St. Luke’s account of the Resurrection, the last Chapter of his Gospel, is dominated by the scene of the two disciples on the road to Emmaus. You might well think that rather odd. Yes, Luke does briefly mention the women at the empty tomb, and the message to them of the two Angelic men; and he mentions how Peter ran to the tomb to see it for himself. But then he gets on with the main business, which is narrating this story. It’s odd, because these two seem to be nobodies. One of them isn’t even named. The one who is named, Cleopas, appears nowhere else in the New Testament. So among all the post resurrection appearances of Jesus, this one would seem to be the least important.
Clearly then St. Luke chose this story because there’s so much in it for us. In many ways it’s a picture or paradigm of the whole Christian life. He tells it because he wants us to read ourselves into it, and to understand the lesson these two disciples learned.
Where is Emmaus? It was so unimportant that no one has ever been able to pin point its whereabouts. It was scarcely worthy of the title of Village, or even Hamlet. It was nowhere! So these two are on a journey to nowhere; full of grief, of dashed hopes, of disappointment: all their ideals and aspirations defeated, collapsed, gone. In a sense these two sad, disconsolate men represent humanity without Jesus.
And that’s all ironic, because they’re wrong! This very day - Easter Day! - all their hopes have been superabundantly fulfilled, if only they could see it! And in fact Jesus is with them: if only they could open their eyes! St. Luke seems to enjoy ladling on the irony of the scene in layer after layer. They say: Are you the only person who doesn’t know? Well: he certainly does know what happened, since he was the main one involved. Indeed he’s the only one who truly does know and understand everything! They helpfully inform their unknown companion that Jesus had been a great prophet. But his resurrection proves what they should have known, that Jesus is much more than that. They say: We had hoped he would set Israel free. But now they think that, alas, after all the hope had been false. They even mention the story of the women at the empty tomb, though for them it’s just as a strange story they can’t understand. I think Luke means us to see the funny side of this: it’s the humour of God, of Easter. We laugh at silly clots who are so busy being miserable they can’t see the joyful reality staring them in the face: if only they’d open their eyes.
In his Confessions, St. Augustine describes how he himself, and in him really Everyman, was in this same situation. As he came to realise, God wasn’t ever absent from him: but he was absent from God. And he hadn’t really been seeking God in his life, although he liked to imagine he was. In reality Augustine had been walking in the opposite direction, like the two disciples, going nowhere. But God in Christ was truly seeking him, and He found him, and brought him home, and filled him with joy.
Jesus opened the eyes of the two disciples to recognise him. I think we must be meant to see this as, in a sense, a reversal of the story of Adam and Eve in the garden. When they took the forbidden fruit, their eyes were opened: but it was to know evil, to see sin. And because of that they were no longer able to see God; no longer able freely to converse with him. It meant, too, that with their innocence gone, they no longer had access to unimpeded knowledge of goodness, or beauty or truth. And they were driven out of the garden, to wander about in a hostile land of exile.
But now, in the light of the resurrection - in the light of Easter Day - the eyes of the disciples are opened, and they see Jesus. Now, in him, they see everything differently. Instead of disconsolate despair: hope; and with hope a new energy, a new life, and a new understanding. So they reverse their journey and hasten back towards the holy City, symbol of the Church. Even as they share their joy, they find themselves united with the other disciples better than ever before, because now they have the Holy Eucharist as the centre and source of their ecclesial life.
The forbidden food in the garden could be seen as a sort of anti-Eucharist. Taking it abolished union with God, and communion with one another. But the bread blessed and given by Jesus, which is truly his body: that creates communion, union, fellowship.
Adam and Eve dishonoured God and each other through their disobedience. But through this heavenly food we are able at last to give God true glory. Through our Eucharistic fellowship we see each other also now as we really are: forgiven, redeemed children of God, all members together of one Body, sharing one faith, one baptism, one bread. The Holy Eucharist unites us also as those who share what Christ came to give us. Not just freedom from political oppression; not just freedom from disease or from the sorrows of this world. No, it’s all much more radical than that. Jesus sets us free from sin, and offers us eternal life with God in heaven. Then, with those supreme gifts, of course, he gives multiple other gifts, beyond number: gifts, upon gifts, upon gifts.
There is a good deal more one could say about this wonderfully evocative passage. Let me now conclude by just noticing how it follows the sequence of the Mass. First we have disciples of Jesus assembled together, with Jesus present among them. Then the reading and explanation of scripture. Then bread taken, blessed, broken, given. Then the sending out, in faith, to create community, and share joy. Otherwise: silence.
Why does St. Luke not tell us how Jesus explained the scriptures on the road? Because he wants us to listen directly to Jesus ourselves. He wants us to ponder the scriptures ourselves. And he wants each of us to understand, by the light of the Holy Spirit, and ever more and more, what it means for Jesus to have risen from the dead.