We had hoped... Luke 24:13-35
This the third Sunday of the season of Easter.
And by this point, it is very easy for us to settle into the brightness of resurrection when we tend to speak of hope, and joy and the celebration of new life.
But sometimes, in our eagerness to arrive at Easter, we move too quickly past the road that leads there. Because there is no Easter Sunday… without the journey that comes before it.
A journey that begins for many Christians on Ash Wednesday, with the words: “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust” a sobering reminder of our physical mortality. It is a journey through the wilderness of Lent…Through the intensity of Holy Week… And into the deep, unsettling darkness of Good Friday.
And so if we want to truly understand our Gospel passage today, the story of the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, then we have to carry that whole journey with us.
Because the Emmaus story is not just a happy ending, it is a story about what happens after everything has fallen apart. It is a story that takes place in the wake of the shock, grief and loss of Good Friday.
One of the key lessons of Good Friday is the truth of impermanence. The crucifixion and death of Jesus is a stark and shocking reminder of the impermanence of life in this world. Everything and everyone you love is of the nature to change.
If you think about your life, there are certain moments that define it. Moments of joy, and celebration, like births and weddings and achievments. But also moments of sorrow, like loss and death. These are the moments that shape us – and for each of us those moments might be different.
But there is something they all have in common. They do not last. A wedding day may be a beautiful and memorable experience, but it passes. The birth of a child may change a persons life forever, but children grow up. Bodies change. Circumstances shift. Everything in this life is moving… changing… passing. Nothing in this world is permanent.
And yet, if we are honest, this is something we struggle to accept. Because deep down, we want things to last. We want loved ones to remain as they are. We want life to stay familiar. We want meaning to feel secure. And when things change… we suffer, not simply because something has ended, but because we had believed or we had hoped it would not.
And perhaps the most difficult place to see this is not in the world around us, but in fact in ourselves. Because we tend to think of ourselves as fixed, as continuous, as the same person we have always been. But are we?
Perhaps take a moment and reflect. Think of yourself, your name, your identity, who you believe yourself to be. And then gently ask: has that been permanent?
The child you once were, is that still who you are? The teenager? The young adult? At each stage of life, something has fallen away… and something new has emerged. When a little girl turns ten, the six year old child is no longer there… she has changed, she has grown. And the little 10 year old boy is no longer the same boy when he turns 13 or 14.
All through life we find ourselves having to shed an old identity and take on a new one:
A new identity when you left school. Another when you entered work. Another perhaps when you married. Another when you became a parent. Another when your children left home or you became a grandparent. And these are just a few examples of our ever changing identities… our ever changing sense of self.
Each time, something was born… and something else had to die. This is the universal truth of Good Friday.
And even in our deepest experiences of loss, this truth is quietly present. When someone we love dies, of course we grieve them. But if we are very honest, something else is also happening. An identity within us is passing away. “I was a son…”, “I was a wife…” “I was a friend in this particular way…” And when that person is gone, that version of ourselves is gone too.
And that is part of what we are mourning. The loss of something real… but also the loss of an identity that, though meaningful… was never permanent.
But this is not something to make us cold or detached. It is something to make us more awake, to help us see life more truthfully, to hold things more gently, to love more deeply - because we know how precious and fleeting everything is.
A friend of mine says that might be one of the reasons we call it is Good Friday, because it teaches us to live with the truth of impermanence and to treasure and value each unrepeatable moment.
Now bring that awareness with you… to the road to Emmaus. Two disciples are walking away from Jerusalem. Away from the place where everything they had hoped for seemed to collapse in a matter of hours. They had found something in Jesus – a sense of hope, purpose, and direction.
And somewhere within themselves, they had hoped and believed: “this will last.”
But then comes the cross and the death of Jesus, and everything changes. And so they say to the stranger they meet on the road: “We had hoped…”
Hope, for them, is over. Their expectation has died. And as they walk, so the story tells us, the risen Christ comes alongside them. But they do not recognise him, which is astonishing. Here is the very presence of life… and they cannot see it.
Why are they prevented from seeing? Because they are still living in Good Friday. Because they are still holding onto what has passed away. They are still clinging to the way things were. They are still looking for Christ in a form that no longer exists. And so they miss the presence of Christ… as it is now.
And here is where the story opens into something profound, because the Gospel invites us to see that while everything in life is changing, there is something that does not change.
On Good Friday, Jesus - the human form – dies. But the Christ, the Eternal Divine Presence that was his true nature… does not die. The light does not go out. The deeper reality remains.
The Gospel of John says: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
Even when darkness covers the land, the light remains. Good Friday reminds us: in the midst of death, there is a deathless reality. In the midst of change, there is the unchanging. And this leads us to Easter.
