The story that is our gospel reading for today, sometimes called “The Road to Emmaus,” is one of the most evocative and stirring narratives in the entire New Testament. It plumbs the depths of human loss, the mystery of divine encounter, the gift of friendship, and the recovery of hope. It is a story about telling stories, and how doing so can save our lives. It is about the promise that Jesus will join us on the road, and how even when he vanishes from our sight, his presence still sustains us. This is a story that will nourish us for as long as we choose to give ourselves to it. If we are willing to break it open.

Christian Holy week is a time where things which were cast down are being raised up and things which had grown old are being made new, while all things are being brought to their purpose. The more I love this church, the more the date January 6, 1976 looms large in my mind, the date when our church caught fire.

I always find it interesting how normal this gospel scene feels. Mundane, almost. Picture the scene as we just heard it. It’s a quiet morning, disciples, sad and confused in the garden, not much else going on. Jesus is dead and everyone has scattered. In their minds, the story is over. 

But as we know, the best is yet to come.

On a certain level, this day is about failure, and it is about shame. Jesus, the Son of God, has failed to convince the world of the power of love. Most of his friends, the people he chose to walk with him, take off when Jesus is arrested. One of his closest friends, Peter, has failed in a particularly shameful way, refusing to acknowledge Jesus publicly when Jesus needs him the most. 

Our Old Testament reading tells of an utterly pivotal moment in the life of ancient Israel. One thousand years before Jesus, ancient Israel needs a new king to replace the strong, tall, and handsome King Saul, who was still clinging to power. They were not good at how to replace a king because they had never done it before.