The Rev. Dr. Brandon Perrine
Easter 3 A
Luke 24:13-35
April 19, 2026
Now on that same day two of them were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. And he said to them, “What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?” They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?” He asked them, “What things?” They replied, “The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place. Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his body there they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but they did not see him.” Then he said to them, “Oh, how foolish you are and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?” Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.
As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” So he went in to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him, and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem, and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were saying, “The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!” Then they told what had happened on the road and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.
~o~
Have you ever wondered what it might feel like to attend your own funeral—assessing whether the music really suits your taste or the readings; listening to all the stories told about your life from people who remember them from a perspective other than your own; hearing the nice things said by the minister and wondering if the person they describe really even sounds like you at all? I can only imagine that Jesus would have felt a bit like this on that road to Emmaus.
Cleopas and his fellow disciple were talking about Jesus when he showed up. They didn’t recognize him and, when he asked who they were talking about, they told him—probably more than he’d bargained for. They thought Jesus had been a mighty prophet—that would be nice to hear— but they’d been disappointed when he was executed without redeeming Israel from its Roman occupiers. They explained that even that very morning they’d been in the room with the eleven when Mary Magdalene and the others returned with news of angels and an empty tomb. But no one had actually seen Jesus since his burial, so it all sounded like wishful thinking. Now the pair was walking the dusty seven-mile road from Jerusalem to Emmaus—apparently moving on.
As curious as I might be, I don’t think I’d want to attend my own funeral, and I’m thinking this would have been awkward for Jesus too, even disappointing to feel unseen and misunderstood by his own disciples. And yet, maybe what’s happening here isn’t just misunderstanding—it’s grief. Maybe they weren’t simply stuck in the past idea of who Jesus was; maybe they were doing the only thing a person can do when their world falls apart: trying to make sense of it all.
Jesus doesn’t begin by correcting them. He walks with them. He listens. He asks questions. Yes, there’s a moment of sharpness, but even that comes in the context of companionship. And when they reach their destination, he doesn’t force himself on them—he waits to be invited. “Stay with us,” they say. And he does.
When they shared bread later, they finally realized they’d been talking with Jesus the whole time. Not in the explanation. Not in the argument. But in the breaking of the bread.
Whether we want to admit it or not, most of us can relate to these disciples. Memory is a beautiful and powerful thing that allows us to preserve our experiences and revisit them. But sometimes, without even realizing it, we begin to live there. And when that happens, remembering can become less an onramp to the future and more a roadblock to the present.
I feel like I can relate to these disciples personally, because I know how easy it is to feel nostalgic—to become attached to earlier versions of life, to seasons that now seem simpler, clearer, kinder—and in the process fail to notice moments of profound beauty, connection, and grace in the present moment.
Sometimes the reason we don’t recognize the risen Christ isn’t because Christ is absent—but because we’re looking backward instead of around us.
Do our memories become scripts we keep repeating, or witnesses that remind us that the Spirit might be calling us to try something new?
The world keeps turning, whether we’re ready to move with it or not. But maybe the invitation here isn’t simply to leave the past behind or force ourselves into the future. Maybe it’s to trust that the Christ we seek is already walking with us—even when we don’t recognize it—meeting us in conversation, in companionship, and, perhaps most clearly of all, at the table.
Luckily for Cleopas and his companion, Jesus came along. After their unexpected communion with him, the story says they returned to Jerusalem and the other disciples and shared in their joy—a joy that would ultimately propel the church forward, even to now.
As individuals, as a congregation, and as a community, what might be keeping us from recognizing the presence already among us? Where might Christ be walking beside us, unrecognized? And if we do come to see—to commune—will we respond with a joy that propels us forward?
May it be so. Amen.
