by Father John P. Cush, STD
“Were not our hearts burning within us while he spoke to us on the way?” — Luke 24:32
On this Third Sunday of Easter, we are drawn into one of the most beautiful and mysterious of all the post-Resurrection accounts: the story of the disciples on the road to Emmaus. It is a story of disappointment, of encounter, of recognition, and of mission.
And it is not just their story — it is our story. Every Eucharist is an Emmaus road. Every believer is called to this journey from sorrow to joy, from blindness to vision, from despair to hope.
The two disciples are walking away from Jerusalem — away from the place of the Passion, away from the empty tomb, away from what they hoped would be the triumph of the Messiah. Their words are drenched with disappointment:
“We were hoping that He would be the one to redeem Israel …” (Luke 24:21).
That phrase — “we were hoping” — is the sound of crushed expectations. It echoes in every heart that has felt that God was absent, that love was lost, that death had the final word.
St. Augustine, in his commentary on this passage, reflects: “They were walking with the Lord, and yet they did not recognize him. He was with them, and yet they were blind. So too are we, when we forget that he is always walking beside us, even in our sorrow” (Sermon 235).
Christ meets them not with rebuke, but with a question: “What are you discussing as you walk along?”
It is the same question He asks each of us in moments of doubt and sorrow: What is on your heart? What weighs you down? Then Jesus begins to break open the Scriptures for them:
“Beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them what referred to him in all the Scriptures” (Luke 24:27).
Here, we see Christ as the divine interpreter. The entire story of Israel is re-read in the light of his Passion and Resurrection. He does not erase the cross — he reveals its meaning.
St. Thomas Aquinas, in his “Catena Aurea,” notes: “Christ begins not with miracles, but with the word; for it is faith, born of hearing, that opens the eyes of the soul.” Their hearts begin to burn, not because their problems are solved, but because the truth of Christ is being revealed from within the story.
As they reach Emmaus, the disciples urge the stranger to stay: “Stay with us, for it is nearly evening.” And then, at table, something astonishing happens: “He took bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to them. … Their eyes were opened, and they recognized him” (Luke 24:30–31).
Here is the Eucharistic climax. The very same actions from the Last Supper are repeated, and the veil is lifted. This is not nostalgia. It is sacrament. The risen Christ is not a memory. He is present, alive, and given in the Eucharist. That’s why, as soon as they recognize him, he vanishes — because now he will be with them in a new way, sacramentally, mystically, in every Eucharistic celebration. Once the disciples recognize him, they do not linger in Emmaus.
“They set out at once and returned to Jerusalem” (Luke 24:33).
They move from sadness to witness, from slow steps to eager proclamation. They return to the very place they had left in fear, and now proclaim: “The Lord has truly been raised!” This is the pattern of the Christian life:
We listen to the word. We are fed at the table of the Eucharist. And then we are sent to proclaim the Resurrection.
Dear friends, this Gospel is not just a story — it is a model of the Mass:
The Liturgy of the Word: Christ opens the Scriptures.
The Liturgy of the Eucharist: Christ breaks the Bread.
The sending forth: Go, announce the Gospel of the Lord.
And it is also the story of our lives. For how often have we walked in confusion? How often have we failed to recognize Christ walking with us? And how often have our hearts burned as the truth dawned again?
This is the miracle of Easter: Christ walks with us, even when we are walking the wrong way. And he turns us around with love, not force. “Were not our hearts burning within us?”
Let that be our question this Easter season. Let us return often to the word, to the breaking of the Bread, to the presence of Christ in our midst. Let us be men and women of burning hearts and swift feet — ready to run, ready to witness, ready to proclaim:
The Lord is risen indeed! Alleluia!
Father John P. Cush, STD, is professor of dogmatic and fundamental theology at Saint Joseph’s Seminary and College