Third Sunday of Easter

I have always liked walking, whether it is on my own or with others. I especially like to walk where I am exposed to nature. There are some lovely parks not far from the parish, and the sea front is not too far away. I sometimes find myself praying as I walk, usually a simple prayer like, ‘Come Lord Jesus’. I find that walking in a nice environment has a way of putting things in perspective. After a pleasant walk, a situation that seemed unpromising can seem to be more hopeful. I begin to look at things differently. Nothing may have substantially changed, but the way I see it has changed, and that gives me more energy to face into it.

In today’s gospel reading, two disciples were on a seven mile walk from Jerusalem to their home town Emmaus. They were walking away from an experience that had been truly traumatic for them. The one they had left everything to follow, whom they hoped would be the long awaited Messiah, had been put to death in the cruellest fashion. A part of themselves had died along with him. Certainly their hopes which his presence generated had died. Yet, it can be easier to leave a place than to leave a painful experience. As they moved further from Jerusalem, they continued to carry the impact of what had recently happened there within them. According to the gospel reading, their faces were downcast. Walking along together was unlikely to help them to see Jesus’ cruel death in a new light. It took a stranger who walked with them to do that. Without their realizing it at the time, this stranger was the very person whose death they were grieving.

Having listened to their sad story about what had taken place in Jerusalem in recent days, the stranger went on to tell them another story from the Scriptures. It was a story he had been telling them during his public ministry but they hadn’t been listening. It was the story of how God’s anointed servant would first have to suffer and die, before then entering into his glory. It seems that on this occasion the two disciples were open to hearing this story. As they listened, their hearts began to burn within them. Their hope began to be rekindled. When they reached Emmaus and this stranger made as if to go on, they pressed him to stay with them, ‘It is nearly evening and the day is almost over’. Earlier in this gospel of Luke, Jesus had insisted in going to the home of the tax collector, Zacchaeus. Now these two disciples insist that Jesus come to their home. A great deal happens around tables in Luke’s gospel. On this occasion, the guest of the two disciples behaved as the host, taking bread, blessing it and giving it to them. Their memories were triggered. They thought back to the last meal they had with Jesus, the last supper, and they recognized who the stranger really was in the breaking of bread. Now they saw the city of Jerusalem and all that happened there in a whole new light, the light of Easter, and they hurried back there to meet up with the other disciples. They took the light of Easter back into the city they had associated only with the darkness of Calvary. The community of disciples was now their home, not Emmaus.

We only know the name of one of these two disciples, Cleopas. Perhaps the evangelist leaves the other disciple nameless as a way of inviting each one of us into the story. We can each identify with that second disciple, giving him or her our own name. We too can find ourselves on our own road from Jerusalem to Emmaus. We carry in our hearts some painful experience that seems to take our hope away. We try to move on from it in search of a place we can call home. It is a blessing if we are not walking this sad and difficult journey alone. If we have a Cleopas who knows what we have been through. Talking about it together helps. Today’s gospel reading assures us that the risen Lord is also walking this journey with us. He is there alongside us in all his risen power, helping us to see the situation in which we find ourselves with new eyes, with hopeful eyes that see sign of new life in an experiencc that seemed devoid of promise or possibility. He journeys with us to help us put together the fragments and pieces of our sometimes shattered lives. He is present with us through those who journey with us in a loving way. He speaks to us through his word. He comes towards us in the Eucharist, ‘the breaking of bread’. At Mass he calls us to the table of his word and the table of the Eucharist to feed us with his presence, to heal our wounds, to renew our faith and rekindle our hope. He is with us there, shedding the light of his presence upon us, so that we can see what is happening in our lives with his eyes. Then we might come to say, in the words of today’s psalm, ‘I keep the Lord ever in my sight; since he is at my right hand, I shall stand firm’.