Today’s question requires a little bit of imagination. You need to imagine you’re on a trip, perhaps, from Houston to Orlando. You’re driving there with the kids to visit Disney World. You’ve gotten as far as Beaumont when the kids ask you a question. So, my question is this: What question do the kids ask you as you drive into Beaumont?
Right! The question they ask is: “Are we there yet?” No matter how many puzzles and DVD’s you’ve provided them with, they have already exhausted their supply and will keep repeating their question at least every two hours for the next couple of days, which is why many parents would rather fly than drive to where they’re going. And what with the price of gasoline, it might be cheaper to fly.
Well, as you can probably guess, my homily for today will not be about the price of gasoline. But, it will be about travel, about journeys, about pilgrimages. Today’s Gospel story is about a journey or, at least, a long trip. We heard how two travelers went by foot on a seven-mile walk from Jerusalem to the village of Emmaus, on an early Sunday morning, on the “first day of the week.”
We know the name of one of them: Cleopas. His companion may very well have been his wife, since back in those days, the name of the husband was enough of a reference. Besides, I like to think it was a married couple, a husband and wife, who walked that ancient road and had their lives changed so dramatically.
They had begun their homeward journey with great sadness. Their master, the one whom they had loved and followed, had died three days ago. They spoke to one another about all of the events of the past week:
● how, a week ago, he had been welcomed into the city with shouts of joy and jubilation,
● how, a mere four days later, he was crucified by the Romans on that hill outside the city,
● how they had been awakened this very morning, just after sunrise, by the news from the women that his body was missing from the tomb where it had been laid to rest,
● and how they had joined his other followers as they rushed to the tomb and found it empty.
A few moments ago, they had met a stranger who joined them as they continued their path homeward. However, as we heard, he was really no stranger, although he was one whom they did not recognize, one who explained the ancient scriptures to them about how their Lord, the Anointed One of God, must suffer first in order to enter into his glory. He held them spellbound as they walked throughout the day and finally approached their village as the sun began to set and the long day turned to twilight. Although it seemed he would continue on his own way, alone, this couple, with open hospitality, invited him to enter their home and share their evening meal.
Although Cleopas, as head of the household, had the right to offer the opening blessing over their humble food, he invited the stranger to recite the ancient words of blessing. And as the stranger spoke and broke the bread, he became no longer the foreign one, no longer the stranger, but rather they recognized him as their friend and master, now risen from the tomb they had visited this morning.
As he vanished from their sight, his presence remained with them, a presence consuming them, empowering them to leave the table, at once, and return immediately with overwhelming joy to Jerusalem, to tell the other disciples about what, and about whom, they had experienced in the opening of the ancient scriptures and, especially, in the breaking of the bread. They were compelled by this internal joy of the first Eucharist, their First Communion with the risen Christ, to spread the Good News: he has died, he is risen, he is with us now.
Yes, it is our tradition that the institution of our Eucharist occurred on the night before he died and was buried, there at what we call “The Last Supper.” But the first post-resurrection encounter of his followers was here on the road to Emmaus and here in their home when the bread of life was first broken and shared.
Some two thousand years later, we continue to participate in the liturgy begun on that evening in Emmaus, on that journey to and from Emmaus. We continue to listen to the ancient writings of the prophets, we continue to break open the word of God to which we listen. And having completed the liturgy of the word for the first part of our mass, we continue to share in the liturgy of the table with the breaking of the bread. And having recognized his presence in the elements of sacred word and consecrated bread and wine, we are urged to go forth to share his presence with others.
The story of the road to Emmaus is, however, more than the model for our liturgy. It is, also, the model for our lives, for our own journeys in and to the Kingdom of God. On our journey, each of us encounters the stranger, the foreign one, the one who may be our hidden Christ, the one who speaks words of wisdom to guide us on our journey, a journey in which we share with one another the resources of our lives.
At the same time, the road to Emmaus is more than a journey in itself. A journey is a trip counted in hours or in days, a trip that ends when a specified destination is reached. But instead, our path to Emmaus is not a “journey” but rather a “pilgrimage.” It is a journey of faith to a place of faith. What matters in a pilgrimage are the events along the way. This is the meaning of a pilgrimage
● a journey of faith, made with faith, to a place of faith,
● a journey of hope, made with hope, to a place of hope,
● a journey of love, made with love, to a place of love.
We are said to be a “pilgrim church,” a gathering of pilgrims. For the last twenty-six years, we have been led on our pilgrimage by a kind and gentle shepherd. There have been other shepherds before him. Some of us remember with the greatest of affection, the one known as John the Twenty-Third. There will be other shepherds, known at present, only to the Holy Spirit. Our pilgrimage with them will continue until the return of the first Shepherd, the one who encouraged his fellow pilgrims on the road to Emmaus, the one who empowered them with his breaking of the bread to be shared on our pilgrimage.
We may wish to be like children on the way to Disney World and ask: “Are we there yet?” But as his true companions, we know we’re not “there” yet. We still have miles to walk, stories to share, bread to be broken and a message to be proclaimed.
Third Sunday of Easter; April 10, 2005
Acts 2:14, 22-33; 1Peter 1:17-21; Lk 24:13-35
- On this weekend the price of gasoline in Houston was at least $2.30 for regular grade, considerably higher than that of earlier years. {The price of gasoline has, in more recent years, been close to $5.00 per gallon. It, currently, is in the mid-three-dollar range.}
- Pope John Paul II had returned to the Father the previous weekend, April 2, 2005. During the liturgy it seems very strange to not hear his name immediately before offering the prayer for our bishop and all the clergy.