3rd Sunday after Easter

The Road to Emmaus

This is one of the great ‘light-bulb’ moments in the New Testament – on a similar level to Paul’s bolt of light and Thomas’s moment of realisation in last week’s Gospel.

But it is an especially important and significant ‘light-bulb’ moment because of the darkness of the place where the two apostles were. To fully understand the significance and impact on them we have to consider where they were at on so many levels.

This story is called the Road to Emmaus because that was the road they were on. But were they actually and deliberately travelling toward Emmaus or simply looking to get as far away from Jerusalem as they possibly could? Was it a case of any road to anywhere just so long as it is away from here – and now?

They were running away – plain and simple as that. They were continuing to do what they had started to do at the Garden of Gethsemane – run. They were frightened, dejected; they were distraught because their leader, their master and teacher, the one who was to be their saviour was dead.

All of the hopes and plans they had had were now in tatters having been destroyed on the cross. Their futures were now as refugees, on the run and in fear for their lives. They were physically, emotionally and spiritually battered. They had only one vision and that was to get away – as far away as possible and as quickly as possible.

They had lost sight of the promises Jesus had made to them of rebuilding the temple after three days. They had forgotten all of his teachings and how and where these were centred in scripture. Within this really dark, dismal and bleak place they were in – they could see nothing of any good; nothing of any worth and nothing of any hope.

And then came Jesus.

How many of us have been in similar places in our lives? A place brought about by the loss of loved ones or the breakdown of relationships or the loss of jobs or health. A place brought about by stress and anxiety where the only thing we can see is the red mist of despair. We have probably felt the resulting hit on our physical and emotional and maybe even our spiritual health and wellbeing. And then what?

I wonder how many of us can say, “And then came Jesus”?

What was it that Jesus gave the two disciples? Was it something miraculous – well I would say it was because he cut through all of their despair by talking to them and listening to them and responding to them and getting them to calm all of their worries by reconnecting to the story.

He reminded them of what had been foretold in the scriptures, how it all related to him – about how he would be born, would live, would suffer and would die but then how he would rise again in glory. He chatted to them and explained the story that they knew off by heart, that they were already fully familiar with and helped them to move toward a place of light, a place of hope and faith and belief. He helped and encouraged them to speak of their fears and frustrations, of their worries and confusions.

And then he sat with them and broke bread with them. And then – Light Bulb Moment! Then they recognised him for he was, for who he is. And they were so filled with joy and hope and love that they ran back to Jerusalem.

I wonder where we are at when we come here to celebrate mass. Are our hearts and minds clear already and fully receptive to the message of God? Or are we in some other place where there are a million and one things all vying for our attention, where we cannot see Christ; cannot hear God’s word; cannot feel his presence around us and within us. How many of us spend some time before mass starts trying to quieten our own minds, calm our hearts and tune out what can at times be a very vocal, very noisy surrounding congregation?

And then we come to the table and we break bread with him. And what? At what point does our personal light bulb go on? At what point do we recognise Christ in our presence; recognise the story we know so well and then reconnect to it. At what point do we – like Thomas – say, “My Lord and my God”.

Lord you know that I love you. Help me when I stumble in the dark and lose sight of you. Help me always to recognise you in my darkest hours and to rejoice in your presence everywhere but especially here in the Blessed Sacrament and in your everlasting love of me.