A sermon given by the Reverend Sarah Grondin at St. Jude’s Oakville, The Wednesday of Easter Week, April 23, 2025.
I speak to you in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
I don’t know when exactly it became the “in thing” to have a pedometer in our watches, but I’m not sure you can even get a digital watch anymore that doesn’t have one. I’ve got one in my watch, and to be honest it’s quite helpful at reminding me that I need to move more.
It also helps me to keep track of how much distance I cover and how long it takes me to do that. I know, for example, that if I’m walking at normal speed, it takes me about an hour to walk 5km.
In our Gospel Reading today we’re told that two of Jesus’ followers, who were associated with the core group, but not part of the 11, were walking from Jerusalem to Emmaus later on, on that first Easter day. Luke tells us that it was about a 7 mile trip. We don’t know for sure where Emmaus actually was, if it even existed at all. But 7 miles is a significant hike.
7 miles works out to be about 11 and ¼ km, which again based on my trusty watch, would be around 15,000 steps, and take around 2.5 hours.
We’re not told where else the travelers have been earlier in the day, but it’s getting late in the evening so this likely isn’t their first walk of the day. They were feeling downcast and confused, and the long walk back to Emmaus after the terrible sadness of the last three days must have felt like it would never end.
If their feet weren’t dragging on the ground, their hearts certainly were.
The gospel passage ends with these two traveling companions deciding to suddenly return back to Jerusalem, the place they had just left. They had already done so much walking, and they were surely exhausted. It was dark out now, and the road wasn’t a safe place to be at night. At night the road was home to beasts and bandits.
But none of these things stop them. They have an experience in Emmaus that drives them back to Jerusalem immediately. Back down that long dusty road, with the threat of beasts and bandits, 7 miles, 15,000 steps, 2.5 hours.
You don’t make a walk like that because of a warm fuzzy feeling or the sparking of a pleasant memory. You make a walk like that because something very real and very profound has just happened and the need to share that news is urgent.
Urgent enough to face the beasts and bandits on the dark road, and to walk 7 miles, 15,000 steps, 2.5 hours.
No pun intended, but let’s take a step back and unpack some of this.
We know that the two disciples were leaving Jerusalem, and who can blame them? Jerusalem is a place of pain, sorrow, and loss. It’s a place of death, unmet expectations, and disappointment. It’s a place where their lives were shattered.
And as these two companions walk, they’re talking about all of the things that’ve happened in the last three days, and, I suspect, all of the things that didn’t happen. They’re trying to come to terms with all that’s gone on, because none of it makes sense.
They’re talking about Jesus’ arrest, torture, crucifixion, and death. They’re taking about hope that didn’t materialize, expectations that were unmet, investments that paid no return. They’re disappointed and sad.
They had hoped Jesus was the one, but now he’s dead. And there’s a part of them that’s been lost too, a part of them that died with Jesus. They’d heard rumors that he was alive, but it all sounded like an “idle tale.” There was no reason to stay in Jerusalem.
While they’re walking that long, dusty road, Jesus appears and meets them on the way. He doesn’t come to them in Jerusalem, and he doesn’t wait for them at home in Emmaus. He doesn’t even ask them to make some holy pilgrimage or undertake some pious feat.
Instead Jesus meets them where they’re at— on the road, amid their journey, right smack in the middle of all the pain, frustration, and despondency that threatens to overwhelm them.
We’re also told that these two disciples were kept from recognizing Jesus. They weren’t just being obtuse, they didn’t know it was Jesus, because Jesus didn’t want them to know yet. When the three of them arrived at Emmaus the two companions convinced Jesus to stay with them for the night because it wasn’t safe to continue walking by himself.
Although this man had been walking with them for some time and was unraveling the scriptures for them… he was still a stranger. It was a testament to their Master that they pressed this stranger to stay with them and offered him a meal. We of course know its Jesus’ all along, but they don’t, and they’re taking a risk by offering this hospitality.
Once they arrive in Emmaus, everything changes. When Jesus was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. And when he’d done this, their eyes were opened, and they recognized him.
They recognized him as the one they had left for dead in Jerusalem. They recognized him as the one who had accompanied them on the road to Emmaus. They recognized him as the one they had hoped he would be.
Jesus wasn’t just giving them bread, he was giving them back themselves. This was their restoration. When Jesus broke the bread something in them broke open. With that breaking open their lives were being put back together. Jesus fed them not just with bread but with himself: with his body, his life, his love, his compassion, his strength, his forgiveness, his hope, with all that he is and all that he has.
So much of Jesus’ ministry both before the crucifixion and after his resurrection centre around the sharing of a meal. It’s in the breaking of the bread that Jesus is revealed. Once they recognize its Jesus, Luke tells us that he vanished from their sight. What’s that all about?
I think Jesus was no longer before them because he was now within them. Jesus was the burning heart within them, and it had been there all along. That same burning heart lives within us as well. Sometimes that burning is felt as brokenness, sometimes as a hunger for justice, or being broken open, and other times as deep joy and gratitude. But always, it’s Jesus.
Here at St. Jude’s we have a Eucharist service two days a week, and all are invited to come and pull up a chair at the Lord’s table. We have the opportunity to meet Jesus in the breaking of bread every time the Eucharist is celebrated.
But when was the last time after receiving the Eucharist you decided to jump up and walk 7 miles, 15,000 steps, 2.5 hours, down a dark road with beasts and bandits, to share the good news of this profound encounter with the risen Christ? Anyone? Me neither.
Our gospel passage today is full of movement. There’s all the walking the two disciples do, but it also contains at least nine verbs describing movement. Some of the verbs relate to the movements made by Jesus; others to the movements of the two companions.
Either way, both Jesus and his followers are on the move. But it’s not movement for its own sake. They’re not trying to hit their daily step count. All of the moves being made have a purpose, and that’s to tell the story of Jesus: to interpret it, to have communion with Jesus, and to share it all with others. That’s what it means to be the church.
Our encounters with the risen Christ during the breaking of the bread might not be as dramatic as the two companions from Emmaus, but Christ still calls us out onto the dusty roads to share the good news, and those roads will be long, and those roads will be full of challenges, and sometimes it might feel like we’re walking in circles.
But Jesus is on the move, and if we want to keep up with him, we better get moving too. Amen.
