Had you asked me in January to name the news anchors who host programs on regular broadcast television stations, I doubt I could have gotten any of them.  The media world has changed so much that I’d have to go back to names like Katie Couric or Tom Brokaw or Peter Jennings – who haven’t been on ABC or NBC for some years now.

Thank you for taking the time to read this homily for THIRD SUNDAY OF EASTER – APRIL 19, 2026 – Your support means a great deal to me, and I’m deeply grateful for the many who share these messages with their friends, families and social media followers. If you’ve found meaning in these words, I’d be grateful if you’d share them with others who might benefit.

And for those who prefer listening, you can find the audio version on SoundCloud HERE or subscribe to the podcast on iTunes HERE. Your comments, messages, and the way you’ve embraced these homilies continue to inspire me.   Sincerely in Christ -Father Jim

So when I saw a headline flash across a TV at the gym in early February – “Savannah Guthrie’s Mother Missing” – as this breaking news report, I’ll be honest I had no idea who she was or why this was national news.  But then the story broke through: Nancy Guthrie, the 84 year old woman, sick, vulnerable. Gone in the middle of the night. No trace. No answers. No closure.  In 2026 – where we’ve gotten way too accustomed to practically zero privacy – how does someone just… disappear?

For weeks it consumed the news cycle.  The terrifying story with ransom notes, demands for crypto currency, theories, clues, all kept people’s attention.  Especially since Savannah is a news personality who millions do watch on a regular basis, there’s this sense of connection that people have – where they kind of feel like they know her, there’s this strange closeness to the story hat people have a deeper concern for this terrible event than might ordinarily register for people.   As the weeks have now become months and there’s been – at least up till now – no break in the case, no updates, no sense of clarity- it’s been unimaginable trying to put yourself in Savannah’s shoes, where she’s had to resume her work, being on camera on a daily national news program. – Smile – speak clearly – stay composed – while inside everything is unraveling.  Which is why when she shares more personal feelings on her Instragram feed, they take on a life of their own.

One of which was 2 weeks ago.  On Easter Sunday, in a heartbreaking video – she acknowledged while Easter is traditionally a time of “sunshine and joy” her current circumstances left her at times feeling deep disappointment with God and a sense of utter abandonment.  She spoke candidly about wrestling with the uniquely cruel injury of uncertainty and confusion while desperately waiting for answers abour her mother – not knowing if she’ll ever get them.  And then she very movingly spoke fom her own perspective of faith and questioning, as she asked does Jesus really understand what this feels like?  To sit in the agony of unanswered questions?  And then she remembered – the three days in the tomb… the cry from the cross “My God, My God, why have you forsaken me…”

That question – does God understand the not knowing – is exactly where today’s Gospel from St. Luke meets us.  Because on this Third Sunday of Easter, as we reflect on the story about the Road to Emmaus – we have to remember:

Easter has already happened.  The tomb is empty! Jesus had triumphed over death!  He has emerged after a violent and horrific public execution in a climate of escalating authoritarianism and fear.  This is THE central and dividing line of all human history.

But on the road to Emmaus, in the immediacy of that event, with the radiating glow of this absolutely spectacular news – it doesn’t feel like victory.  The two disciples are walking away.  They have heard the reports.  They’ve been told the tomb is empty.  They know the stories and experienced all Jesus had done that first made them follow Him.  And yet we find them Leaving Jerusalem.  Heads down – hearts heavy.  It’s all captured in such breathtaking simplicity of three words: WE WERE HOPING.

Past tense – Hope was gone.

That might be one of the most honest, relatable lines in all of Scripture.  Because who hasn’t said or thought that?  We had hoped – this relationship would last; this job would work out; this prayer would be answered; this diagnosis wouldn’t come; this grief wouldn’t hurt this much; this faith would feel more real…

We’ve heard the Easter proclamation; We dutifully sing the Alleluias.  But a lot of us might be sleep walking on our own Emmaus road – carrying disappointment, confusion, questions – Why God?  Where are you?

