And Their Hearts Burned

Third Sunday of Easter - Cycle A

Acts 2: 14, 22-33; 1 Peter 1: 17-21; 

Luke 24: 13-35

The disciples were lost. This Jesus that they had served had been taken from them, convicted, hung on a cross and executed like a common criminal. This Jesus that they hoped was the chosen one – the one who would establish the kingdom of God was now gone. And so they were afraid. They were lost and so two of them left Jerusalem and headed down the road to Emmaus – the “road to nowhere.”

Along the way they encountered a stranger. They recounted all that had happened in Jerusalem. The stranger listened to their story and then he began to interpret the scriptures for them. He began to open it up for them. And their hearts burned. But they did not recognize him. They knew that the words this man was speaking were truth, but they did not recognize him. It was later in the evening, when he broke the bread, that their eyes were opened. At that moment all of their doubts – all of their fears went away. Their path was clear – and it did not lead down that road to nowhere. It led back to Jerusalem and back to Jesus.

I was on the road to Emmaus once. I was in formation to become a deacon. It was a four year program. I had completed my first two years of study and things were not going well. People kept asking me, “Are you called to this ministry?” I would look and them and respond “I don't know, it hasn't been made clear.” One of the other things that people kept telling me was that, to be a good deacon, I had to embrace and believe EVERYTHING that the church teaches. I was having difficulty with that. There are a few things – not many – but a few things that the church says that I struggled with – and continue to struggle with. I was having doubts; I was having fears, and they all came to a head that summer between my second and third year. I was so discouraged that I didn't know if I could remain in the diaconate program. I wasn't even sure if I could remain a Roman Catholic.

Then something amazing happened to me. I attended mass at another parish here in the archdiocese. It's a catholic church – one that is known for having a strong social justice slant. It's also a parish that is known for being a little loose with the rules as far as liturgy goes. Let me give you some examples: When they make the sign of the cross, they say “In the name of the Creator, the Redeemer, and the Sanctifier. When they recite the Lord's Prayer, they say “Our Father / Mother...” It is not uncommon to attend mass there and hear a nun, or other layperson, proclaim the gospel and deliver the homily. Many people would see them and declare, “This is NOT a Catholic church.” But I went there.

On this particular day, there were baptisms. It seems that a family that had moved to Tennessee some years ago, returned in order to have their three children baptized in this parish. The priest stepped forward and asked, “What name do you give this child?” And the parents said the name. Then Father said, “Tell me something about this child.” This perked my ears up – I had never heard a priest ask that before. Then the priest traced a cross on each forehead. Now – normally at this part of the ritual, the parents and godparents are invited to trace the cross as well. But Father surprised me again. He asked the parents to lead the children through the church so that EVERYONE could trace that cross on the kids' foreheads. Every person in that church entered into that covenant with God to raise those children in the catholic faith. It was a beautiful thing to witness.

Then came time for the actual baptism. The priest sprinkled the water over their foreheads and said, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit.” All of a sudden, in the midst of the singing and celebrating, everything went quiet for me. It was as if time had stopped. I heard a voice in my ear, and it whispered four words - “See, I'm here too.”

There were tears in my eyes – and I remember looking at my wife and my sons – to see if they had heard it too. But they hadn't. The voice was just for me. It took a long time to be able to talk about this – and even longer to understand its meaning. What I came to realize is this: God can't be put in a box – whether that box be labeled “church” or “religion” or whatever. The box isn't big enough or strong enough to hold God. I now understood that I was called to this ministry and I understood that I could serve it faithfully, even with my doubts – even with my beliefs.

We all find ourselves on the road to Emmaus from time to time. We all find ourselves on the road to nowhere. But Jesus, the Good Shepherd, will seek us out, and lead us home, if only we let him. The road to Emmaus leads in all directions, but the road back home leads to one specific place:

[Lift the book of the Gospels]

It leads here – Jesus – the Word Made Flesh.

[Lift the altar crucifix]

It leads here – Jesus – whose death on the cross redeemed us all.

[touch the Easter candle]

Jesus – the Light of the World.

[touch the altar]

Jesus – the Bread of Life.

Are your hearts burning now?

Deacon Darryl J. Diemer

Third Sunday of Easter

May 4, 2014

Painting:  Rembrandt - Supper At Emmaus, 1648