Homily for the Third Sunday of Easter (A)

There is always a danger with anything that we do regularly and repeatedly, that we can grow to take that thing for granted. Even things that are really important and special can, over time, become mundane to us and we can fall into the trap of habit and routine. We can go through the motions, but miss the deeper meaning that makes the whole thing worthwhile in the first place.

This is true even of the Eucharist we celebrate together each Sunday. Now, it is not an entirely bad thing if routine and habit help you to remember and fulfill your obligation to attend Mass each and every Sunday.

But at the same time, none of us want Mass to be merely a fulfillment of an obligation – we are right to long for the Mass to mean something more in our lives. We want the Mass to be our worship of Almighty God, and a source of intimate friendship with the Lord – a wellspring of mercy, peace, consolation, and joy in our lives.

Our Gospel this weekend – and this Easter season that we are continuing to observe – are the perfect opportunities for us to stop and reflect upon the Mass, and what really happens when we gather for the Eucharist, and how it can change and shape our lives.

Saint Luke tells the story of two disciples who, on Easter Sunday afternoon, are walking the road from Jerusalem to Emmaus. The account Luke gives of their encounter with a Stranger along the way is not only the record of a Resurrection appearance of Jesus, it is a template we can use to reflect on the deeper meaning of what we do every time we celebrate the Eucharist together.

Luke records that as they were walking along, speaking with a Stranger, the disciples “stopped, looking downcast.” They recount to the Stranger all the things that have happened in Jerusalem to Jesus of Nazareth – how the chief priests “handed Him over to a sentence of death and had Him crucified.” And the two disciples explain their gloomy disposition by saying, “but we were hoping that He would be the one to redeem Israel.”

Brothers and sisters, the very first thing we do at Mass – whether it is a joyful occasion like a First Communion, or a sad occasion like a Memorial Mass – is the Penitential Rite.

Like those disciples on the road, we admit our brokenness and name the losses in our lives: the loss of our youth, and its hopes and dreams, the loss of our health, the loss of family and friends, the loss of innocence through sin … sometimes even the loss of faith – the loss of the conviction that our lives have meaning.

But rather than falling into isolation or despair, at Mass we are recognize that we are deeply connected to all of the suffering of our brothers and sisters throughout the world. And in Jesus’ presence, made manifest to us in the People of God, we pray together, “Lord have mercy!”

On the road to Emmaus, the Stranger listens to everything the two disciples have to say, but He does not remain silent. He also speaks, and His words are not entirely soothing – He is “strong, direct, and unsentimental.” He never says that there isn’t any reason for being sad – rather He makes clear that the disciples’ current sense of loss is part of a bigger picture in which their joy!

He also challenges them saying, “Oh, how foolish you are, how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets spoke.” Then “beginning with Moses and all the prophets, He interpreted to them what referred to Him in all the Scriptures … how the Christ should suffer these things and enter into His glory.”

So too, the second major part of every Mass is the Liturgy of the Word in which Jesus’ presence is manifest to us in the proclamation of the Scriptures. These are not merely cute stories from thousands of years ago. Jesus Himself speaks to us, opens the Scriptures for us, challenges and implores us, so that we can know Him better and come to realize that the story of the Scriptures is the story of our lives as well.

Saint Luke recounts that the disciples felt something stir inside them when the Stranger spoke, so when they reached Emmaus, and He appeared to be “going on farther,” the disciples “urged Him, ‘Stay with us, for it is evening and the day is almost over.” They invited Him in to a meal.

Friends, at every Sunday Mass, after the Liturgy of the Word, we all stand and recite the Creed: which is a statement of faith and trust, inviting the Lord to come and stay with us. We often think of Jesus as inviting us – but do we invite Jesus? Do we invite Him in, and open ourselves to Him, so that an otherwise brief encounter – one hour on a weekend – can actually be transformed and deepened into a real relationship, a true friendship?

That is what happened on the road to Emmaus, and what happens at each and every Mass. Saint Luke tells us that “while He was with them at table” the Stranger “took bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to them. With that their eyes were opened and they recognized Him, but He vanished from their sight.”

Of course they recognized Him in the context of a meal. Before He died Jesus had given His Apostles the Eucharist as the everlasting memorial of His sacrifice. And even in our daily, family lives, we recognize that meals are moments of encounter and intimacy. We know that we long to give ourselves to our loved ones by making a meal for them, and sharing a meal with them.

So, in the Eucharist, Jesus actually makes Himself the food that nourishes and sustains us. He gives us His very Body and Blood as His presence par excellence. We can no longer see or hear Jesus with our bodily senses – but our communion with Him is deeper than the physical dimension – He comes to live within us, closer to us than even the senses can grasp.

After they recognize Jesus the disciples say to one another, “were not our hearts burning within us while He spoke to us on the way and opened the Scriptures to us?” And Saint Luke records that “they set out at once and returned to Jerusalem” where they found the Apostles and they told them what had “taken place on the way and how He had been made know to them in the breaking of the bread.”

Everything has changed for the disciples. Their fear is gone. Even though the road to Jerusalem would have been dangerous at night, they are so overwhelmed with joy they simply must go at once and tell the good news to others.

And so too with us, at every Mass, we are quickly dismissed after having received Holy Communion – because the Eucharist is always a mission. Every part of the Mass moves us out of ourselves, into community, to communion, and finally to mission. The very name of our gathering, the Mass, comes from the Latin word meaning “dismissed” and from the earliest days of the Church it was instinctively understood that this meant mission – sending us out, like those first disciples, to proclaim the good news: to tell the world that “the Lord has truly been raised” and that He has been made known to us in the breaking of the bread.

Brothers and sisters, this is just a brief outline of the rich treasures that are to be found in the depths of our Eucharistic Liturgies. If we want to get the most out of Mass, if we want the Mass to change us, and become the “source and summit” of our lives, then we need to take the time to reflect, study and pray about the Mass and its meaning – lest it become mere routine, and not bear the fruit in us and in the world that God has intended.

“As He once did for His disciples, Christ now opens the Scriptures for us and He breaks the bread.” With hearts burning within us, may we recognize Him in the Breaking of the Bread, and set out at once, to proclaim this good news to the ends of the earth.