In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

     The sermon title for today is, "But we had hoped." Those are the words of the two disciples as they walked along the road to Emmaus, lost, forlorn, lonely, feeling abandoned. Just a few short days ago, they had been full of hope-still expecting that Jesus was the one who would redeem Israel; still anticipating that at some point, Jesus would rise up and take His rightful place on the throne of David; still trusting that Jesus was the Messiah come to free God's people from Roman domination, and re-establish the Davidic monarchy. A week ago, they were filled with hope, as they sat at the master's feet, listened to him teach, shared meals with Him as He spoke about the inauguration of the kingdom of God, in their midst. Before, they had meaning, and direction and purpose. Before, they were followers of Jesus the Christ, and they couldn't wait to see what He would do next. But then, this prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, was arrested by the chief priests and leaders, and handed over to the Romans to be condemned to death and crucified. But they had hoped, that he was the one to redeem Israel. They had hoped that He was the one long awaited, and foretold by prophets of old. They had hoped-but now, they had lost all hope, as they had seen their Lord and Master beaten, humiliated, and hung on a cross to die. And He had died. It was now three days since He had been crucified, dead and buried. And these two disciples, probably two of the seventy who had been commissioned and sent out by Jesus, were soldiers without a commander. Having seen their Lord in death, they now had little to live for. What's the point? Why stay in Jerusalem? What's the mission now-with Jesus dead and gone? Feeling as empty and adrift as anyone could, they left Jerusalem-on a journey to nowhere. They headed toward Emmaus-because it was as good as anywhere-and it got them out of Jerusalem-which held only shattered dreams, and painful memories. They had hoped-but now, they were hope-less, and they wandered down the road, talking and discussing all these things that had happened. And these two disciples-are us-you and me-walking through life, sometimes feeling lost and forlorn and forsaken. These two disciples are not just historic figures in the past-fictitious characters conjured up in the mind of Saint Luke for dramatic impact. These two disciples, real, living, breathing disciples, then, are you and me, today-you and me when we are journeying together, down the road to Emmaus; walking down a road to nowhere-today, no one even knows for sure, where or what Emmaus was-and that's fitting. At times in life, we're headed somewhere, we know not where-it's just not here. And we take off, sometimes, because we don't know what else to do. We start out walking, to think and to consider our sad, lonely situation. And usually, it's when we have lost hope, and don't know where to turn. We had hoped, but now, hope is gone, and we feel alone, and abandoned. So, with those two disciples, we just walk. But we had hoped.

     We had hoped, that our loved one would recover-that God would work a miracle and the cancer would go into remission, the tumor would shrink, the heart would start pumping again. We had hoped that things would turn around at work and we wouldn't be laid off, and we wouldn't be faced with all that uncertainty and anxiety about our family's future. We had hoped that the depression would fade with better weather and we might feel bright and cheery again. We had hoped that our teenager's mood would even out and things would improve at school. We had hoped that our spouse wouldn't be deployed-again; we had hoped the financial strain would ease up; we had hoped to be able to control the drinking, the drugging, the addiction. We had hoped-but then, things went from bad to worse, and it seemed all our hope had been for naught. And even more than that, in our sorry state, we felt Jesus had left us. Like the disciples on the road to Emmaus, who thought Jesus was cold and lifeless in that rock-hewn tomb; we sometimes think Jesus is dead to us-unconcerned, unaware, far-off, distant. It was a lonely, hopeless walk for those two disciples heading away from Jerusalem. Just as it can be a lonely, hopeless walk for us, at times in life. It can be so lonely and hopeless, that we, too, can fail to recognize Jesus, right there beside us. How odd, in a way, that Cleopas and the other couldn't see. But Luke tells us their eyes were kept from recognizing Him. Whether kept from recognizing Him by God, or by their own distracted minds, we are not told. But it ought not be so hard for us to understand. Because again, we are the two disciples. How many times have we walked through life, assuming Jesus had abandoned us, when all along, He was right there with us? It's human nature, surely, that when in the midst of human life, and struggle and pain and uncertainty, we have trouble seeing Jesus beside us. Our eyes can be clouded by the troubles of the day. Our sight can be distorted by worry and anxiety. Which is why, surely, God gives us something more. It's why, in the midst of our journey through life, Jesus pauses with us, to reveal Himself to us, not in some abstract, quasi-spiritual way-but concretely, physically, tangibly, so that we can see and know that He has not abandoned us, is not dead to us, but alive, and with us, here and now-as the resurrected Lord who is with us always, even to the close of the age. We have to note that even after hearing the witness of the women who had gone to the tomb on Easter morning and returned to proclaim the resurrection-these two did not believe. And Jesus says to them, "How foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared!" And then, we have to note that beginning with Moses and all the prophets, Jesus interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures. But see, they still didn't recognize Jesus! And that's how it is with us, isn't it? We've heard the witness of Mary Magdalene and Peter and prophets and apostles, and bishops and preachers through the ages; we've heard sermon after sermon interpreting to us how it was necessary that the Messiah should suffer, but then, enter into His glory, through resurrection. But for all the witnesses, and all the preaching and teaching-still, at times, we are foolish and slow of heart to believe! Still, we are blinded to the truth of Jesus' risen presence among us and with us. So-Jesus comes to the table with us, and in the very same actions of the Last Supper, Jesus, Himself, takes bread, and blesses and breaks it, and gives it to us. And then, then, our eyes are opened, and we recognize Him. Jesus gives us this Sacrament-this mystery-because we are foolish and slow of heart to believe. Jesus provides us with this weekly manifestation of His real presence, because we fail to see Him with us at other times. Jesus incarnates Himself time and time again, as He is at table with us, because we do not always believe the truth of Holy Scripture, and the great cloud of witnesses who testify to us that Jesus, who was crucified, is risen, and lives! St. Augustine wrote, "No one should doubt that Jesus being recognized in the breaking of bread, is the Sacrament. Remember, dearly beloved, how the Lord Jesus desired to be recognized in the breaking of the bread, by those whose eyes had been kept from recognizing him. We know Christ in the breaking of the bread. It isn't every piece of bread, but the one that receives Christ's blessing and becomes the body of Christ. That's how you recognize Christ. He blessed the bread, broke it, and they recognized him. That's how we recognize Him."

     And today, that's what will happen, when our Lord Jesus Christ takes His place at table with us, and takes the bread and blesses it, and breaks it and gives it to us. We will recognize Him, truly present with us. Our eyes will be opened, and we will see Him, and receive Him, in His incarnate presence. Why? First, so that we will know He is with us, so that we can be strengthened and encouraged on our way. First, so that we, who had hope, will receive hope again-hope because Jesus lives. Hope because Jesus is with us. Hope because Jesus is not dead to us, but alive and walking with us along our way. First, Jesus presents Himself to us, that we may again, have hope. And second, Jesus appears to us, so that, armed with His presence, uplifted by the power of His resurrection, we can return, to the world, to our lives, to the work at hand-with joy. Luke tells us that at that same hour, after the disciple's eyes were opened, they got up and returned to Jerusalem. And just so, we are not to remain here, in Christ's sacramental presence, hour after hour and day after day-although it might seem tempting to want to do so. Jesus feeds us with His presence, so that we can return, with peace and courage to daily life-to tell others what has happened to Jesus, and to us-and how He has been made known to us, in the breaking of the bread. That's why we come here-and that's why Jesus comes here-and that's why Jesus appears to us, in the Sacrament of the Altar. And that's why we are able to return-home, to work, to family struggle and daily strain, with new life, and new energy, because Jesus lives, and because Jesus goes with us-our crucified and risen Lord!

     In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.