist
The disciples welcome this Stranger and invite him in for a meal. But something changes. This guest, this Stranger, becomes the host of the meal. It is he who takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to the others. For Saint Luke, the phrase “the breaking of bread” often refers to the Eucharist. It is what Jesus did at the Last Supper. It is only now, we are told, that the disciples finally recognize the risen Jesus. As soon as they do, he vanishes. They will not see him with their physical eyes for much longer. No mater. They will see him through the eyes of faith in the Eucharist. They will learn to recognize in this broken bread and this cup of wine the very body and blood of the risen Lord. In fact, the Eucharist – the Mass – can sum up this whole Emmaus story.
Like those disciples, we may come to Mass feeling disillusioned, ashamed, or adrift in some way. Our faith may be weak or floundering. Then, the liturgy begins its work of challenging us and reorienting our assumptions and perceptions, just as Jesus did for the disciples. We are reminded of how our weak faith can leave us more vulnerable to sin. We are blind in some way, and must ask the Lord for mercy.
Then, having opened our hearts to God’s mercy, we hear the Scriptures proclaimed, just as the Emmaus disciples did. If we are open and receptive to the readings, we may find (maybe in retrospect) that our hearts, too, begin to burn as we hear these words proclaimed to us. This is our story. More than that. This is the story of God who seeks us out in our struggles and gives us hope and new life.
Later, as he did for the Emmaus disciples, the Lord will take bread, bless it, break it, and share it with us. This he will do ritually, through the ministry of the priest. In his great mercy, the Lord makes himself our food. We will have his very life in us. We will have this supreme promise that the Lord is truly with us. We will have the promise that, just as Jesus suffered, died, and rose again, so we, too, know that our own sufferings will not end in mere death or oblivion. We, too, will live, because the very body and blood of Christ have been given to us.
Finally, note the disciples’ reaction. They immediately leave Emmaus and return to Jerusalem, to find the other disciples. This news must be shared. We must share it with one another and be strengthened by one another’s faith. We encounter the Risen Lord in the community of believers, and in the act of sharing our faith with one another. Faith must flow to be alive. If it is bottled up, it may shrivel up. We need to share our faith. We also need the witness of others who share their faith with us.
This is just a little excursion into the richness of the Emmaus story. I hope that it may help you to be open to the ways in which the Lord is also with you in your own struggles. May the Lord open our eyes to see how he is already with us, walking with us on our journeys and healing our wounds.