That’s exactly where Jesus met the first two on the Road to Emmaus.  Not in a blaze of glory at the empty tomb or with dramatic heavenly choirs.  He joins them seemingly as a stranger who walks beside them – at their pace – in their disappointment, patiently listening to their whole sad story.  He doesn’t interrupt.  He doesn’t correct them right away.  He lets them pour the whole thing out – their disappointment, their shattered hopes, their version of how everything had fallen apart.

Only then… does He begin to speak.

Then and only then, He gently but powerfully opens the scriptures to them.  Beginning with Moses and all the prophets.  Think about it – Jesus- the Word made flesh – is the living fulfillment of everything they had been reading their whole lives.  The vast collection of books, written over more than a thousand years of human history – full of stories of creation and covenant and war and exile and desperation and sin and longing -it is all His story.  He knows every page intimately because He is the Author who has been writing it, living it, guiding it from the very beginning.  Unlike (tragically) so many today who distort and misquote Scripture, pulling verses out of context to justify fear, anger or division;  Jesus shows them the true thread that runs through it all: the story of a God who has always been, is and will always be faithfully present to His people.  Sometimes working with them in their moments of faithfulness.  Often working in spite of their failures and stubbornness.  But always in relentless, pursuing love.  And now all of that long, messy history had come to its astonishing fulfillment right here – in the Messiah who had to suffer these things before entering into His Glory.

He didn’t fix their situation or give them immediate answers or sound bites to make them feel better.  He opened the sciptures and shows them that this story – their story- was in fact never out of control. That even when the worst was happening – the suffering -the humiliation – the confusion – even the Cross was not the end of the story.  That God had been at work the whole time.  Not always in obvious ways.  Not always in easy ways (in fact seldomly so).  But always in faithful, relentless love.

That’s when something begins to happen – their hearts start burning within them.  They feel it before they understand it.  Which is important to remember.  Because a lot of us are waiting to understand everything before we believe anything.  But that’s not how this works.  Sometimes the heart catches fire… before the eyes can see.

And then comes the moment.  They reach the house.  They sit at table.  He Takes bread.  He Blesses It.  He Breaks It.  He Gives It.   In that moment – the exact same movements of the Last Supper their eyes are opened.  They recognize the Risen Lord in the breaking of the Bread.  He was with them the whole time. And just as quickly He’s gone.  But not really.  They recognize that they didn’t need the Jesus of pre- Good Friday.  Everything has in fact changed.  The old rules of the world don’t matter in this new life of Resurrection , this new freedom of Easter.  The same two who were anxiously leaving Jerusalem downcast and riddled with fear now run seven miles back to Jerusalem in the dark – Because Hope is alive again.

This is not just their story.  This is ours.  Because Jesus still meets people the same way.  Not always in clairty.  Not always in certainty.  But in the middle of the walk.  In the middle of the doubts and fears.  In the middle of the questions.  In the middle of the not knowing.   He listens as we pour out our disappointments with God.  He speaks – not giving us quick fixes, but as the living Word that reframes our pain.  He reveals Himself.  Most powerfully right here – at this altar – in the breaking of he bread.  That’s why we come to Mass every Sunday – even when our hearts feel heavy.  Because here in the Eucharist – the Risen Christ feed us, strengthens us, and sends us back into the world with burning hearts – as He becomes real and present, body, blood, soul and divinity in that humble host that we consume.

Savannah Guthrie is still waiting.  Many of us are still waiting.  For answers.  For healing. For direction.  For God to make sense of something that just doesn’t.   Easter doesn’t promise immediate answers.  It promises something far more important and deeper.  The promise that we are never walking alone.  The same Jesus who met two discouraged disciples on a dusty road is here with us now.  He meets us in our questions.  He meets us in His Word.  He meets us in the Eucharist.

The challenge is when you feel that pull to walk away… to shut down.. To check out… to lose hope.  Do the opposite.  Keep walking on the road.  Invite Him in.  Open the Scriptures.  Come to Mass.  Even if all you can say is “Lord I don’t understand” that’s okay.  Because that might be exactly where He meets you.  And when He does – let your heart burn again… don’t keep it to yourslf.  Because there are a lot of people right now walking their own Emmaus roads.  And they’re desperate for hope.

The Lord is Risen.  He is Risen Indeed.  And He is walking with us – even now.