Emmaus

By Fr. Conor Donnelly

(Proofread)

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

My Lord and my God, I firmly believe that you are here, that you see me, that you hear me. I adore you with profound reverence. I ask your pardon for my sins and grace to make this time of prayer fruitful. My Immaculate Mother, Saint Joseph, my father and lord, my guardian angel, intercede for me.

“Now that very same day, two of them were on their way to a village called Emmaus, seven miles from Jerusalem, and they were talking together about all that had happened. It happened that as they were talking together and discussing it, Jesus himself came up and walked by their side. But their eyes were prevented from recognizing him” (Luke 24:13-16).

We can imagine the scene: two men are walking, disappointed, sad, convinced that they're leaving behind them the bitterness of an event which ended badly.

All the resurrection events are amazing, but one is especially unexpected. We might have expected Our Lord to spend the day talking with the Apostles. That's what He did before the Crucifixion.

But He made the Apostles wait until evening. In the meantime, He spent the afternoon with two men, Cleophas and his friend, who are not mentioned anywhere else in Scripture.

That's why we're told, “On the very same day, two of them are on their way to a village called Emmaus.” And Our Lord walks with them on this road to Emmaus.

Before Easter, these men had been full of enthusiasm. They were convinced that these days would be decisive: their expectations met as well with the hopes of all the people. Everybody was thinking the same.

Jesus, to whom they had entrusted their lives, seemed to have arrived at the final battle. He would now manifest His power after a long period of preparation and concealment. That's what they were expecting. But it was not to be.

These two men were nurturing a uniquely human hope and that hope was now falling to pieces.

The Cross that was raised on Calvary was the most eloquent sign of defeat, which they had not foreseen. They couldn't have imagined the defeat that was going to take place.

Logically going through their minds is the idea that if Jesus was truly in accordance with God’s heart, then they had to conclude that God was unarmed, defenseless in the hands of violent people, unable to offer any resistance to evil.

So these two men on that Sunday morning, or that Sunday afternoon, did the ‘logical thing’—they fled Jerusalem.

But the events of the Passion and the Death are still very much there in their hearts and in their minds. Their souls bear the painful torment of those events during the rest of the Sabbath.

That Easter, which should have inspired a song of liberation, has instead been transformed into the most painful day of their lives. They leave Jerusalem to go to a tranquil village that is seven miles away.

They look like people who are intent on removing a burning memory from their minds. They're on the road, walking in sadness.

This scenario—the road—has already appeared in many Gospel narratives. We're told in many places, “as Our Lord was walking along the road...” (John 1:29, Matt. 4:18, John 10:23, Luke 6:1, Mark 10:32).

So here we are again on this ordinary road. That road is becoming increasingly more important as the history of the Church begins to unfold.

Then Our Lord comes. Jesus Himself came up and walked by their side, but their eyes were prevented from recognizing Him.

So many times in our life we're also walking along the ordinary roads of each day, the roads of life that God has called us to walk along. Our Lord comes and walks beside us, but we don't recognize Him.

That meeting of those two men with Our Lord appears to be completely by chance. It seems to be one of those chance meetings that happen in life; you bump into certain people.

They're walking deep in thought, and this stranger comes up alongside them. It is Christ, but their eyes are not able to recognize Him. Our Lord is following the same pattern that He did with Mary Magdalene, slowly revealing Himself to them, little by little.

He's not giving them a fright; He's not appearing by magic; He's letting them see and discover Him little by little.

You could say that Our Lord begins the ‘therapy of hope’—therapy for their discouragement, for their despair, for their sadness. What takes place on this particular road is that therapy of hope.

Every day of our life, Our Lord wants to inject our lives with hope, so that we flee from discouragement or despair or sadness—allies of the enemy, instruments of the devil.

Who is it that administers this therapy? It is Christ Himself. And what does He do? He asks and He listens.

He said to them, “What are all these things that you were discussing as you walk along?” (Luke 24:17).

He's going to draw things out from them, just like He did with Mary Magdalene: “Woman, why are you weeping? Whom do you seek?” (John 20:15).

“Then one of them called Cleophas answered him, ‘You must be the only person staying in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have been happening there these last few days’” (John 20:18).

