By Timothy Peoples
In middle school, we had to run a mile every month in gym class. If you know me, you know sweating is not something I enjoy. Our school sat in the middle of cornfields, and our coach would stand in the road with a timer in one hand and a whistle in the other. At the sound of the whistle, we would all take off running.
But there was one detail everyone knew: Coach had bad cataracts.
So, we came up with a plan. We would run about a quarter mile — maybe less — and then slip into the cornfields. We’d wait there for a while, careful not to come back too soon. After all, we didn’t want him thinking we could run a lightning-fast mile, raising his expectations. Then we’d reappear, jog back down the road and finish the race.
It worked many times. Until it didn’t.
One day, we started the same plan, but something felt off to me. So, I decided to just run the full mile. Sure enough, as the others disappeared into the cornfields, Coach shouted from the road and told them all to run an extra mile. When we got back, he looked at us and said, “I got surgery.” Then he chuckled: “I can see now!”
Our Scripture from Luke today tells the “Road to Emmaus” story. Two disciples walked along the road with Jesus himself, yet they did not recognize him. It wasn’t until they sat at the table with him — when he took bread, gave thanks, broke it and gave it to them — that their eyes were opened. Only then did they see him for who he truly was.
As we prepare for worship, I wonder how often we find ourselves in a similar place. We assume we see clearly. We assume we understand what God is doing. We assume we would recognize Jesus if he showed up in our lives.
And yet, how often do we miss Jesus? What has been blurring your vision from seeing God? What are the cataracts of your faith?
Many of us are still living in the glow of Easter morning. But if we’re honest, we’ve also lived in the reality of that road — walking forward, uncertain, sometimes discouraged and not always aware that Christ is right there with us.
Christ is still at work. Still moving among us. Still choosing to be in communion with us.
The question is not whether he is present.
The question is: Will our eyes be opened enough to see him?