It’s been seven years, and I cannot access the word of peace. The tears still sting and slosh over my pail of remorse.
Easter | Third Sunday of Easter (Year A)
Acts 2:14a, 36-41; Psalm 116:1-4, 12-19; 1 Peter 1:17-23; Luke 24:13-35
The story of the disciples on the road to Emmaus is a favorite of mine. I love the image of pilgrims traveling together, struggling to understand tragedy and loss. I love that Jesus enters the story as a pushy traveling companion who sidles up beside them and talks their ears off for the rest of the trip. And I love that it's not Jesus' incisive exegesis of the promises in scripture that open the disciples' eyes to his identity. It is his presence with them at a shared meal
Our eyes drink in the world around us, but our brains develop filters so that we actually see only the necessary things. In their conversation on the road to Emmaus, I imagine the two disciples sifting carefully through what they have seen.
I am not a particularly confident pastor and preacher. I don't think I am neurotic about it, but I do harbor my own sense of doubt. It's not that the doubt freezes me in place and keeps me from functioning. It's more the kind of doubt that sits off in the corner somewhere, creeping up now and then to poke at me, asking questions like, Does anything you do really make a difference?
by Ron AdamsMay 2, 2011