A few years back, the Detroit Institute of Arts hosted an exhibit of Rembrandt’s paintings, including one of the risen Jesus’ meal in Emmaus with Cleopas and the other, unnamed disciple. 

The show also traveled to Pittsburgh and Paris. Pittsburgh I understood, but how did Paris get in the mix? During the guided tour, the docent explained: the DIA and Pittsburgh approached the Louvre to borrow Rembrandt’s paintings. The Louvre agreed, but only if it could host the exhibit as well. So the paintings traveled from Pittsburgh to Paris, and finally, to Detroit. The Louvre’s Emmaus painting was the last in the exhibit, a most fitting conclusion.

In the scene, Jesus faces the viewer. One disciple, with hand to mouth, faces Jesus, his back to us. The other likewise looks at Jesus, and we see his profile. Only the fingers extend from Jesus’ robe, so neither his companions nor we can see the marks of the nails. He’s holding the bread for which He’s just given thanks. We have the sense that He’s about to disappear from their sight, and from ours.

Rembrandt’s wonderful depiction came to mind as I read that passage from St. Luke’s account (24:13 ff.), the Gospel for Mass on Wednesday during the Easter Octave. As so often happens with God’s Word, with passages so familiar that we might think we know them by heart, I noticed something new. In Luke, this is the first time someone encounters the risen Jesus. 

Later in the chapter, He’ll appear to the disciples in the upper room. Unlike John or Matthew, He doesn’t appear to Mary in the garden near the tomb; it’s while two disciples are leaving Jerusalem, seemingly walking away from Jesus, that He’s suddenly with them. As we know so well, they fail to recognize Him, but they’ve been talking excitedly about what happened, and the women’s testimony that the tomb is empty.

How many of us, and how often, have we been inclined — dare I say, tempted? — to think the coronavirus has frozen us in place? We’re locked in our homes, and we might well think this puts a stop to our unleashing the good news. What if, on the contrary, we see ourselves in the two disciples on the road out of Jerusalem, away from the small community of Jesus’ friends and followers, on whatever errand led them to Emmaus?

The account of Jesus’ presence with the two confused, troubled disciples on the road to Emmaus is a graced opportunity for us, in the midst of this moment when we wish we could be somewhere else and in some other time.

How many of us, and how often, have we been inclined — dare I say, tempted? — to think the coronavirus has frozen us in place? We’re locked in our homes, and we might well think this puts a stop to our unleashing the good news. 

What if, on the contrary, we see ourselves in the two disciples on the road out of Jerusalem, away from the small community of Jesus’ friends and followers, on whatever errand led them to Emmaus? What was going through their minds? What weighed on their hearts? They had such great hope. All seemed to be going so well. Jesus confronted His opponents, and they had no answer for Him. He spoke powerfully, winning more to His side.

But then, disaster struck! After the Passover meal, the most important night in their year, He was betrayed, arrested, humiliated, crucified and buried. And with Him, their hopes. All was lost. They, and we, seemed defeated.

But in the midst of their most confusing, disappointing, fear-filled moments, Jesus was walking with them. They didn’t recognize Him at first, but no matter. As is always the case, He did not abandon them. Jesus is walking with them not because they have it all figured out, but because they need Him.

This pandemic, as horrific as it is, isn’t a moment of defeat. Our efforts so far to unleash the Gospel are not undone, brought to a premature end. Cleopas and his companion didn’t recognize it, but they were, in fact, in the midst of a moment of opportunity.

We should be asking ourselves how to use this moment to recognize Christ’s presence with us on this road, at this time, in the midst of our fear, doubt and grief. Parishes and pastors are being wonderfully creative in reaching out to members. People are encouraging one another, and looking for opportunities to help those who are suffering most severely in the crisis.

Rather than focus on what we cannot do, why not ask what we can do? Families are in lockdown, and Synod 16 reminds us that families are at the heart of our effort to evangelize. The Archdiocese of Detroit’s website offers suggestions for families to pray and learn together. Some parishes have access to “Formed,” an online repository of faith-filled movies and other resources for children and adults. Instead of watching the same movie for the fifth time, we could begin each day asking, “Lord, how will you help me bring those with whom I live closer to You today?”

Let’s remember how the Emmaus account ends: Jesus sits down with them at the table, takes the bread, gives thanks, breaks and shares it with them. With that, their eyes are opened. While we cannot receive His Body and Blood now, we have often before. We know Him. We recognize Him. He will set our hearts on fire today, if we ask Him.

And, most significantly, Cleopas and his companion didn’t stay in Emmaus, frozen in their places. They headed back to Jerusalem. They had to tell the others that they had seen the risen Lord. They burned with desire to share the good news, and so can we.