A homily for the Third Sunday of Easter, April 19, 2026
Acts 2:14, 22-33, 1 Peter 1:17-21, Luke 24:13-35
Let’s start with my edited version of some familiar song lyrics:
On a clear day
Rise and look around you
On a clear day
How it will astound you
You can hear from far and near
A world you’ve never, never heard before
And on a clear day
On that clear day
You can see forever
And ever
And ever
And ever more
For those among us with an unimpeded sense of sight, merely having our eyes open means being flooded with images. With light. With shapes begging to be recognized.
And to fully appreciate what God’s Creation is showering us with, we need to participate, to think, to analyze and catalog the darks and lights and rainbows and sharp edges and soft curves that are pouring into our brains through our baby blues.
Because we were created with human curiosity, we know that seeing is one thing but looking is far more complicated and far more important. We may see something or someone out of the corner of our eyes, but we have to look to fully grasp the event or remember who the person is.
Is it even remotely possible to not stare at a field of tulips or a car wreck as we pass by? Some things just whack us upside the head and make us laser-focus on them.
Our vision may be 20/20, but a lot more goes into the correct equation.
The disciples on the road to Emmaus saw the man who joined them on their journey, but they were looking past him. They were deeply into their own thoughts and memories and expectations, and they were projecting those on everyone and everything they experienced that day, that fateful day.
Who he was and is didn’t add up for them until Jesus added one more number into the calculation — the breaking of the bread. For the two disciples, that was the car-wreck moment.
That was the unexpected, the un-looked-for jolt.
And aren’t our lives filled with those?
How many times do we go into the ShopRite and suddenly recognize someone from work or church or even our grammar-school days? When we see people totally out of context, we need a second or two to place them, to realize that they too eat oatmeal and drink light-roast coffee every morning. Just. Like. Us.
Wow. Who knew?
So that’s what he looks like in a sweatshirt with messy hair.
And from those little encounters, we often develop deeper relationships, or at least add new dimensions to our existing ones.
All because, when we casually saw, we looked more closely and thought things through.
But Christ needs more from us.
That astounding world we’ve never, never seen or heard before? It’s not always beautiful. It’s often unjust. Too often, that world is divided, angry, bloody. Literally, actually, painfully bloody and deadly.
That world is painful to look at.
That is the world that scourged Jesus of Nazareth, shredding the skin on his back. That is the world that mocked his kindness by jamming a crown of thorns the size of tenpenny nails into his skull.
That is the world that nailed the Son of God to the hundreds of pounds of wood his enemies forced him to drag to a crag, the world that pried his life from him one gasping breath at a time, because he dared to speak truth to power.
Yes, that world is painful to look at. And Emmanuel demands that we not only look at it and listen to it, but that we actively look for its flaws.
We can’t just float through life and react to whatever crosses our paths. Our Savior demands that we be proactive.
That we leave no stone unturned as we shine a light on war, on injustice, on “other-ing” people. On how we turn differences of opinion or perspective into tribalism and hatred.
On failing to recognize Christ in every person we meet: the Christ who loves us and wants to give to us abundantly, as well as the Christ who desperately needs our help.
After 2,000 years — heck, after 10,000 years — too much of that bloody world still surrounds us.
Are we numb to the pain, or can we be astounded by its magnitude?
Some days, the answer to that isn’t clear.
On those days — and there are plenty of them — we as an Easter people are obliged, we are commanded to go out and look. Really, truly look and to find. To catalog what’s wrong and devise a solution, using our unique God-given intellect and skills and talents in conjunction with others’. To solve problems big and small.
Both far and near.
On this fragile blue planet we call home.
Forever
And ever
And ever
And ever more.
