Sermon on April 26, 2020: Easter 3
The story of the journey to Emmaus is the passage of Scripture we need to hear at this moment in time. On the Sunday evening of Easter, two disciples are taking the 7-mile walk from Jerusalem to a village called Emmaus. Even though Jesus had risen from the dead that very morning and they had heard the news from the women who were at the tomb, for them, the good news didn’t take. Easter Day had come, but these two disciples were still stuck in the season of Lent, still dwelling in the long shadow of the cross. The good news was too good to be true. Perhaps the women’s testimony was unreliable. They had hoped that Jesus would be the one to redeem Israel, that in him they would find redemption, but instead all they saw was crucifixion. St. Luke writes that “their eyes were kept from recognizing him.” On the road to Emmaus, Jesus was with them and they did not know it. But their inability to see Jesus goes far deeper: even before Good Friday, when their eyes saw Jesus, they didn’t really see him. They didn’t really know who he was, and what kind of Messiah he was to be, and that when he said that he would rise from the grave on the third day, he meant it.
From the very beginning, their eyes were kept from recognizing him. I wonder if that is a feature of the human experience: that we cannot recognize Jesus when we see him. Even when God in the flesh walks among us. Our eyes are clouded by all our preconceptions of who we think Jesus is, and what his purpose is, and where he is to be found. But if our eyes were suddenly opened, we would be amazed by what we saw. And we would see that he was with us all along, even when we were walking in the shadow of the cross.
What does this mean for us in a time of pandemic and plague? We are traveling down a bleak road, and we do not know when it ends or where it goes. We witness the death of thousands, with thousands more yet to come. We are experiencing the collapse of everything we thought we knew about what “normal life” should be. And we wonder where God is to be found in it all. Fringe pastors tell us that the coronavirus is a sign of God’s wrathful judgment for this or that reason. We know better, and yet we still struggle to recognize the face of God in the pandemic.
Where is Christ? And why is he distant?
Like the disciples traveling on the road to Emmaus, Christ is present with us now, even though we fail to recognize him. He has said that he will be with us always, to the end of the age. And even as he is seated in at the right hand of the Father, in glorious majesty, he is no less present with us now—closer than our next breath, deeper than our inmost depths. Christ is in us; as the prayer of St. Patrick goes:
Christ in the heart of everyone who thinks of me. Christ in the mouth of everyone who speaks of me.
What we need is for God to open up our eyes so that we can see it—so that we can see Christ in one another.
There is another reason that this story is what we need to hear today: about how Jesus is made known to us. When the disciples reached their destination and invited their traveling companion up for a meal, we hear that “he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them,” and at that moment their eyes were opened. Later on they tell the others, and describe how Jesus had finally been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.
As this pandemic has unfolded, Christians everywhere have struggled with the necessary requirement to refrain from gathering for a time, out of love and care for the lives of our neighbors. It’s been a struggle. And for catholic Christians, whose gathering is centered on the Eucharist, on the breaking of the bread, this season has been especially hard. Because the Sacraments and the sacramental presence of each other is what sustains our spiritual lives. If we cannot assemble for the mass, and for the breaking of the bread, then how can we be nourished so that we can see Jesus?
This is where Luke’s story is so necessary for us at this moment in time. We must remember: Jesus had hundreds of disciples. Maybe thousands. Including entire households—women and children—probably tens of thousands. Yet how many disciples were present when Jesus made himself known in the breaking of the bread? Just two. Two disciples, and only one of them is named. Jesus breaks bread with just a few and makes himself present—and his presence is not only for them, but for the whole community of disciples. Even where just two or three are gathered.
At a time when only small groups may gather in person to make Eucharist and offer the sacrifice of the mass, we need to remember that the whole Church knows the Lord Jesus, even if there are only two at the Table. Though we are distant from each other, we have heard the testimony of the two, and know that Christ is with us.
May God open the eyes of our faith to see it—to see that Christ is present. Even if we are distant from one another, Christ is not distant from us. He is in the heart of everyone who thinks of us; in the mouth of everyone who speaks of us. He is with us always, even to the end of the age. The hearts of the disciples burned in the presence of Jesus, even before they saw him. May our hearts also burn with the fire of love—for God, and for one another. Amen.