He seems to say to Our Lord, ‘Well, where have you been? On what planet have you been living? You seem to know nothing of what's been going on.’

“But Our Lord says, ‘What things?’”

Our God is not an intrusive God. He doesn't blast His way into our lives. Even though Our Lord knows the reason for the disappointment of these two men, He gives them time to deeply fathom the bitterness that has overcome them.

Out of this, there's going to come a confession that could be a refrain for the whole of human existence. “We had hoped...but we had hoped...” (Luke 24:21).

“They answered all about Jesus of Nazareth, ‘who showed himself a prophet powerful in action and speech before God and all the people, and how our own chief priests and our leaders handed him over to be sentenced to death, and had him crucified. Our own hope had been that he would be the one to set Israel free’” (Luke 24:19-21).

This was their hope. This is the yearning that we had, but they talk about a human hope.

There may be many times when we find ourselves assailed by sadness, by defeats, by all the failures that there may have been in our life. Deep down, we're a little bit like those two men on the road to Emmaus. We have our own hopes. And that is not all.

“‘Two whole days have now gone by since it all happened, and some women from our group have astounded us. They went to the tomb in the early morning, and when they could not find the body, they came back to tell us that they had seen a vision of angels, who declared that he was alive’” (Luke 24:21-23).

That little piece of news from those women hasn't really raised their spirits.

There may be many times when we felt that we were one step away from happiness, only to find ourselves knocked to the ground, disappointed. But Our Lord walks with all people who are discouraged, who are low in spirit, who may be suffering from a passing or a chronic depression, who walk with their heads hung low.

When He walks with them in a discreet manner, He's able to restore hope.

It's interesting to see how researchers and physicians and the things they say on the Internet about the treatment of acute or chronic depression—how important the spiritual element is. Only Christ can restore our hope.

Jesus speaks to them, and He speaks to them above all through the Scriptures. “‘Some of our friends,’ they said, ‘went to the tomb and found everything exactly as the women had reported. But of him they saw nothing’” (Luke 24:24).

Whatever little bit of human hope there might have been, as they tell the story, they seem to come back to the fact that all is lost.

“Then he said to them, ‘You foolish men, so slow to believe all that the prophets have said!’” (Luke 24:25).

They were slow to believe the Scriptures. So Our Lord speaks to them about the Book of Life. Those who take up God's Book will not encounter an easy heroism, or fierce campaigns of conquest. True hope never comes cheaply. It always undergoes defeat.

Often that's where Our Lord sows the seeds of hope. The hope of those who do not suffer perhaps is not even hope.

God doesn't want to be loved as one would love a ruler who leads his people to victory, annihilating his enemies in a bloodbath. Our God is rather a faint light burning on a cold and windy day, and as fragile as His presence in this world may appear, He has chosen the place that we all disdain.

And so they reach their place where they're going to, and Our Lord is about to go on. “But they press him to stay because the night is now far gone. They say to Our Lord, ‘Stay with us, Lord, for it is almost evening’” (Luke 24:29).

These are like the key words of this whole story: Stay with us, Lord. John Paul II has written an Apostolic Letter on the Eucharist entitled with those very words: Mane nobiscum Domine–“Stay with us, Lord.” It’s well worthwhile going and having a little look at it on the Internet.

“This was the insistent invitation of the two disciples on the evening of the day of the Resurrection, addressed to the Wayfarer who had accompanied them on their journey” (John Paul II, Apostolic Letter, Mane nobiscum Domine, October 7, 2004, Point 1).

There's something about Him. They're attracted to Him. There's something there in their hearts, but they can't quite put their finger on it. Our Lord has not yet opened their eyes to completely see who it is that is with them.

Of course, “weighed down with sadness, they never imagined that this stranger was none other than their Master, risen from the dead.”

If we are weighed down with sadness, discouragement, despair, there are things also that we don't see clearly. One great rule of life is never to make major decisions in low moments. We don't have the full picture.

“Yet they felt ‘their hearts burning within them as he spoke to them and he explained the Scriptures’ (cf. Luke 24:32). The light of the Word that they heard unlocked the hardness of their hearts—hearts that have no faith—and opened their eyes.”

These days after Easter are days for the opening of eyes, for the rediscovery of faith, for Christ penetrating deeper into our souls.

