Dig Deeper into Sunday’s Gospel: Read Luke 24:13–35

A painting of the disciples on the road to Emmaus hangs in my home. It was given to me by a friend and past mentor—someone who helped shape my faith, who taught me to listen patiently and be gentle with and to accompany those walking their own long roads of disbelief and disappointment, and who, over time, helped me recognize myself in this story. 

I leave it on the wall in my living room, where I can see it daily. It serves as a reminder that even when hope does a terribly good job of hiding, even when we're seemingly walking in the wrong direction, God still walks beside us.

What do I mean by the wrong direction? 

In Luke's gospel, everything is moving toward Jerusalem. Jerusalem is pivotal; it is the place of fulfillment, of promise, of God's plan unfolding. But these two disciples were walking away from where they should have been dwelling. Walking away from the place where everything was to be revealed. 

And haven't we all been here?

Haven't we all wandered, made mistakes, or found ourselves in moments that shook our faith, leaving us confused, disillusioned, or wondering if we misunderstood who God is and what His promises were? Not even out of a spirit of rebellion, but from the slow erosion that weariness, grief, unmet expectations, and delayed answers to prayer cause in our hearts. I know I have. And I know how easy it is to feel there is no turning back. 

But still, Jesus comes alongside the disciples. He doesn't wait for perfect faith. He is unafraid of their questions, of their doubt.  

We hear the ache in their voices: “But we had hoped …” Not we hope—but we had hoped. Their words carry the weight of disappointment. They had believed He would redeem Israel, perhaps even as an earthly king, one who would overthrow suffering and oppression. And now, faced with the cross, it all seemed lost.

But the story does not end there. 

The antidote to hopelessness is found on the road to Emmaus: turn again to Scriptures and gather around the Eucharist, be nourished by the Word and Body, so that eyes may be opened, hearts set aflame, hope restored. Even when we've wandered far. Even when the situation seems beyond redemption, when it seems death has won, God can use the very paths we thought were lost to meet us, open our eyes, and redirect and bring us home. 

This Easter, I keep coming back to a question a priest, whom I admire greatly, asked at the Easter Vigil: Is there a tombstone in your life that you need rolled away? Perhaps it is regret, a failure, a fractured relationship, or a part of your heart that feels broken beyond repair. The Emmaus story reminds us that even when we are walking away, even when hope has done a terribly good job of hiding, He is already there, ready to meet us and roll away the stone, to bring new life to the place where we thought there was none. 

And, just as our Lord meets us on our own wayward roads, we too are called to accompany others on their own Emmaus journeys—listening to them, asking questions, lovingly and patiently pointing them to the One who loves them to the end, who has redeemed the world, who saves them from their sin, and whose heart is broken open in mercy, compassion, and unfailing love. 

Food for thought or journaling ...

Is there a tombstone in my life that I need rolled away? Is there someone in my life whom I am called to accompany on their road to Emmaus? 

Jesus, meet me on the road to Emmaus. Open my eyes. Set my heart aflame. Even when hope seems out of reach, give me assurance, through Your Word and the Eucharist, of Your unfailing love and Your victory over every tombstone. Amen.