3rd Sunday of Easter (A)

 Acts 2:14, 22b-28; 1 Pet. 1:17-21; Lk. 24:13-35

There is a touching description in The Divine Comedy by Dante. At the beginning of his journey, Dante finds himself lost in a dark forest—confused, afraid, and without direction. He tries to climb a hill toward light but is blocked again and again by wild beasts. Just when despair threatens to overwhelm him, a figure appears—Virgil, the great poet. Virgil does not immediately carry Dante to safety. Instead, he walks with him, guides him, explains things to him, and leads him through a long and difficult journey. As they travel together, something begins to change within Dante. Though the path leads through darkness, fear, and even suffering, a light is kindled within him—a growing understanding, a deepening courage. By the time he emerges from the darkness, Dante is no longer the same man who was lost in the forest. His heart has been awakened; his vision transformed.

Like Dante walking through confusion with a hidden guide, the disciples on the road to Emmaus were walking in sorrow. They are walking away from Jerusalem—not just physically, but emotionally and spiritually. Their hopes had been shattered. “We had

hoped…” they said. That sentence carries the weight of disappointment. They had believed Jesus would redeem Israel, but now He was crucified. Their dreams had died.

How often our world echoes that same cry: “We had hoped…”

We had hoped for peace—but we see war.

We had hoped for unity—but we see division.

We had hoped for love—but we encounter hatred and selfishness.

Into that broken journey, Jesus comes—not in glory, but as a companion on the road.

Yet We do not recognize Him.

This is the first lesson: Jesus walks with us even when we do not recognize Him.

In the Old Testament, we see a similar moment in the story of Genesis 28. Jacob is fleeing, afraid and alone. He sleeps in the wilderness and dreams of a ladder reaching to heaven. When he awakens, he says, “Surely the Lord is in this place, and I did not know it.” (Gen 28:16)

Like Jacob, like the disciples, we often fail to recognize God’s presence in our darkest moments. Yet He is there—walking beside us in our confusion, our grief, our questions.

Jesus does not immediately reveal Himself. Instead, He begins to explain the Scriptures.

“Beginning with Moses and all the Prophets…” He connects their suffering with God’s plan.

This is the second lesson: The Word of God rekindles the fire in a weary heart.

In a moment of deep discouragement, Jeremiah says, “His word is in my heart like a fire, a fire shut up in my bones.” (Jer 20:9)

God’s Word is not just information—it is transformation. It is fire.

There is a story of a prisoner during a time of war who had lost all hope. In his cell, he found a torn page of the Bible—just a fragment. He began to read it daily, slowly, repeatedly. Those words became his strength. Years later, he said, “That small piece of Scripture kept me alive. It gave me a fire inside when everything outside was darkness.”

The disciples felt that same fire. As Jesus spoke, their hearts began to burn—not with fear, but with understanding, with hope, with renewed faith. And yet, even then, they still do not fully recognize Him. Because the journey is not complete until it leads to encounter.

They invite Him: “Stay with us.”

And at the table, in the breaking of the bread, their eyes are opened.

This is the third lesson: The burning heart leads to a recognizing eye.

The same pattern appears throughout Scripture. In Exodus 3, Moses encounters God in the burning bush. The fire draws him, but it is only when he comes closer that he hears God’s voice and understands his mission.

Once the disciples recognize Jesus—He vanishes. They no longer need to see Him physically. He is alive within them. Their reaction is immediate. They rise that very hour and return to Jerusalem. The same road that was once a road of despair becomes a road of mission. 

This is the fourth lesson: A burning heart becomes a witnessing life. They cannot keep the experience to themselves. In a world torn by hatred, selfishness, and war, this is the urgent message we need today.

Our world is filled with cold hearts—hearts hardened by anger, wounded by injustice, blinded by division. Nations rise against nations, communities are fractured, and even within families, love grows cold. What is the solution? Not merely policies, not merely power—but transformed hearts. Hearts that burn.

During times of violent conflict, there have been individuals who chose forgiveness over revenge. One such story tells of a woman who lost her family in war. Instead of giving in to hatred, she began to work for reconciliation, bringing together people from opposing sides. When asked how she found the strength, she said, “I realized that if I let hatred fill my heart, I would lose my soul. I chose love, even when it burned.”

That is the fire of Christ. A fire that does not destroy—but purifies. A fire that does not divide—but unites.  A fire that does not consume—but gives life.

Satish