Hearts on Fire, Fully Perceiving

A sermon preached by Ed Crump with Foundry UMC, April 19, 2026, the second Sunday of Easter.

 

Texts: Isaiah 51:1–6; Luke 24:13–35

April 19, 2026

Good morning.

Will you pray with me,

May the words of my mouth and the meditations of all our hearts be pleasing to you God, our Rock and our Redeemer. Amen.

 

There are moments in life when everything you thought was solid…

suddenly isn’t.

Plans collapse. The future you trusted no longer exists.

Many of us have had those moments since January 20, 2025.

Some of us are dealing with illness or a sick loved one.

Some of us have experienced heartbreak.

Some of us are lonely.

Some of us are feeling financial insecurity.

And when we experience those things, usually all we can do is put one foot in front of another.

 

In our text from Luke this morning, that’s where we meet the disciples:

Not triumphant. 

Not celebrating resurrection. 

Not even waiting in hope.

They are walking away from Jerusalem.

Away from the place where everything fell apart.

Away from the cross.

Away from hope.

Two friends walking away together.

They say, “We had hoped…” 

And note they use the past tense.

“We had hoped he was the one to redeem Israel.”

 

Not just grief, but disorientation.

 

Their understanding of God, of justice, of the future has all unraveled.

The Jesus they were presented with did not meet their expectations, so they had difficulty recognizing and accepting him.

And if we’re honest, many of us know that road. We know what it is to say, “I had hoped…”

And for some communities, that sense of “we had hoped” is not just a moment or a season, but a painfully long history. A history of displacement, of promises broken, of identity challenged or erased.

 

Today, as we mark Native American Ministries Sunday, we remember that Indigenous peoples across this land are not abstract names from a history book. They are living communities, with real histories, sacred languages, deep wisdom, and enduring resilience with cultures that existed for thousands of years before their land was taken from them. And many carry stories of disruption and loss that echo, in their own way, that same cry: “we had hoped.”

On this special Sunday during Easter Season, I want to read Foundry’s WE ARE ON NATIVE LAND statement:

When we gather for worship and ministry on the corner of 16th and P, we do so upon the sacred, traditional, and unceded lands of the Anacostan, Massawomack, Susquehannock, Piscataway, and Pomunkey peoples, who were forcibly removed from this area to allow for English settlement. As occupiers of their territory, we recognize them as the original and perpetual stewards of this land and gratefully acknowledge our responsibility for a more honest recounting of our history that empowers us to work for the thriving of all people!

 

 

Now hold that ugly, inconvenient reality alongside the voice from the prophet Isaiah we read this morning:

“Listen to me, you who pursue righteousness… look to the rock from which you were hewn.”

Isaiah is speaking to a people who are also disoriented. They are exiled, displaced, unsure of who they are anymore.

In the wake of the Babylonian Exile, everything that once defined them: land, temple, nation, has been stripped away.

They are not just geographically displaced; they are spiritually disoriented, wondering if they are still God’s people at all.

And into that uncertainty, God does not begin with explanation but with invitation: “Look to the rock from which you were [cut].”

Isaiah says to remember Abraham and Sarah, how God brought life out of barrenness, promise out of impossibility.

In other words, Isaiah is saying, your identity is not determined by your present loss, but by God’s enduring faithfulness.

Scripture tells us that every human being is made in the image of God.

That’s why we proclaim that truth in rainbows and banners right out front:  “No matter anything, you are welcome here to be met by our God, who knows you by name, and who loves you, and who wants to have an ever deepening relationship with you. Welcome.”

That means no people, no culture, no community is less-than.

 

Even now, God says, salvation is on the way, not just for you, but as a light for all nations.

What feels like an ending is, in God’s hands, still unfolding.

The prophet Isaiah says:

“For the Lord will comfort Zion… will make her wilderness like Eden.”

What looks barren is not the end of the story.

But here’s the tension between our texts from Isaiah and Luke today:

On the road to Emmaus, the disciples know the story.

They know the Scriptures.

They know the promises.

And still…they’re walking away. They really don’t understand what’s going on.

And then, all of the sudden, without announcement, Jesus comes alongside them.

And they don’t recognize him. He’s not what they expected. Not what they had “hoped for.”

Luke tells us, “their eyes were kept from recognizing him.”

The risen Christ is right there walking beside them, and they don’t recognize him.

[PAUSE]

 

Why don’t they know it’s Jesus?

I don’t think it’s because they’re actually foolish.

And I don’t think it’s because they completely lack faith.

Rather, I suspect it’s because sometimes grief closes our vision.

Sometimes disappointment narrows what we can imagine God doing; or loved ones doing; or our ability to persevere.

 

And what does Jesus do when the disciples don’t recognize him? 

…and I think this is one of the most instructive parts of this passage…

Jesus listens.

He lets them tell the story.

Cleopas basically says, ‘Are you the only one in Jerusalem who hasn’t heard what happened to Jesus?’ …to Jesus.

…and what’s really amazing is, Jesus lets them tell HIS OWN story and he just listens…he doesn’t jump in and say, well of course I know the story, it’s about me!

He keeps quiet. He lets them name their grief. He lets them speak their dashed hopes out loud.

And only then does he begin to reframe things.

“Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?”

Beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he reframes the story.

