Gospel: Luke 24:13-35
The image you see on the cover of today’s service booklet is by the 18th century artist Arnold Houbraken. Entitled “Meal at Emmaus,” it captures the instant Jesus disappears after breaking the bread in front of his disciples. This etching deeply impacted me when I first saw it several years ago, so much so that a framed copy of it sits in my office. One reason it’s stuck with me is because I see something different each time I look at it, even though on the surface it seems to be a simple image.
For me, the simplicity is in the setting: a dim room illuminated by a single candle; a low table covered by a plain white cloth; three mismatched chairs pulled up to the table; windows over which the shutters have been pulled closed and bolted shut; an empty niche on the wall where perhaps the candle was sitting before being lit for dinner. Then we have the power of the scene, which I see in the people in the room and the actions captured in the moment. In one chair a person is seated in the shadows, their hands raised to their face in shock. A second person has seemingly risen from their own chair, recoiling into the darkness of a corner, stunned by what they’ve just witnessed – the amazement on their face a bit more illuminated. And the third chair? The third chair is empty except for what appears to be a robe or a cloak. On the table in front of that chair is a plate, lit by the glow of the candle. And on the plate, two pieces of bread.
Jesus is no longer physically in the room, but he’s very much present in the bread that just moments before he’d blessed and broken. Consider the deeper significance of the broken bread and remember his words from two chapters earlier in Luke – “This is my body, which is given for you.”[1]
This morning, some may feel like the disciples in that room. There may be a feeling that things in life are dimly lit, as if there’s only a single candle before you. Perhaps you’re wrestling with something that blocks the metaphorical windows in your lives, shuttering them, pulling them closed and tightly bolting them. Perhaps a loss of control over things feels as if mismatched chairs have been dragged up to encircle the table of your existence. Amid our anxiety, disappointment, and grief over the way things may seem to change however – perhaps more often than we’d like – there’s one other important part of this scene on which to focus. Like the bread shared at that dinner, we have been blessed and broken by Jesus – the Jesus who’s still very much with us. I don’t doubt it may be hard to feel that way, the certainty of that statement blocked out by the uncertainty of the moments of our lives.
It certainly was something experienced by those two disciples. Think back to the beginning of this passage: Jesus joined them as they walked along the road, “but their eyes were kept from recognizing him.”[2] A translation of the original Greek adds even a bit more power: “… but the eyes of them were held not to know him.”[3] Keeping someone from doing something could be as simple as standing in their way or distracting them, but in the Greek their eyes were held. It wasn’t just that they didn’t see; they couldn’t see. Yet in the simple act of blessing and breaking their eyes were loosed and they saw Jesus – not just with their eyes, but with their hearts, and minds, and souls. In that instant, Jesus didn’t simply become known to them; he became truly present.
A wonderful thing about this story is that it isn’t one just to watch, but to live and experience for ourselves. In the text we find that only one disciple is named, Cleopas. The other isn’t identified; in fact, despite what we see in artistic portrayals like the one before us today, we don’t even know if the second disciple is a man or woman. It’s likely no accident, as the commentator Mark Douglas has pointed out: “Perhaps leaving a disciple unnamed is Luke’s subtle rhetorical way of inviting us into the plot… Had both disciples been named, we readers would be observers more than potential participants in the story… An unnamed disciple provides an ‘[insert your name here]’ moment for the reader.”[4]
Where are the places we see in the world where an “insert your name” spot – a blank space – has been left for us to fill in our names? This isn’t a question about offering up someone else; instead, it’s a question about offering up ourselves. There are likely many times when we think someone else should write their name in the blank space, either because it’s easier for us to do that or perhaps because we think they’ll accomplish something in way that’s far better than we ever could. But when we write someone else’s name on the line, I think we’re doing two things: first, we’re shifting responsibility away from us and onto another; and second, perhaps most importantly, we’re depriving ourselves of opportunities to give and receive powerful gifts.
In this story from Luke, there’s a blank line offered. In many situations presenting themselves in our lives, there are blank lines offered on which we can write our names. We can pick up the phone to call and check on someone. We can take out a piece of stationery to send a note or sit at the computer to type an email. We can run an errand for someone needing an extra hand. Sometimes it can be as simple as smiling and waving at someone as they pass.
When encountering a blank space, whose name will we write in? Whose name will you write in? In Eucharistic Prayer C in The Book of Common Prayer, there is a section where the celebrant says, “Open our eyes to see your hand at work in the world about us,” and the congregation replies, “Risen Lord, be known to us in the breaking of the Bread.”[5] If we sign our names on that line – if we insert our name here, in the words of Douglas – we will put ourselves in the story.
We will put ourselves at the center.
We will give ourselves an opportunity once again to see Christ and know Christ in the breaking of the bread and the breaking open of our hearts.
Amen.
[1] Luke 22:19 (NRSV).
[2] Luke 24:16 (NRSV).
[3] Interlinear Bible translation of the original Greek version of Luke 24:16. https://biblehub.com/interlinear/luke/24.htm
[4] Mark Douglas, “Luke 24:13-49 – Theological Perspective.” Feasting on the Gospels: Luke, Vol. 2.
[5] From “Eucharistic Prayer C.” The Book of Common Prayer, p. 372.