As a friend of min said recently: Resurrection is not something that suddenly happens after three days. It is a truth that is realised by the disciples after three days. The Eternal Light of Christ never died and therefore it does not need to rise. It always is. Easter is the awakening to that truth. And when you realise within yourself that which cannot die, you have touched resurrection.
And this is where we must go even further. Because the Christ is not only something or someone that walks beside us. The Christ is the deepest truth of who we are. The light that no darkness can overcome… is not outside of you. It is within you. It is your own deepest nature.
This is why resurrection is not simply about something happening to Jesus. It is about a truth being revealed: that beneath all that changes… beneath all that is born and dies… there is something deathless and immortal in you that does not come and go, something that was never born… and can never die.
And so, as they walk, Jesus begins to reinterpret their story. He helps them see that what they thought was the end… was not the end, that what had fallen away was not the deepest reality just the outward impermanent form.
And slowly, something begins to shift. Not in the world around them, but in how they see. And this new way of seeing is made known at the end of the story… but on the road they have already had an intuition of it – their hearts have been burning within them.
At the end of the journey, when at the table, he takes bread… blesses it… breaks it… and gives it to them...their eyes are opened, and they recognise him. And then - he vanishes.
Because once the recognition has happened, the form is no longer necessary. They are no longer clinging to an outer appearance. They have glimpsed something deeper. And this is resurrection.
Not the return of what was… but the awakening to what always is.
So perhaps the question for us, today, is this: Where are we still saying, “We had hoped…”?
Where are we clinging to the impermanent, to something that has already changed? Where are we holding onto an identity… a role… a version of life… that is passing away?
Because the invitation of Easter is not to deny change. It is not to pretend that loss is not real. It is to see more deeply. To recognise that in the midst of all that comes and goes, there is something that remains, an Eternal Light at the heart of all things that can never be put out.
There is a presence that walks with us…but even more than that, a light that lives within us. A life that is not destroyed by change. A truth of who we are that cannot be lost even when the outward form of our bodies is shed and fades away.
And perhaps, like those disciples, as we begin to see more clearly…glimpsing the Eternal Light behind the impermanent forms of this world, we too may discover, that even in the moments when everything seemed to fall apart… when everything around us changes… there is something hidden that does not change. When everything else fades… there is a light that does not dim. And that eternal light, is the life of Christ within you, your true eternal nature.
Amen.
This the third Sunday of the season of Easter.
And by this point, it is very easy for us to settle into the brightness of resurrection when we tend to speak of hope, and joy and the celebration of new life.
But sometimes, in our eagerness to arrive at Easter, we move too quickly past the road that leads there. Because there is no Easter Sunday… without the journey that comes before it.
A journey that begins for many Christians on Ash Wednesday, with the words: “Ashes to ashes, dust to dust” a sobering reminder of our physical mortality. It is a journey through the wilderness of Lent…Through the intensity of Holy Week… And into the deep, unsettling darkness of Good Friday.
And so if we want to truly understand our Gospel passage today, the story of the two disciples on the road to Emmaus, then we have to carry that whole journey with us.
Because the Emmaus story is not just a happy ending, it is a story about what happens after everything has fallen apart. It is a story that takes place in the wake of the shock, grief and loss of Good Friday.
One of the key lessons of Good Friday is the truth of impermanence. The crucifixion and death of Jesus is a stark and shocking reminder of the impermanence of life in this world. Everything and everyone you love is of the nature to change.
If you think about your life, there are certain moments that define it. Moments of joy, and celebration, like births and weddings and achievments. But also moments of sorrow, like loss and death. These are the moments that shape us – and for each of us those moments might be different.
But there is something they all have in common. They do not last. A wedding day may be a beautiful and memorable experience, but it passes. The birth of a child may change a persons life forever, but children grow up. Bodies change. Circumstances shift. Everything in this life is moving… changing… passing. Nothing in this world is permanent.
And yet, if we are honest, this is something we struggle to accept. Because deep down, we want things to last. We want loved ones to remain as they are. We want life to stay familiar. We want meaning to feel secure. And when things change… we suffer, not simply because something has ended, but because we had believed or we had hoped it would not.
And perhaps the most difficult place to see this is not in the world around us, but in fact in ourselves. Because we tend to think of ourselves as fixed, as continuous, as the same person we have always been. But are we?
Perhaps take a moment and reflect. Think of yourself, your name, your identity, who you believe yourself to be. And then gently ask: has that been permanent?
The child you once were, is that still who you are? The teenager? The young adult? At each stage of life, something has fallen away… and something new has emerged. When a little girl turns ten, the six year old child is no longer there… she has changed, she has grown. And the little 10 year old boy is no longer the same boy when he turns 13 or 14.
