The general answers that Luke 24: 13-35 is giving me are, “not where you expect” and “where you least expect.”
I relate to the pair of Jesus’ followers who come upon a stranger as they’re walking from Jerusalem to Emmaus, though when I first revisited the passage, I didn’t find their experience that relatable. Why wouldn’t I recognize Jesus if I’d spent every waking moment traveling with him for months or even years? Clearly, being unrecognizable and later returning to recognizability in an instant is something Jesus’ resurrected body can do that mine can’t do yet. So this story recounts a one-time event, a specific miraculous occasion that’s been handed down to me to teach me something. And in one sense, I suppose this initial interpretation is valid.
But I think another one is valid at the same time — because, in other ways, as I wrote before, I do relate to these deflated, despairing travelers. They’re lost, even though someone watching them would say they know exactly where they’re going—Emmaus, right? Yet they can’t really get what and where they want unless they are moving forward inside as well outside.
They’d come to believe that Jesus, as the Messiah, would lead them, their families, and the united tribes of Israel (what I might think of as their “country”) to external liberation.
But Jesus has been killed, and they feel no freer than they were before they heard him teach. In fact, their situation feels more precarious. Jesus has inflamed their hope only to fail them. Sometimes I think having hopes sparked and then having the sparks extinguished feels worse than never having had them ignited.
Before they end Jesus encountered each other, God had promised the Messiah to them, but God had not yet seemed to deliver on that promise. Hope founded on words is powerful but not as powerful as hope founded on experience. In the case of this pair, the experience on which their hope had been founded was the experience of journeying with Jesus. What experience would fuel more radiant hope than that one?
But now their bonfire of hope has been deluged. Only ashes are left of it. These are the ashes of grief, confusion, and despair. Heaped upon these ashes are boulders of fear because now, not only do they seem not to have a Messiah in their midst, but also, they’re in danger if they’re recognized as two of the people who followed Jesus, who has been executed as a traitor.
Now, I’ve never felt that I could be accused and executed for treason at any moment. However, I have plenty of experience with what heavy weights emotions can be. Too many times, my expectations and emotions prevent me from seeing the blessings that are right in front of me.
I think that’s part of what’s going on with the two people who walk with Jesus in this passage. Their expectations and emotions have led them only to be weighed down by the emptiness of the tomb rather than to recognize the confirmation and hope this particular emptiness offers them.
And their reaction is no wonder. When I think of an empty tomb, I think of having absolutely nothing left of someone I love. No one else’s report of an encounter with that person can fill the hole that the loss of that person leaves in my life. Talking or hearing about what and who you long for is not the same as what and whom you desire occupying physical space in your presence. It’s not the same as being able to touch who or what I long for, or more intimately, having it offered to me and receiving it into the empty space inside me.
Hearsay is not the same as an encounter. Neither is knowledge. I think that’s why, even after Jesus “interprets everything that refers to him in the Scriptures,” the traveling pair is still no nearer to understanding what recent events mean for them, and they still don’t recognize Jesus (Luke 24: 27).
Jesus knows what the pair needs to be able to recognize that he has been restored to life and can fill their emptiness. But he won’t impose what they long for upon them against their will. He “[gives] the impression that he [is] going farther” (Luke 24:28). He stays with them, breaks bread with them only after they invite an apparent stranger to join them. Then, it’s in the concrete action of breaking bread, blessing it, and giving it to them, even as they share what they have with him, that they recognize him and are in touch with how their hearts were set on fire “while he spoke to [them] and opened the Scriptures to [them]” (24:30-31).
God is working to fill their emptiness before they realize what’s going on. They realize how God is working in them through Jesus only after that work is shared among the group of three in a tangible way. They realize it only after they enter into a concrete offering of thanksgiving to God. They realize it only when they receive the Eucharist. In fact, “The term “Eucharist” originates from the Greek word eucharistia, meaning thanksgiving.”
This is a story to remind us that Jesus offers himself — God — tangibly to me and to you through creation, especially under the appearances of bread and wine as we gather with our needs and our gratitude. This story also reminds us that unless we have space within and around us for God, and we have gratitude for the ways God is already filling our emptiness, emptiness will only feel like lack and loss instead of the vessel for gifts that it can be.
Creator, Sanctifier, and Redeemer, help me to keep an open mind about Your plans. Help me to trust that I can see You at work everywhere so that I will see You at work everywhere. Help me to have and to express gratitude for Your work within and around me.. Amen
The Bible. The New American Bible Revised Edition, Kindle edition, Fairbrother, 2011.
Confraternity of Christian Doctrine, Inc. “Sunday July, 2 2023: Readings at Mass.” The New American Bible, 2001. Universalis for Windows, Version 2.179, Universalis Publishing Ltd., 26 Feb. 2023, https://universalis.com/n-app-windows.htm
Sitting with the Sacred 