Never Walk Alone

3rd Sunday of Easter 2026 - Never Walk Alone

On the modern road to Emmaus there is a Franciscan monastery that welcomes retreatants to spend some time in prayer and discernment.

It’s not far from Bethlehem or Nazareth. Allentown, too, is right down the highway.

Obviously, this particular Emmaus is in Pennsylvania, a different “holy land” from where our Lord and his disciples once walked.

According to the retreat master at this Emmaus monastery-retreat, the number one reason why he finds many travelers stop for a day or weekend of prayer these days? 

Grief.

“People are just sad, broken and lost,” the friar said. “Everyone is seeking hope and healing.”

As Luke shares in today’s Gospel, there were two other disciples who once shared these same feelings of grief and brokenness: they were looking downcast as the “stranger” approached them to ask about the conversation they were sharing with one another.

We know, of course, that stranger was the Risen Christ. And we know they just didn’t recognize him on their journey … not yet, anyway.

We tend to skip over this part of Luke’s narrative in order to focus on the “really good” part of the story: the Lord Himself breaks open the Word and then breaks the bread in order to open the disciples’ downcast eyes and heart to the reality of His Resurrected Love.

This is key to understanding what authentic Christian discipleship is about: we must be fed by both Word and Sacrament in order to grow … in order to turn around and head back to Jerusalem, the Holy City that symbolizes both our union with God the Father as well as our hallowed place in the Church, Christ’s very Bride.

All of us know the destination.

What we sometimes forget, though, is that the road to get there is just as sacred as what awaits beyond the finish line.

Perhaps one of the greatest messages of this particular Resurrection story is simply this: don’t rush the Emmaus journey, especially in those moments when it is paved with tears:

Tears shed over losing a loved one who meant everything to us.

Tears at the death of a beloved career, at the end of an educational milestone, or at the completion of a task at which one worked under extremely challenging conditions.

Tears at past hurts, destroyed relationships and failed dreams. Tears shed over the present moment in which we are all living.

We need to grieve well, for as motivational speaker Earl Grollman reminds us: “Grief is not a disorder, a disease, or sign of weakness. It is an emotional, physical and spiritual necessity, the price you pay for love. The only cure for grief is to grieve.”

And notice, that is exactly where Christ entered the story of Cleopas and his friend, two disciples grieving the loss of their Savior and all their misplaced hopes and dreams.

He didn’t rush them to the table to break bread or force them to turn back toward Jerusalem. Rather, he spent time walking with them, listening to their burdened hearts, and then – only then – did he share His own Heart: telling His Story (in Scripture) and feeding them with the bread of His Compassion, His Very Self.

Isn’t that what we are all called to do for one another?

Too often, we rush grief. We tell ourselves or others in a very well-meaning way: “Move on. It will get better. Be happy.”

Jesus didn’t do that here. 

He just walked, listened, loved and gave of Himself when he knew His companions were ready to open their hearts. He stayed by their side as long as that journey took them.

And then, strengthened by that patient Love, they could make the U-turn back to Jerusalem: back to God and back to the Church.

Should that not be our call as well?

Shouldn’t we as disciples of the Risen One also walk with others on their own Emmaus journeys, offering a compassionate heart in which comfort is found and through which a gentle, Spirit-led nudge offered: a nudge back to praying with Scripture, back to receiving Eucharist, back to Church?

As Christ shows us, we can’t forget on this journey of grieving that we’ve been given beautiful tools of healing and hope … but we can only give what we ourselves have first come to believe.

“Were not our hearts burning within us as he spoke along the way” and broke bread with us?

When we ourselves have walked the Emmaus Road of Grief and been broken-open because of it, then – and only then – can we help others find the same loving God who hasn’t abandoned others’ downcast eyes and broken hearts.

We, too, can share Word and Sacrament in whatever way seems most appropriate along another’s journey …

A journey that may be slow-going. A journey that may meander and be filled with fits and starts.

But it is a journey in which Christ is a constant companion, and Resurrection lighting the way to hope and healing and holiness.

I’ll end this reflection by sharing the words of popular writer and speaker Brene Brown, a professor of social work at the University of Houston. When it comes to grief, she says this: “We don’t have to do all of it alone. We were never meant to.”

Emmaus reminds of us that.

Be a companion on another’s road. Travel gently. And always point the way to Resurrection Hopefulness.