Fr. David King – 19th April 2026

In the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

On Easter afternoon this year, our family gathered in the rectory garden for our annual Easter egg hunt. Now, you might think that sort of thing belongs to childhood—but our children are all grown up. And yet, there we were, scattering chocolate eggs in flowerbeds and behind pots, and watching fully grown adults wandering about the garden with surprising seriousness, peering under bushes, laughing, calling out when they made a discovery.

And it struck me how much that simple, joyful moment says something about Easter itself.

Because an Easter egg hunt is, in its own way, about searching… about not quite seeing at first… about something being hidden in plain sight… and then, suddenly, the delight of recognition.

And that is exactly what we encounter in the Gospel today.

Those two disciples on the road to Emmaus are searching—but not in hope. They are searching in confusion. They are trying to make sense of what has happened. “We had hoped…” they say. Hope seems lost. The story, as far as they are concerned, is over.

And yet, the risen Jesus is right there, walking beside them.

Hidden in plain sight.

They speak to him, they listen to him, they walk with him—and still they do not recognise him. Not because he is absent, but because their eyes are not yet opened.

And is that not often our experience too?

Christ is with us—closer than we realise—in the ordinary moments of our lives. In our conversations, our questions, even our disappointments. But like those disciples, we do not always see.

Then something begins to change. As Jesus opens the Scriptures to them, their hearts begin to burn within them. The Word of God stirs something deep inside—a recognition that is not yet sight, but is already real.

And finally, at table, he takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to them.

And in that moment, their eyes are opened.

They recognise him in the breaking of the bread.

My brothers and sisters, this is the heart of our faith. The risen Christ is not only a figure of the past, not only someone to be remembered. He is present—truly present—among us. He speaks to us in the Scriptures, and he gives himself to us in the Eucharist.

Every Communion is our Emmaus.

We come, perhaps distracted, perhaps carrying burdens, perhaps with hearts that have grown a little cold. And here, the Lord meets us. He walks with us. He speaks to us. And in the breaking of the bread, he opens our eyes.

But notice what happens next. The moment they recognise him, he vanishes from their sight. And they do not cling to the moment—they respond to it.

They get up, that very hour, and return to Jerusalem.

The journey is reversed. From walking away to going back. From sadness to joy. From confusion to conviction.

And this is where the first reading comes alive. Peter, who once denied Jesus, now stands boldly and proclaims: “This Jesus God raised up, and of that all of us are witnesses.”

That is what the encounter with the risen Christ does—it turns us outward. It sends us back into the world, not as people still searching in the dark, but as those who have found something—or rather, have been found.

And perhaps that brings us back to our Easter egg hunt.

Because what made it joyful was not just the finding, but the sharing—the laughter, the calling out, the delight in one another’s discoveries. “Here’s one!” “Look what I’ve found!”

The Christian life is not so different.

We are people who have discovered something—or someone—of infinite joy. And we are not meant to keep that to ourselves. Like those disciples, like Peter, we are sent to share the good news: Christ is risen. He is alive. And he is nearer to us than we ever imagined.

So today, let us ask for the grace to recognise him:

in the Scriptures that set our hearts on fire,
in the Eucharist where he gives himself to us,
and in the ordinary moments of our lives where he walks beside us, often unnoticed.

And having recognised him, may we, like those first disciples, rise without delay and go out into the world, proclaiming with joy:

The Lord has risen indeed.

Amen.