“Amid the shadows of the passing day and the darkness that clouded their spirit, the Wayfarer brought a ray of light, and that ray of light rekindled their hope, and it led their hearts to yearn for the fullness of light.”

Christ Himself is the light. He's going to bring a new light into their lives.

Then Jesus repeats for them the fundamental gesture of every Eucharist. He takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it. The entire history of Our Lord seems somehow tied up in these gestures. In every Eucharist is also the symbol of what the Church should be.

Christ takes us, blesses us, “breaks” our life—because there is no love without sacrifice—and He offers it to others. He offers it to everyone.

The encounter with these two on the road to Emmaus is a fleeting one. Our Lord doesn't stay with them forever, but somehow the entire destiny of the Church is contained within this fleeting meeting.

It tells us that the Christian community is not enclosed within a fortified citadel, but rather journeys along its most essential environment, which is the road—the ordinary road of our vocation, of our Christian vocation in the middle of the world, in the middle of temporal affairs.

And on that road, it encounters people with their hopes and disappointments, which at times may be burdensome. The Church manifested by Christ listens to everyone's story.

As those stories emerge from the treasure chest of their personal conscience, He listens to them, and the Church listens to them, in order to offer them the Word of Life, the witness of love, a love that is faithful to the end, and thus the hearts of people reignite with hope.

In the middle of our questions, our mysteries, our difficulties, and even our bitter disappointments, “the divine Wayfarer continues to walk by our side, opening to us the Scriptures and leading us to a deeper understanding of the mysteries of God.”

Hence, the importance of spending a little time in silent prayer every day, or of reading a few words of the Gospel, or spending fifteen minutes doing some spiritual reading, giving the Holy Spirit a better chance to be able to reveal to us the meaning of those Scriptures.

“When we meet him fully, we will pass from the light of the Word to the light streaming from the ‘Bread of life’, the supreme fulfillment of his promise to ‘be with us always to the end of the age’ (cf. Matt. 28:20). ‘I will be with you always’” (Ibid., Point 2).

“Jesus described himself as the ‘light of the world’ (John 8:12), and this quality clearly appears in certain moments of his life, like the Transfiguration and the Resurrection, in which his divine glory shines forth brightly. Yet in the Eucharist, the glory of Christ remains veiled, hidden under the Sacred Species.

“Through the mystery of his complete hiddenness, Christ becomes a mystery of light, thanks to which believers are led into the depths of the divine light” (Point 11).

Just as there is a light streaming from Bethlehem and there is a light streaming from the Cross, there is a light streaming from the Blessed Eucharist, a light that can light up the whole of our lives.

“In the account of the disciples on the road to Emmaus, Christ intervenes to show the story of the Scriptures, ‘beginning with Moses and all the prophets’ how ‘all the Scriptures; point to the mystery of his person’” (Luke 24:27).

“The Redemption is the high point of the whole of human history” (John Paul II, Encyclical Letter, Redemptor Hominis, March 4, 1979). God, instead of just speaking to man, becomes man. Revelation is personified in the person of Christ.

“His words make the hearts of the disciples ‘burn’ within them, drawing them out of the darkness of sorrow and despair, and awakening in them a desire to remain with him. And so they say: ‘Stay with us, Lord’” (John Paul II, Apostolic Letter, Mane nobiscum Domine, Point 12).

These are very appropriate words these days, or an aspiration to say to Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament.

“It is significant that these two disciples...recognized him at table through the simple gesture of the ‘breaking of bread.’”

The scales fall from their eyes. Now they know who this Wayfarer is. There may be times in our life when Our Lord reveals Himself to us in a clearer way, when we say to ourselves: This message can only have come from God. Or, this word or phrase that this person has said or this child has uttered contains some divine message. The Holy Spirit is here.

“When minds are enlightened and hearts are enkindled, signs begin to ‘speak’” (Ibid., Point 14).

I've just finished reading a book called Catholic Converts. Some of the major converts, particularly literary converts, high profile converts of the past two centuries—in some of them you can see there were definite moments when signs began to speak. The liturgy or certain words or certain truths became clearer.

"The Eucharist unfolds in a dynamic context of signs containing a rich and luminous message.” The liturgy of every day is full of lights and beauties. The words—they contain something special. “Through these signs, the mystery in some way opens up before the eyes of the believer” (Point 14).

