We’ve all walked it the road to Emmaus. Weary from the week, discouraged by the headlines, wondering if hope is still alive.
Like the two disciples, we rehearse our disappointments, naming all the things that didn’t go the way we thought they would. We try to make sense of a world that crucifies love and buries justice.
And yet—even in our confusion, even in our grief the risen Christ draws near.
But we don’t always recognize him. Not at first.
Maybe we’re too lost in thought. Maybe we’re afraid to hope again. Maybe the face of Christ looks too much like the stranger, the refugee, the person we’ve overlooked.
Whatever the reason we often miss the divine right beside us.
Until that sacred moment the breaking of the bread.
Because it’s in the breaking that we see. In the ordinary made holy a meal shared, a story retold, a heart rekindled we realize: He was with us the whole time.
So where is your Emmaus?
The drive home from the hospital? The kitchen table where you sit alone? The waiting room, the grocery line, the long walk on a gray day?
And who is the stranger beside you?
Emmaus isn’t just a story it’s a pattern. It’s how grace moves.
God walks with us in our unknowing. God listens to our confusion. And then in bread broken, in love given— we see.
Open your eyes today. Don’t rush past the sacred in the now. Be surprised again by resurrection in the middle of your ordinary, aching, beautiful life.
Inspired by Daniel 5:25–28(MENE, MENE, TEKEL, PARSIN) I watched the painter.She did not speak at first.She only dipped her brush into ashnot paintand dragged it across the canvas like a wound.The world kept spinning.The empire feasted.And she painted like she was remembering somethingwe had all tried to forget.I felt it in my bones.The ancient fire.The…
May 15,2016 – Allison Burns-LaGreca 10:00 am Allison Burns-LaGreca The Collect Almighty God, on this day you opened the way of eternal life to every race and nation by the promised gift of your Holy Spirit: Shed abroad this gift throughout the world by the preaching of the Gospel, that it may reach to…
I was thereat the border,barefoot in the dust,my robe torn by razor wire,my name forgotten in the paperwork.They didn’t recognize me.Not with their flags wavingor their uniforms pressed,not with their boots stompingor their hands gripping steel.I cried out“Let the children come to me!”But they took them instead,ripped from brown-skinned motherswhose lullabies could not stop the…
Originally published: April 24, 2025I am not a director of things,but a witness to the breaking.Not a strategist of systems,but a steward of stories.I do not run an enterpriseI carry the oilthat anoints the broken places.I am a priest.I walk not on carpeted boardrooms,but on holy groundbarefoot,breath held,heart cracked open wideto let the Spirit through.I…
Inspired by Ecclesiasticus 45:6–16 & Luke 19:41–48 I stood in the ash of a broken city,my hands lifted like cracked branchesstill reaching for rain.And He, Christ,not high on a thronebut bending low above the ruinwept.He did not weep as kings do,with detachment or distance.He wept like a fatherwatching his son bleed out in a school…
I am not Caesar’s.I do not bear his stamp.Though he’s tried to etch his empireinto the lines of my face,I have scraped him off with every holy tearand every cry for justice.I am not the emperor’s coin.I do not shine for his glory.I am not made to be traded,stacked, counted, spent, or hoarded.I was shaped…