Not as failure.

Not as defeat.

But as part of a larger unfolding, where suffering and glory are somehow, mysteriously intertwined.

This is where Luke and Isaiah meet.

Isaiah says: Do not trust only what you see.

God’s future is bigger than your present reality.

Jesus says: You are reading the story too narrowly.

 

But even after this incredible moment of teaching…the Disciples still don’t recognize Jesus!

Not yet.

It’s not until they reach the village.

Not until there’s an invitation.

Not until they sit down.

Not until they share a meal.

In a text clearly designed to evoke the image of the Eucharist it says,

“He took bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to them.”

Then, and only then, do they recognize him.

Not in the explanation.

Not in the argument.

But in the breaking of the bread.

In the shared table. In an act of community.

And this is exactly why John Wesley refers to Holy Communion as a “means of grace.” An opportunity to have a real encounter with God and Spirit.

 

According to the UMC website, a “means of grace” in the Methodist and Wesleyan tradition is:

“...an ordinary channel—such as prayer, Scripture, or Communion—through  which God invisibly works to strengthen, sanctify, and convey [God’s] love to believers. These practices, categorized as works of piety and devotion; mercy and compassion, are not meritorious acts but instruments for receiving grace and cultivating personal and communal holiness.”

And in our tradition we celebrate the Eucharist in an “open table” where we invite all who desire to be Christlike—regardless of denomination, membership, or baptismal status—to partake in Holy Communion.

And that tells us something about how we understand God’s vision.

In the Interpretation Bible Commentary on Luke, Fred Craddock notes something profound, 

“...Luke here tells us that the living Christ is both the key to our understanding the Scriptures and the very present Lord who is revealed to us in the breaking of bread. His presence at the table makes all believers first-generation Christians and every meeting place Emmaus.”

The table is not a place where difference disappears. It is a place where difference is honored, and still, there is room for everyone. 

The Gospel is Good News precisely because it declares this inclusiveness and abundance.  There is more than enough in God’s economy.

And then, just as suddenly, just at the moment they recognize who Jesus is, he vanishes.

But something is different. Something has changed in them:

“Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road?”

The recognition was not just about realizing it was Jesus. It was about becoming people who can fully understand who Jesus is.

People whose hearts are awake.

People who remember who they are called to be and act accordingly. 

And what do they do after they recognize Jesus?

They get up, immediately, and go back.

Back to Jerusalem.

Back to the place they had fled.

Because resurrection doesn’t just comfort us. It sends us. It calls us to service in the priesthood of all believers.

And when it sends us, it sends us not just with ideas, but with action.

 

The question for us is: 

How do we recognize Jesus like the disciples did?

How do we live into the love of Christ we are called to embody?

 

 

The Wesleyan answer to that question is — of course — through various “means of grace” like prayer and Holy Communion.

Let me give a specific example…

 

One of the most helpful practices I’ve found to help me improve my conscious contact with God, allowing me to more fully perceive God’s presence is Centering Prayer.

 

Centering Prayer is a simple form of silent, contemplative prayer that invites us to rest in God, not through lots of words or scripted prayers, but through quiet consent to God’s presence. 

 

The practice is to choose a “sacred word” like peace, love, grace, or Jesus, and use the word to pray with and connect to God, gently returning to the word whenever our mind wanders.

 

So the practice is to sit in silence, letting thoughts come and go, always returning to our sacred word as a way of opening ourselves to God.

 

I want to invite everyone to try Centering Prayer now for a couple minutes to get a taste for the practice:

 

Sit up straight - comfortable and alert

Choose a “sacred word”

Take a deep breath in and out

And silently introduce your sacred word as a simple prayer. 

This is like “placing yourself” in God’s presence without effort or expectations.

 

[2 MINUTES OF SILENCE]

 

 

What many people discover is that, over time, this practice makes God’s presence more accessible—especially in difficult moments. The sacred word becomes “top of mind” and can readily remind us that God is always here.

 

What I most of all want to do this morning is encourage all of us to explore various means of grace as we journey through life. To find practices that help us improve our regular conscious contact with God. 

 

[PAUSE]

So what does this all mean for us today?

It means:

Christ meets us on the road we didn’t plan to walk.

Christ listens to the stories we tell, even when they are full of disappointment.

Christ reinterprets our lives in light of a larger hope.

And Christ is made known, not just in grand moments, but I think mostly in simple acts:

Breaking bread.

Sharing space.

Welcoming one another.

In quiet moments of prayer, meditation, and contemplation.

And it also means this:

We are ALL invited to be part of what God is doing in the world.

Not just as charity.

But as a partnership.

Not as rescuers.

But as people willing to listen, to learn, and to walk alongside.

 

So if you find yourself today somewhere on that road—

Carrying grief…

Holding disappointment…

Wondering where God is in all of it…

…or walking alongside someone who is struggling…

Pay attention.

Because today’s Scriptures tell us we do not walk the road alone.

Who is representing Christ to you on your journey? 

As we begin to fully perceive, we may also begin to see Christ in one another: in acts of compassion; in truth-telling; in shared table; in repaired relationships.

May we, with God’s help, not only recognize Christ walking with us,

but also be willing to imitate Christ in lives of love, compassion, justice, humility, and shared humanity.

Amen.