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Sunday, April 19 – Third Sunday of Easter
Acts 2:14a, 36-41
Psalm 116:1-4, 12-19 (13)
1 Peter 1:17-23
Luke 24:13-35
Resurrection Moments
Grace and peace to you in the name of our Risen Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.
I was reading a devotional some time ago where the writer described running into someone completely unexpectedly while on vacation—far from home. As he and his wife were leaving a visitor center, a man walked up and said, “Hey! What are you doing here?”
He didn’t recognize him at all.
Until the man said, “It’s me—your cousin.”
Of course. But it hadn’t clicked—because this wasn’t where his cousin was supposed to be. They were both far from home, in a place neither of them expected to see familiar faces.
What are the odds?
And yet—there he was.
That sense of “Wait… how are you here?”—that’s exactly the kind of moment we keep encountering in the Easter stories.
Because again and again, after the resurrection, Jesus shows up in places where he is not supposed to be.
In a garden.
In a locked room.
And today—on a dusty road, walking alongside two discouraged followers.
And just like that vacation encounter… they don’t recognize him.
Which is interesting, isn’t it?
Because it’s not that Jesus is hiding.
It’s that their expectations are getting in the way.
They know how the story was supposed to go.
Jesus was supposed to be the one who would redeem Israel.
But then he was crucified.
And in their minds—that was the end.
So now they are walking away from Jerusalem.
Away from hope.
Away from the community.
Away from the story they thought they understood.
And honestly—that might feel familiar, too.
Because we also live in a world where expectations get shattered.
Where things don’t turn out the way we thought they would.
Where hope feels fragile.
Where we find ourselves asking, “What now?”
Sometimes we find ourselves on our own Emmaus road—
processing loss, disappointment, confusion…
trying to make sense of a story that didn’t end the way we expected.
And then—Jesus shows up.
And walks with them.
Not ahead of them.
Not calling out from a distance.
But right beside them.
And he listens.
Before he explains anything, before he teaches anything—he asks a question:
“What are you discussing as you walk along?”
He makes space for their grief.
For their confusion.
For their honest disappointment.
That matters.
Because too often, we assume faith means having everything figured out.
But this story reminds us—faith often looks like walking and wondering at the same time.
It looks like telling the truth about what hurts.
It looks like naming what we had hoped for… and what didn’t happen.
And Jesus meets them there.
He walks with them.
He opens the scriptures to them.
He reframes their story—not by erasing their pain, but by placing it within something larger.
And still—they don’t recognize him.
Not yet.
It’s not on the road.
Not in the conversation.
Not even in the Bible study.
It’s at the table.
When he takes bread…
blesses it…
breaks it…
and gives it to them.
And suddenly—everything clicks.
Their eyes are opened.
And they say to one another,
“Were not our hearts burning within us…?”
That moment—that recognition—it doesn’t come through certainty.
It comes through relationship.
Through presence.
Through something deeply familiar—shared bread, shared life.
And maybe that’s the invitation for us, too.
Because if we’re honest, we don’t always recognize Jesus right away either.
We expect something dramatic.
Something obvious.
But often—resurrection shows up in quieter, more ordinary ways.
In conversations where someone really listens.
In moments of unexpected kindness.
In communities that choose connection over division.
In small acts of justice, mercy, and compassion.
In bread broken and shared – given – for you.
And maybe part of our challenge is this:
We are so used to looking for God in extraordinary places…
that we miss how often Christ is walking right beside us.
In our questions.
In our doubts.
In our ordinary routines.
In the people we encounter every day.
Even in the moments when we are heading in the wrong direction—
away from hope, away from community—
Jesus still comes alongside us.
That’s the kind of God we have.
A God who doesn’t wait for us to get it right.
A God who meets us on the road.
A God who keeps showing up—again and again—whether we recognize it or not.
And here’s the turning point in the story:
Once they recognize him… they don’t stay where they are.
They get up.
They turn around.
And they go back.
Back to Jerusalem.
Back to the community.
Back to the story.
Because resurrection always moves us outward.
It sends us back into the world—
not with all the answers,
but with a changed heart.
With a story to tell.
With a quiet but persistent hope that says:
Christ is alive. And Christ is still with us.
And maybe we don’t always say, “I have seen the Lord.”
But maybe we say:
“I think… something holy happened there.”
“I felt something shift.”
“I wasn’t alone.”
Those are resurrection moments, too.
So, as you walk your own road this week—
Whatever that road looks like…
steady or uncertain…
hopeful or heavy…
Pay attention.
To the conversations.
To the interruptions.
To the ordinary moments that might not feel like much at first.
Because Christ is still showing up.
Still walking beside you.
Still breaking bread.
Still opening hearts.
And when those moments come—
when something stirs within you,
when your heart burns just a little—
trust it.
That may be resurrection, right there.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
God's Yes + My Amen 