The Road to Emmaus
Tony Doherty, Sydney priest, offers a reflection each Sunday on the gospel for his parish community at Neutral Bay, Sydney. This is a transcript for a reflection on the Third Sunday of Easter.[s2If current_user_can(access_s2member_level2)]
Available on YouTube – Monsignor T Doherty: https://youtu.be/4TOdezBlgiM
He is also author of a Podcast of short biographies of 50 priests who have died but whom he has been privileged to work with in Sydney over fifty years in the ministry. Priests such as Ted Kennedy, Grove Johnson, Kevin Hannan, Brian Yates, Roger Pryke, Ed Barry, John McSweeney and many more.
They can be accessed on: Sound Cloud – Priests I have known.
Let me begin with a story. There was a young and famous teacher, a Rabbi, who was to visit the town. All the people began to gather their questions: about life, about death and misfortune, about the crops, about love, about envy, about everything on earth.
The great day finally arrived and the village packed into the hall to have their questions answered by the holy man; ‘listen to the young Rabbi,’ they said. He came up on the stage and just looked at them – silently. Then, after three minutes of silence he began to hum softly, then more loudly.
Then he began to sing, softly, then ever more loudly and they all began to sing the Rabbi’s lilting refrain. Next, he began to move his body in a rhythmic way, ever so slowly and then more quickly he began his slow dance and they all began to dance.
It was only then that the Rabbi said his first words. ‘I trust you have had all your questions answered’. He stepped from the stage, out the back door and then disappeared from their midst.
Let me say something about today’s gospel. There are several intriguing stories in the gospels of Jesus appearing to people after the resurrection. Each of them mysterious and fascinating.
The risen Christ seems to glide into people lives – almost like a dancer – and then disappear. Today’s story is my favourite. It’s The Road to Emmaus.
Two young men are walking away from Jerusalem seven miles to a small town called Emmaus; when a stranger looms up beside them. The young men were weighed down by serious depression. They were hurting. Crushed.
That young teacher from Nazareth had opened up a dream to them. A dream that had crashed and burned on Calvary. The two of them were in flight from the crash scene.
The stranger catches their stride, catches their mood. But most significantly listens to their story. Gives them his complete attention.
He then takes on the role of teacher. ‘Don’t you understand the sacred writings about the necessity that new life will come from death’. That the seed planted in the ground must die before a new green full of life shoot breaks through the soil.
His words penetrate their fog. The stranger says goodbye and moves to go on and leave them with their questions. But they wouldn’t let him go. His words had stirred something deep within them. They couldn’t let him go. ‘Come and share a meal’, they insisted.
It’s amazing how often sharing food comes up in these stories of the Risen Christ.
And so as the mysterious stranger takes the loaf, he blesses the bread, breaks it and gives it to them. Suddenly like a bolt of lightning it all becomes clear. He is Risen. He is here with us. As soon as they recognise him, he disappears from their sight.
What’s this story all about? The story of road to Emmaus may have a very contemporary ring for us today. Given our recent history the experience of being a Catholic Christian in these days can sometimes be quite dispiriting.
Our dreams, like those two young men, have been shaken. Even crushed. Yet for them, a stranger has drawn them out, listened to them, invited them to look again at the scriptures and encourages them to support one another in the breaking of the bread.
For me there are three practical implications of this story.
Never underestimate the sacredness of genuine conversation; even when it comes out of the blue with a stranger. Nor fail to value the importance of story telling and story listening.
Be quick to recognise that graced moment when sharing a meal with friends; of breaking bread while at the same time breaking open ourselves with the stories of the road we are on.
But finally to understand Easter a little more clearly as a time when the essential truth of the belief that shattered dreams, no matter how broken can be healed and be brought to life again.
An English poet and songwriter Sydney Carter, it must have been back in the sixties, composed a song entitled. Actually, it was taken from an old Shaker tune composed in the deep south of the United States. Carter put lyrics to the music.
In his final verse of the song, Carter catches the mystery of the resurrection:
They cut me down and I leapt up high
I am the Life that will never, never die
I’ll live in you if you live in me
I am the lord of the dance, said he
Those young men had met the Lord of the Dance on the road to Emmaus. At first slow to recognise him – but then their hearts were opened. Their minds unlocked.
Easter is a treasured time to open our own hearts and minds. Perhaps it may even cause us to move our own stiff bodies, to sway to the music, to move our feet and to join the dance:
I’ll live in you, if you live in me
I am the Lord of the dance said he.
Prayer: For those who have died by the thousands throughout this bleeding world of ours – often the elderly and those who sorely grieve their deaths – there exists an ocean of grief.
For the people of the majority world, the third world, who find social distancing unimaginable in their crowded villages, and cramped homes, who lack clean water to wash, and now recently unemployed have insufficient food to put on the table for their children.
For those millions of people who have insufficient medical help in good times, much less in the midst of a pandemic.
As caution causes us to secure the borders of our continent, let us be careful not to create walls in our hearts and imaginations to fail to appreciate that we are in the midst of global tragedy which threatens the world at large.
As this is Anzac weekend let us reflect on the admirable national ritual of praying for those young people who have given their lives in times of war. Lest we forget.
Lord – the pace of our days has slowed; the rhythm of life has become more human. Let us re-discover the wisdom of this time of Sabbath this sacred time when we are invited to cease of our normal activity.
Quieten our minds so that we might recognise your mysterious presence as the stranger on the road, in the simple encounters of each day, below the surface of each moment which disguise your gentle existence.
We offer you this prayer through Christ Our Lord. Amen.[/s2If]