All through life we find ourselves having to shed an old identity and take on a new one:
A new identity when you left school. Another when you entered work. Another perhaps when you married. Another when you became a parent. Another when your children left home or you became a grandparent. And these are just a few examples of our ever changing identities… our ever changing sense of self.
Each time, something was born… and something else had to die. This is the universal truth of Good Friday.
And even in our deepest experiences of loss, this truth is quietly present. When someone we love dies, of course we grieve them. But if we are very honest, something else is also happening. An identity within us is passing away. “I was a son…”, “I was a wife…” “I was a friend in this particular way…” And when that person is gone, that version of ourselves is gone too.
And that is part of what we are mourning. The loss of something real… but also the loss of an identity that, though meaningful… was never permanent.
But this is not something to make us cold or detached. It is something to make us more awake, to help us see life more truthfully, to hold things more gently, to love more deeply - because we know how precious and fleeting everything is.
A friend of mine says that might be one of the reasons we call it is Good Friday, because it teaches us to live with the truth of impermanence and to treasure and value each unrepeatable moment.
Now bring that awareness with you… to the road to Emmaus. Two disciples are walking away from Jerusalem. Away from the place where everything they had hoped for seemed to collapse in a matter of hours. They had found something in Jesus – a sense of hope, purpose, and direction.
And somewhere within themselves, they had hoped and believed: “this will last.”
But then comes the cross and the death of Jesus, and everything changes. And so they say to the stranger they meet on the road: “We had hoped…”
Hope, for them, is over. Their expectation has died. And as they walk, so the story tells us, the risen Christ comes alongside them. But they do not recognise him, which is astonishing. Here is the very presence of life… and they cannot see it.
Why are they prevented from seeing? Because they are still living in Good Friday. Because they are still holding onto what has passed away. They are still clinging to the way things were. They are still looking for Christ in a form that no longer exists. And so they miss the presence of Christ… as it is now.
And here is where the story opens into something profound, because the Gospel invites us to see that while everything in life is changing, there is something that does not change.
On Good Friday, Jesus - the human form – dies. But the Christ, the Eternal Divine Presence that was his true nature… does not die. The light does not go out. The deeper reality remains.
The Gospel of John says: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.”
Even when darkness covers the land, the light remains. Good Friday reminds us: in the midst of death, there is a deathless reality. In the midst of change, there is the unchanging. And this leads us to Easter.
As a friend of min said recently: Resurrection is not something that suddenly happens after three days. It is a truth that is realised by the disciples after three days. The Eternal Light of Christ never died and therefore it does not need to rise. It always is. Easter is the awakening to that truth. And when you realise within yourself that which cannot die, you have touched resurrection.
And this is where we must go even further. Because the Christ is not only something or someone that walks beside us. The Christ is the deepest truth of who we are. The light that no darkness can overcome… is not outside of you. It is within you. It is your own deepest nature.
This is why resurrection is not simply about something happening to Jesus. It is about a truth being revealed: that beneath all that changes… beneath all that is born and dies… there is something deathless and immortal in you that does not come and go, something that was never born… and can never die.
And so, as they walk, Jesus begins to reinterpret their story. He helps them see that what they thought was the end… was not the end, that what had fallen away was not the deepest reality just the outward impermanent form.
And slowly, something begins to shift. Not in the world around them, but in how they see. And this new way of seeing is made known at the end of the story… but on the road they have already had an intuition of it – their hearts have been burning within them.
At the end of the journey, when at the table, he takes bread… blesses it… breaks it… and gives it to them...their eyes are opened, and they recognise him. And then - he vanishes.
Because once the recognition has happened, the form is no longer necessary. They are no longer clinging to an outer appearance. They have glimpsed something deeper. And this is resurrection.
Not the return of what was… but the awakening to what always is.
So perhaps the question for us, today, is this: Where are we still saying, “We had hoped…”?
Where are we clinging to the impermanent, to something that has already changed? Where are we holding onto an identity… a role… a version of life… that is passing away?
Because the invitation of Easter is not to deny change. It is not to pretend that loss is not real. It is to see more deeply. To recognise that in the midst of all that comes and goes, there is something that remains, an Eternal Light at the heart of all things that can never be put out.
There is a presence that walks with us…but even more than that, a light that lives within us. A life that is not destroyed by change. A truth of who we are that cannot be lost even when the outward form of our bodies is shed and fades away.
And perhaps, like those disciples, as we begin to see more clearly…glimpsing the Eternal Light behind the impermanent forms of this world, we too may discover, that even in the moments when everything seemed to fall apart… when everything around us changes… there is something hidden that does not change. When everything else fades… there is a light that does not dim. And that eternal light, is the life of Christ within you, your true eternal nature.
Amen.
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