A priest told me once how he was going to say Mass for some nuns in Ireland. He asked the nun in charge if she would like him to say a few words during the Mass.

She replied, “Father, should the Mass have words enough of its own?” In other words, no.

But he said, “I was very impressed with the way that you said it.”

“The Mass has words enough of its own.” Here was somebody who had learned to savor the words of the liturgy—their richness, their beauty, their light.

“When the disciples on the way to Emmaus asked Jesus to stay ‘with’ them, he responded by giving them a much greater gift: through the Sacrament of the Eucharist he found a way to stay ‘in’ them” (Point 19).

We would like to take a little more care of your moments of thanksgiving after Mass. Let it be very intimate. We discover every day the great treasure it is to have God within us, the great privilege, the great grace.

“Receiving the Eucharist means entering into a profound union with Jesus. ‘Abide in me and I in you’ (John 15:4). This relationship of profound and ritual ‘abiding’ enables us to have a certain foretaste of heaven on earth. This is the greatest of human yearnings. This is what God had in mind when he brought about his plan of salvation in history.

“God has placed in human hearts a ‘hunger’ for his word (cf. Amos 8:11), a hunger that can only be satisfied by full union with him. Our Communions are given so that we might be satisfied with God here on earth, in expectation of our complete fulfillment in heaven” (Point 19).

“Whoever eats my body and drinks my blood shall have life in him, and I will raise him up on the last day” (John 6:54).

So with the Blessed Eucharist we get a promise of eternal life, something very great, and so we can ask Our Lord to enkindle that hope in us.

“The Eucharist is not just an expression of our unity in the life of the Church; it is also a project of solidarity for all of humanity. In the Eucharist the Church constantly renews our awareness of being a ‘sign and instrument’ not only of intimate union with God but also of the unity of the whole human race.”

God has brought us together in love. He wants us to be united with the whole human race there.

“When we take part in the Blessed Eucharist we learn to become a promoter of peace and of solidarity and of joy in every situation” (Point 27).

“In the Eucharist our God has shown us love in the extreme, overcoming all those criteria of power which too often govern human relations and radically affirming the criterion of service. ‘If anyone would be first, he must be last of all and servant of all’” (Mark 9:35).

When He institutes the Eucharist Our Lord also washes feet (John 13:1-20). “By bending down to wash the feet of the disciples, he explains the meaning of the Eucharist” (Point 28).

Our Lord invites us to delight in His presence. There must be a special joy in our soul, in our heart, when we receive Him each day, as we become aware or remind ourselves—because we need reminding—of the incomparable treasure which Christ has entrusted to His Church.

With the disciples on the road to Emmaus, we also feel that same need to say: ‘Stay with us, Lord, stay with me, now and always.’

If I have any difficult moments, any dark moments, in which I walk with a little bit of sadness, pensive, without horizons, help me to remember that you're always there beside me to give me hope, to warm our heart, to say, ‘Go ahead, I'm with you. Carry on.’

“The secret of the road that leads to Emmaus is simply that despite appearances to the contrary, we continue to be loved and God will never stop loving us. God will walk with us always, even in the most painful moments, even in the worst moments, the moments of our greatest defeats” (Pope Francis, General Audience, May 24, 2017).

Somebody sent me a nice photo of St. John Chrysostom recently saying that “we can be at peace, because forgiveness has arisen.” Great message of Easter: forgiveness has arisen.

Christ has come to forgive, to help us to begin again, just like those disciples on the road to Emmaus. This is our hope—a call to go forward in hope, because He is beside us and walks with us always.

Our Lady was our hope, the Mother of Hope. She kept the hope of the Apostles and the disciples going through the period of Holy Saturday.

Now she's bringing them back together again little by little. She's going to keep them together until the coming of the Holy Spirit.

Woman of Hope, may you help us to say frequently to Our Lord in the Blessed Sacrament: ‘Stay with us, Lord.’

I thank you, my God, for the good resolutions, affections, and inspirations that you have communicated to me during this meditation. I ask your help to put them into practice. My Immaculate Mother, Saint Joseph, my father and lord, my guardian angel, intercede for me.

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

OLV