This painting by the Italian artist Caravaggio, of Jesus sitting at table between the two disciples tries to capture the rapture of joy on the faces of the disciples at the moment when they recognized Jesus. Once a guide was showing the picture to some visitors to the London National Gallery where it is on display. He began by telling them the story behind the picture, the story of the gospel today. In the group was a couple, Mr. and Mrs. Browne, whose only son had recently been killed in a car accident. They had come to the museum that day merely in the hope that it might take their minds off their sorrow for a little while.

As the guide started the story the Browne’s were only half listening. But he told it in such a way that by the time he had finished, they were completely captivated. Afterwards they approached the guide and said, “We’ve heard that story many times, but it never moved us until now. You told it with such feeling and conviction.” “There was a time when I told it very badly,” the guide replied. “What happened to change that?” the Brownes asked. “Three years ago,” the guide began, “my wife got cancer and died a slow, agonizing death. I could see absolutely no meaning in her terrible suffering and untimely death. She was a good person. She did not deserve all this. I was heartbroken. It was as if the world had come to an end. Nevertheless, I was persuaded to go back to work here in the museum. So once again I found myself telling the story. Only more mechanically than before. Then one day something clicked with me and suddenly I realized that the story was not just about those two discouraged disciples but about me. Like the two disciples, I was going down a sad and lonely road. Even though I am a believer, regrettably, Jesus had been little more than a shadowy figure who lived only in the pages of the Gospels. But now he came alive for me. I felt his presence at my side, the presence of a friend who knew all about human suffering.

It was at that moment my eyes were opened and I saw things differently. My heart began to burn within me. As I went on telling the story, a healing process was at work inside me. Even though at times I’m still fragile, I have begun to hope and live again.” By this time the Browne’s were unable to hold back their tears. “Strange,” they said, “but as you told the story, we too felt our hearts burn within us.” They told him the story of the tragic death of their son. They chatted for some time and as they parted the Browne’s said, “Thank you for what you did for us. You are a true storyteller.”

We can truly tell a story or truly hear a story, only when we see how it applies to ourselves. Then and only then does it really come alive for us. Even though we may never have been to the Holy Land, all of us have been on the road to Emmaus. Some people are very familiar with that road. It represents the road of disappointment, failure, sorrow, grief, shattered dreams...

The risen Jesus is with us on this journey, even though we may not recognize him. In the simple breaking of the bread, in all the routine comings and goings of our life along our own road to Emmaus, the Stranger - who is no stranger - is there. The Risen Jesus is so close to us that our stories merge with his. It is only his story that makes sense out of our story. It is especially by accepting the dark and difficult side of our story that we learn what God’s grace and love are all about. In the final analysis of our lives, it is only the Christ story - that helps to make sense of our own stories. The resurrection of Jesus opens all of our stories to the same promise - when one trusts in God’s love as did Jesus - through his suffering and death - that trust, that faith leads not only to a good ending but to a glorious life that knows no end.