Easter 3, Year A
Psalm 116
OT Reading: Zephaniah 3.14-end
NT Reading: 1 Peter 1.17-23
Gospel : Luke 24.13-35
Text: Then their eyes were opened, and they recognised him; and he vanished from their sight (Luke 24.31).
I wonder what Caravaggio would have made of the Pope’s appearance, on Easter Sunday, at the window of his apartment overlooking St Peter’s Square. I fancy that the light from the open window, falling on the figure of a frail old man struggling so poignantly with his inability to speak, would have been dramatically suffused with the light of the resurrection which was already dawning for him. We do of course know what Caravaggio made of the supper at Emmaus. The village of Emmaus has disappeared, and we do not now know exactly where it was. But the dramatic gestures of recognition, drawing us into the picture, make us part of a living reality which in other respects has vanished from the map.
It would be hard to say which of the appearances of the risen Christ is my favourite. But I particularly love this one, where we share with St Luke the knowledge that Cleopas and his companion are walking along in the company of the risen Christ. We know, but they don’t know until Jesus breaks the bread at their table.
We catch up with them on the road as they are talking with each other about all the events of the past week, unable to make any sense of it. On the one hand they had seen in Jesus ‘a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people’ (Luke 24.19), one who seemed to fulfil the hopes and longings so movingly expressed in the Hebrew scriptures. Our reading from Zephanaiah this morning was an example of the prophetic writing which must have stirred their hearts. Jerusalem had erupted with joy as Jesus paraded through the streets. Had he not saved the lame and gathered the outcasts, just as the prophet said he would? Surely the time had come for Jerusalem to fear disaster no more, the time for the Lord to deal with the oppressors (Zeph 3.15-19). Looking back now, they may have wondered why Jesus chose to enter Jerusalem on a donkey, and why he looked so sad even on such a day of triumph. Did he know what was going to happen to him? And if he did, why walk straight into the arms of the temple police and the Roman authorities? And then there were the women, distraught of course, claiming to have seen him alive. Cleopas and his companion wanted to believe that God would fulfil his promise to restore the fortunes of his faithful people, and it had looked as if in Jesus that might at last happen, but now it was all over. It was all very sad, but there was nothing more they could do. It was time to go home.
We sometimes feel like that too. We want to believe that the good news about Jesus is true, but when we look about us, we see a world in which innocent people are beaten to death, the powerful wage war, the rich seem determined to destroy the environment, the vulnerable are abused, poverty is not history at all, and the Church far from growing from strength to strength seems at least in this country to be dwindling towards the status of a marginal hobby. The pollsters tell us that most of our neighbours no longer know or care what Easter is about, and the death of a pope is hardly likely to change that. Many people, looking at the causes of strife around the world, think that religious belief does more harm than good. Do we not have as much cause to be despondent as Cleopas and his companion?
And yet, despite their confusion and despondency, despite the risks of being open with a stranger in a state under military occupation, when he asks why they are so sad, they tell him about Jesus, adding wistfully: ‘but we had hoped he was the one to redeem Israel’. Theirs may be a somewhat tentative faith, as indeed ours might be to-day. But Jesus meets each one of us where we are, in this case gently chiding the disciples’ lack of confidence and understanding, just as in other circumstances he had restrained Peter’s over-confidence, set necessary limits to Mary Magdalene’s passionate devotion, or would respect Thomas’ doubts. And he responds to their need by showing them that the confusing events of the past few days are in fact the fulfilment of the scriptures which they had been hoping and praying for. Christ’s suffering and death is not the denial of the Messianic promise of glory, but integral to it, as we heard in our second reading, because it is the ultimate expression of the love of God, destined before the foundation of the world, but only now revealed. Their hearts are warmed as what they hear begins to dispel their perplexity, as it also confirms their own instinctive faith that Jesus was indeed the one to redeem Israel. They were right after all, they just hadn’t grasped the richness of the truth about the God who loves us so much that in the person of his own Son, he was prepared to lay down his life for us.
We can only guess how short the journey must have seemed that day as Jesus ‘interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures’ (v 27). The miles must have flown by, and in no time at all they were in sight of Emmaus. And here they take another little step. Just as they had made a tentative confession of faith to the stranger when he engaged them in conversation on the road, so now they make a tentative gesture of love to their new friend as they offer him hospitality. And once again they find themselves richly repaid, for it is the stranger who, as he breaks the bread at table, reveals himself as their risen Lord. In the very moment of recognition, he vanishes from their sight, but there is no suggestion that they find this disconcerting. On the contrary, now that they have recognised him, his physical presence becomes unnecessary. They know that he is alive, and they carry the certainty of his risen presence with them as they rush back to Jerusalem.
What a day it had been, and what an example of the way Jesus meets each one of us just where we are, gently leading us on, encouraging our hesitant faith, affirming our tentative gestures of love with his unstinting love, always giving us more than we would dare to ask for.
Our risen Lord is ready to meet us now in the breaking of the bread, where our eyes and our hearts may be opened to recognise him, and to be enfolded in His love. As we prepare to open our hearts to that love, let us recall the final message of Pope John Paul, who when he could no longer speak, wrote this:
It is love which converts hearts, and gives peace to all humanity…our resurrected Lord gives us his love, which forgives, reconciles and reopens the soul to hope. Then their eyes were opened and they recognised him.
Handley Stevens