Homily

The Gospel presents us the story of the two disciples going to Emmaus. This is not by coincidence. In fact, we can see ourselves in these two disciples who leave Jerusalem in order to return to their village and to everyday life. So often we are marked by the same sadness which is apparent in their faces, a sadness which is more than justified. Daily life is often a defeat: it is the defeat of the Gospel in the lives of Christians and in human life. It is the defeat of the Gospel in those who are persecuted, in the poor, in wars, in violence, in loneliness, and in abandonment. Even at present, each day is marked by these defeats. There are, therefore, so many valid reasons, even objective reasons, in the life of our cities, in the life of the world, even among us, to be sad. I would even say that we would do well to be a bit sadder. We often forget to look, or do not want to look, so that our thoughtlessness and tranquillity may not be disturbed.
But at a certain point, the crucified one draws near and places himself between the two disciples. They do not recognize him, and he asks why they are so sad and downcast. They answer him: “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?” And, who, in fact, is this man who does not know what had occurred in those days past in Jerusalem? He seems like someone who has his head in the clouds, is detached from the events of real life, or perhaps remains simply uninformed. Cleopas makes him out to be a foreigner and, with a not too gentle tone, seems to underline a sense of estrangement from them and from life. But the paradox is that it is precisely him, the foreigner, about whom they are talking. They said, “But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place.” Sadness is the absence of hope. They also add, as reporting something they do not believe, “Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him.”
The two have heard the Gospel of the resurrection, but they have remained in their sadness. It is true that the women had not seen Jesus. But it is also true that the two disciples, who have Jesus at their side as a travel companion, do not recognize him. Jesus reproaches their lack of faith: “Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared!” And he begins to explain the Scriptures to them. He spends almost the whole day commenting upon the pages which referred to the Messiah. Jesus’ company transforms their hearts and their lives. Frequent contact with the Gospel changes the heart of the disciple. It is like a grand liturgy of the word as they walk along the street. It is a great explanation addressed to people who believe, who have heard the Gospel but who, not living it, are sad. Towards the end of the journey, a simple petition arises from the hearts of the two: “Stay with us.” Jesus accepts the invitation and enters the house. The evangelist tells of a supper, of bread broken and distributed. During the holy supper of the Lord, their eyes are finally opened and they recognize him. The foreigner has disappeared, but the Lord has remained in their hearts, continuing to warm them with his Word. The Emmaus account is applicable to each one of us; it is our way of meeting the risen Lord. We, too, today, as on every Sunday, tell him, “Remain with us, Lord.”