Let me begin with something personal. Sometimes people say things they think are compliments, but they don’t quite land that way. I have been in conversations with other chaplains, those of other Christian denominations, and when I reference Scripture, someone says, “Wow… a Catholic priest who knows the Bible.” And I usually smile and think, I wish I could take that as a compliment. One thing I think many people don’t understand is that as Catholics, we don’t just read the Bible, we live the Bible. We don’t just quote the Bible, we do the Bible. The Word of God is not just something we study; it is something we enter into; and nowhere is that clearer than in the Holy Mass.
Now here is something beautiful; the testimony of Scott Hahn regarding the Holy Mass. Scott Hahn was originally a Presbyterian minister and a renowned scripture scholar. He attended the Holy Mass for the first time simply as an observer. As a Bible scholar, he knew Scripture deeply. But as he sat there at Mass, something unexpected happened. He began to recognize the Bible everywhere in the Mass: the readings, the prayers, and the structure. Then it struck him how much Scripture was present, even in a daily Mass. Later, at the consecration, his understanding deepened even more. The same Scriptures he had studied were not just being read, they were being lived out. That realization became one of the key moments that led him toward the Catholic Church.
Today’s Gospel passage presents the story of the two disciples who were on their way from Jerusalem to Emmaus. Have you ever realized that each day we gather at Mass, we are living or doing the Emmaus journey? Let us take a closer look at the passage. Two disciples are walking away from Jerusalem, away from hope, away from the Cross, and away from what they thought their future would be. They are confused, discouraged, trying to make sense of it all. And what happens? Jesus comes near and walks with them, though they do not recognize him.
Isn’t that what happens at Mass? We come into Mass from different places, carrying stress, frustration, and questions. Maybe there was tension at home. Maybe something is weighing heavily on our hearts. And into that reality, Jesus walks in at the entrance procession through the priest, who ministers in the person of Christ the Head.
At the beginning of Mass, we gather. We are not all on the same page, then the priest brings us together. In the greeting, the penitential rite, the opening prayer, Christ, through the priest, meets us where we are and gently draws us into communion.
On the road to Emmaus, Jesus begins to explain the Scriptures. He opens the Word to them. Their minds are engaged. And that is the Liturgy of the Word. God speaks, not just to inform us, but to transform us. The Scriptures are not just ancient texts; they are a living Word addressed to you, to me, here and now. And like the disciples, something begins to happen inside us. But notice, they still do not fully recognize him. It is only when they arrive at the table that everything changes. They invite him in. He takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to them. And in that moment, their eyes are opened. They recognize Him. That is the Eucharist. Every Mass follows this same pattern: Gathering, Word, Table, Dismissal. This is not a coincidence. It is the Emmaus story lived again. We are not just remembering something that happened long ago; we are entering into it.
And then something very strange but important happens. Jesus disappears. Why? Because He does not need to stand before them anymore. He is now within them. They have received him. And that changes everything. They do not stay seated. They do not just stay behind to say, “That was a beautiful experience.” They rise immediately and go back to Jerusalem. The same road they walked in sadness, they now walk in mission.
At every Mass, we receive not a symbol, not a reminder, but the living Christ: Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity. Which means: when we leave this Mass, Christ is not just someone we follow. He is someone we carry, someone we become. How seriously do we take this experience and this responsibility of becoming another Christ?
I remember in the seminary, during a liturgy class, I asked a question. I wasn’t trying to be funny, but the reaction of my classmates made me second guess my motive. I said to the priest professor, “Father, if we truly believe that in Holy Communion we receive the fullness of Jesus: Body, Blood, Soul, and Divinity, why do some people receive him, step aside, and then bow again to the crucifix? Is the Jesus they just received a younger brother to the Jesus on the Cross?”
Maybe the question comes across as funny, but it points to something deeper. When you receive the Eucharist, you are not receiving a part of Christ, you are receiving all of him. The same Jesus who walked on water, who healed the sick, who died and rose again; he is now within you.
So what does that mean? It means the Christian life is not just about quoting the Bible; it is about becoming the Bible lived out. “Do this in memory of me,” Jesus said. Not just remember me. Not just talk about me. Do this. Live this. Become this. So when the deacon or the priest says at the end of Mass, “Go in peace,” it is not a polite way of ending the service. It is a mission. It means: You have received the peace of Christ, now go and be that peace. Go into your homes, your workplaces, your units, your conversations, and be Christ there. Because the world is not first convinced by what we say, it is transformed by who we become. And remember, you may be the only Bible some people will ever read. So don’t just carry Christ, become Christ.
Homily for 3rd Sunday of Easter Year A 2026
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