A message for the Easter Season
Good morning. What a wonderful gift to gather on this third Sunday of Easter with you. Earlier today, I stepped outside and was met by a cold, driving rain—so sharp it almost felt like snow. That made me all the more grateful to be here, sheltered together in this warm sactuary, sharing this morning.
In this, the Easter season, our Gospel readings center on encounters with the risen Christ. And today’s story, which has the feeling of a legend that has been passed down for generations, is an account of two disciples meeting the risen – or the post Easter – Jesus on the road to Emmaus. And like all good legends, embedded in this story are some lessons that attempt to answer some of the fundamental questions we may have about our faith. Primarily this legend tries to answer the question of how or where we encounter the risen Christ. But, for me at least, before I can get to the questions of how or where, I think it’s important to ask why we would want to do that in the first place.
That “why” matters. What’s at stake in seeking such an encounter? What difference would it make?
To explore those questions, to ask why we would want to have an encounter with the risen Christ and then ask how and where, we now step into the story.
It is Easter Sunday afternoon. Two disciples—one named Cleopas, the other unnamed (perhaps his wife, as I like to imagine)—are walking home to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem. Interestingly, no archaeological evidence for Emmaus has ever been found, which adds a layer of mystery to the whole tale. These two disciples are likely not close followers of Jesus from Galilee, but ordinary people who came to Jerusalem for the Passover festival, and who perhap heard rumors about this Galilean prophet along the way.
While in the city, Cleopas and his wife might have witnessed some ther remarkable events that took place during that festival week. Maybe they saw Jesus enter Jerusalem on a donkey. Maybe they listened as he taught in the temple, challenging the religious authorities and offering a vision of God’s kingdom that was rooted in justice, love, and hope. They might have seen his acts of healing, or even the dramatic moment when he overturned the tables of the money changers.
In short, they would have been drawn in—captivated by a man who seemed deeply, unmistakably connected to the Divine.
And that kind of presence changes people.
To be near Jesus, I imagine, was to feel that connection yourself: a deeper awareness of God, and a deeper love for others. It was the kind of experience that awakens something within you—a realization that life could be different, that the world could be more just, more compassionate, more whole. It’s the kind of experience that moves you to act, to care, to build community.
This, I think, is Luke’s answer to the “why.” An encounter with the risen Christ connects us to God and to one another—and it changes us.
So how does it happen?
As Cleopas and his companion walk along that crowded road home, surrounded by hundreds – maybe thousands – of other travelers returning from the festival, a stranger joins them. He asks what they are discussing. Surprised, they recount everything from the past week: Jesus’ teachings and acts of civil disobedience, his arrest and crucifixion, and now the bewildering reports that his tomb was empty and that he may be alive.
The stranger—whom we know is Jesus, though they do not—begins to interpret these events through the lens of Scripture. As they walk, something stirs within them. Their hearts begin to burn, though they cannot yet name why.
When the travelers arrive in Emmaus, Cleopas and his wife invite the stranger to stay for dinner. It’s evening, after all, and hospitality matters. Around the table, the stranger takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to them.
And suddenly, they see.
In that simple, ordinary act—sharing a meal with a stranger—their eyes are opened. They recognize him as the risen Christ. And just as suddenly, he is gone.
It’s a striking moment. And it carries a quiet truth: sometimes we are in the midst of a profound encounter with Christ and don’t even realize it until afterward. Only later do we look back and think, That was something holy.
The story doesn’t end there. Overcome with awe, Cleopas and his companion do something risky—they turn around and head back to Jerusalem in the dark to tell the other disciples. And when they arrive, they discover they are not alone. Others have had similar experiences. The presence of Jesus, it seems, has not ended. It continues among them.
And here we arrive at the essence of Luke’s message to us.
The experience of the risen Christ is not confined to something that happened two thousand years ago. It is available now. It lives on in moments of connection—with God, with one another, and with the world around us.
Where do we find it?
Yes, we find it in church, in the breaking of the bread. That’s the obvious answer.
But we also find it in less obvious places: in conversations with strangers, in acts of hospitality, in communities formed by care and compassion. We find it when we commit ourselves to making the world a little more just, a little more loving, a little more reflective of God’s kingdom.
And sometimes, we find it in a feeling—a quickening of the heart, a quiet sense that something meaningful is unfolding. A moment that catches your breath and makes you pay attention. That, perhaps, is the Holy Spirit nudging you, whispering that God is at work.
Maybe, just maybe, you are encountering the risen Christ.
This is the good news of Easter.
We are not simply remembering a past event. We are living into a present reality. We, together, are the body of the risen Christ in this world. And through that shared life, we experience God’s love—given to us, and flowing through us to others.
We are, all of us, intimately and lovingly connected.
And that is very good news. Amen.
Along The Way... 
Leave a comment