Readings of the day: Acts 2:14, 22-33; Psalm 16:1-2, 5, 7-8, 9-10, 11; 1 Peter 1:17-21; Luke 24:13-35
When Jesus’ disciples realize who had
been walking with them on the road to Emmaus, they ask themselves: “Were not
our hearts burning within us”? If we were to encounter the risen Christ in the
same way that the pair of disciples did on the way to Emmaus, would we ask
ourselves the same question: “Were not our hearts burning within us?”
Many of us can empathize in at least one
way with Jesus’ disciples on the road to Emmaus: Heartburn is painful!
I speak not primarily of physical
heartburn but of spiritual heartburn; the kind not alleviated by antacid
tablets but by acknowledging the presence of the risen Christ among us; by
recommitting ourselves to announcing the Good News that the disciples
eventually found the courage to proclaim at Emmaus: “The Lord has truly been
raised and has appeared to Simon!” The Lord has truly been raised and is
revealed to us in the breaking open
of the Scriptures and the breaking open of the bread!
The trouble is that the cure for
spiritual heartburn can be as painful as the heartburn itself. To be cured, to
experience and proclaim the risen Christ, in reality involves a kind of death.
In order to be cured of spiritual heartburn, we are called by the risen Christ
to die to any fear we may have to “announce the Gospel of the Lord” boldly by
the way we live our Christian faith; to die to the temptation to close in on
ourselves, particularly in times of crisis, instead of being a joyful, fearless
Church; to die to “we were hoping that he would be the one to redeem Israel” in
order to live as partakers in Christ’s mission to redeem our world.
Standing here among you, my sisters and
brothers in Christ, I am confident that I am addressing many who have experienced
or continue to experience a kind of death in order to proclaim the risen Christ.
Some of us have experienced much pain, but I have also witnessed that we are a
people of great joy, inspiration, dedication, and faith. Some of us have
experienced the death of loved ones, a similar experience to that of the two
disciples on the road to Emmaus. Some of us experience or share loved ones’
experience of illness of body, mind, or spirit. Many of us are living through a
time of heartburn, an expected experience for all of us who long for Christ,
and yet we are living a call to open ourselves to the cure for our heartburn.
We are living our call to open ourselves to pain; to death that Christ may live
in and through us.
Only because we accept this tension‒ the
heartburn is painful but so is the cure; and we continue to experience both‒ do
we continue as pilgrims on our own road to Emmaus of sorts. Only by continuing
on the road to Emmaus do we maintain hope of encountering the risen Christ.
Yet do we not so often encounter the
risen Christ in the unknown; in times of unsettling change; in our moments of
pain? Christ draws near and walks with us just as “he drew near and walked
with” the disciples toward Emmaus. Precisely because our hearts burn, though,
we may not immediately recognize the Christ who walks along with us; who is
with us in our worship and in our community; who because he is human like us
has experienced and redeemed our pain.
Brother Roger Schutz, the founder of the
ecumenical community of Taizé in France, captures in his meditation on the
journey to Emmaus the heart-burn of the disciples alongside Jesus on this road;
a pain and a lack of immediate recognition of Christ’s presence that perhaps
many of us share with those two disciples, but also when we meet the cure for
our heartburn; when we recognize the risen Christ among us, in the opening of
the Scriptures and in the breaking of the bread. And so I invite us to pause
and meditate on these words from Brother Roger:
We are once again pilgrims on the road
to Emmaus…
Our heads are bowed as we meet the
Stranger
who draws near and comes with us.
As evening comes, we strain to make out
His face
while he talks to us, to our hearts.
In interpreting the Book of Life,
He takes our broken hopes and kindles them
into fire:
the way becomes lighter as,
drawing the embers together, we learn to
fan the flame.
If we invite Him… He will sit down
and together we shall share the meal.
And then all those who no longer believed
will see and the hour of Recognition
will come.
He will break the bread of tears at the
table of the poor
and each will receive manna to their
fill.
We shall return to Jerusalem to proclaim
aloud
what He has whispered in our ear.
And no doubt we shall find brothers and
sisters there
who will greet us with the words:
“We, too, have met Him!”
For we know: the mercy of God
has come to visit the land of the
living!
“We are once again pilgrims on the road
to Emmaus.” Are “not our hearts burning within us?” How does the risen Christ,
whom we experience at times as a stranger, become our friend; the one who cures
us of our heartburn by joining our conversation; our journey to Emmaus? How do
our hearts continue to burn, and yet our burning serve to “kindle” the hope of
one another “into fire”?
Do we perhaps make a special effort to welcome
a stranger when we come to Mass: One who is new to our parish; one who has not
been to Mass for some time, for whatever reason; one who is in need, sick, or
poor; one who may become a friend to us; Christ to us? When the time comes
during our Mass, as it will shortly, will we share with joy Christ’s own
greeting to his Apostles, “Peace be with you,” before bread is broken and
shared among us? Will we die, as many of us die already, to seeking Christ, the
cure to our heartburn, among the dead, in order to recognize him among us;
among the living? Will we turn to one another “to proclaim aloud what [Christ]
has whispered in our ear”?
We find here among us our brothers and
sisters in Christ, each of us in some way with hearts burning; each seeking the
cure to our spiritual heartburn. Do we greet one another with the disciples’
words on the road to Emmaus: “We, too, have met him”?
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