In the Breaking of the Bread

Sermon for the Third Sunday of Easter, Year A

The Church of the Epiphany | Washington, DC

Luke 24:13-35

We continue our celebration on this third Sunday of Eastertide—and the story of Easter continues to unfold in our readings. First the alleluias of resurrection, then the women arriving at an empty tomb last week, and now the long road to Emmaus.

This morning we meet two traveling disciples—but they don’t seem to know the Church has already rung in our joy with festive alleluias. Instead, these two carry their confusion and grief like a heavy backpack full of bricks.

Jesus was put to death just days ago: dashing their hopes and I imagine any sense of purpose in their lives. So, what now?, they wonder and walk together; where does one go from here?

I’m reminded of words written in a prayer by Thomas Merton:

My Lord God, I have no idea where I am going, I do not see the road ahead of me. [And] I cannot know for certain where it will end. [...] [But] I know that [my desire to please you] will lead me by the right road, though I may know nothing about it. Therefore will I trust you though I may seem to be lost and in the shadow of death.

I can’t think of a more appropriate image for these two disciples than “the valley of the shadow of death”—as it hangs over their travels. Their spirits are downcast, and rightfully so. And I think they are exactly where they should be. Because if nothing else, this is an honest response to what they’ve witnessed and experienced.  

They have fled from Jerusalem; perhaps for space to process, perhaps in fear for their safety, perhaps to throw in the towel and return home. Now they walk along the long, lonely road of disillusionment and despair—and it is precisely there that Jesus meets them. He appears on the road and walks side by side with them through the valley.

And in the midst of all those days held, even still their hearts are quickly kindled with hope.

Eventually, the road returns them to a familiar place of gathering together for a shared meal. At the table, Jesus takes the bread, blesses it, breaks it and shares it with them. This familiar act opens their understanding—and the presence of Christ is made known.

In the very midst of all those days held, even still Jesus lifts a word of thanksgiving. And it is this that enables them to recognize him.

Sometimes the road to Emmaus is just exactly what it looks like to follow Jesus.

Each year, I’m grateful Easter is more than a moment or a single day. I’m grateful for the full fifty days of Easter because we need to let good news settle into us; to let it really saturate our souls. And in the words of Amy Grant, “It takes a little time sometimes.”

So often, the reality of our lives makes it difficult to recognize the resurrected Christ in our midst. There are many distractions and discouragements all around us: even in this season of new life. 

And so again and again, week after week, we return to this table: hoping to meet Jesus. 

Now, there are many places we might encounter God in our lives. Indeed, the Ground of All Being is present all around us, in every part of our lives. It is truly a good thing to cultivate spiritual practices in many different forms. 

And in our tradition the Eucharist is an especially meaningful discipline that upholds our spirituality. We come to this table with the whole of our lives: searching for solace and pardon for the way we’ve travelled thus far, and we are met with strength and renewal for our continued journeys. 

We come to this table to be fed with the bread of life. And as we become the body of Christ, that same spirit of loving thanksgiving flows through us, that the bread of life might be offered to the world. 

When our lives break open on this journey, even still, the love of God will be made known. 

“The disciples knew the Lord Jesus in the breaking of the bread.” May it be so. 

Amen