Luke 24

Of the four evangelists, Luke alone writes an actual exit scene for the risen Jesus.

Chances are that your world is either experiencing or anticipating an awakening earth after months of winter slumber. Grass is turning green, azaleas are splashing the landscape with brilliant reds, dogwoods are sprouting pink and white blooms—little Easter catechisms shaped like crosses and complete, each one, with a crown of thorns. When the birds begin their morning songs these days, and the bees their carpentry, we imagine that the sounds they make are Easter music served up by nature, as the church’s most important holy day coincides with the renewed activity of creation.

Bread and fish are not much of an Easter dinner.

Bread and fish are not much of an Easter dinner.

On the walk to Emmaus, Jesus is first recognized as an alien.

Just like that, Jesus is gone. He reappears just long enough to say goodbye. Like a wraith, like a dream, he leaves behind no children, no estate, no writings, no trace of himself except this feeling that his presence was real, that his absence is temporary. Christians have this uncanny feeling that he was just here. He must have just stepped out.

The risen Jesus' first witnesses didn’t just give their testimony in words. Many of them eventually offered evidence written in their own blood.

Again and again in scripture, pounding hearts become burning hearts.