Sermon preached at Evensong on the Second Sunday of Easter 2025

Yesterday, the world mourned as Pope Francis was buried in Rome. Of all the images from these last days, one which will stay with me is a photograph of the Pope’s shoes in his simple wooden coffin: his body buried in eucharistic vestments and surmounted by a mitre, and on his feet, not the red ceremonial shoes of previous pontiffs, but the battered, thin-soled, slightly scuffed black shoes he had worn for years. This was a Pope who ‘walked the walk’ in shoes made for walking.  

Francis was, perhaps, the most ecumenically-appreciated Pope in history. Surely, he stood on the shoulders of very different kinds of giant: John Paul II, who was so instrumental in the fall of eastern European communism, and who encouraged non-Catholics to engage with him in a dialogue on the role of the papacy itself. He was succeeded by Pope Benedict, the only successor of St Peter thus far to visit Westminster Abbey, a quieter, controversial but scholarly Pope, who gave the whole church some beautiful and profound encyclicals, and helped us to think theologically about the role of the papacy. But it was Pope Francis who showed the church what a papacy of love and service could look like, a Petrine Ministry for the whole world, offered charismatically, even before our churches are formally united. His was a papacy of great themes, mercy, the encounter, the environment, human dignity. The church was to be ‘a field hospital’ rather than any kind of hermetically-sealed, self-satisfied home for saints. And in all this, one metaphor for the Christian life stands out for us today in Eastertide, as we hear once again in this afternoon’s second lesson the story of the road to Emmaus. Walking together is the true mode of encounter for Christians. The Christian life is a pilgrimage, through which we come to know Christ and one another in a rich process of dynamic exchange. ‘Pray for me’, Pope Francis would frequently say to his guests as they left him.

One of the ways in which Pope Francis encouraged Christians to walk together was through his insistence on a synodal church. Pope Francis insisted that primacy in the church could only properly be exercised hand-in-hand with synodality, a sense that discernment and decision-making belong to the whole people of God. The refreshed Roman Synod over which Pope Francis presided, received and processed reflection from all across the world, and contained delegations of faithful Christian lay people, as well as bishops and other clergy, from every corner of the earth. In his message at the beginning of this last Lent, issued only a couple of months ago, he wrote, ‘Christians are called to walk at the side of others, and never as lone travellers… [this] means walking side-by-side, without shoving or stepping on others, without envy or hypocrisy, without letting anyone be left behind or excluded. Let us all walk in the same direction, tending towards the same goal, attentive to one another in love and patience.’[1] This, the Pope insisted, is a call to conversion – a call to synodality, syn-hodos, meaning ‘in the same direction’, or ‘together on the path.’

On the evening of that first Easter Day, two disciples were heading in the direction of a village outside Jerusalem, trying to piece together what on earth had happened over the last week. A stranger comes and walks next to them. St Luke tells us that they were sorrowful, and potentially even angry, as the original text suggests. ‘Are you the only stranger who does not know what has happened?,’  they ask him, exhausted. So, they unfold their story to him, with its details and disappointments. And in return, Jesus, still walking beside them, widens their vision, as they approach their destination.

In an address preached in 2017,[2] Pope Francis commented on this story. This is a tale of two journeys: the first in which two different paths show us “that in life, we have two opposite directions in front of us.” One is the path of those who “let themselves be paralysed by life’s disappointments.” But there is another journey, which begins in the next scene, as Jesus goes in with them, breaks bread, and they suddenly realise who he is and what has been happening. Immediately they realise they must return to Jerusalem, and to the Eleven. Life needs to be lived focused on Jesus and others. “Here is the turning point”, the Pope said: “to stop orbiting around oneself, the disappointments of the past, the unrealised ideals, and to go on looking at the greatest and truest reality of life: Jesus is alive and loves me”.

This afternoon, we are installing a new Chief Honorary Steward, one of our most committed volunteers, who, with her team, has a significant responsibility for welcoming our worshippers. Many will only visit Westminster once, and we want to ensure that this Christian holy ground at the heart of London is holy ground where everyone can know they belong. Before this is Royal space, or parliamentary space, or establishment burial ground, it is resurrection space. Christian space. In some way, perhaps, it is our Emmaus, our turning point. Right at the heart of the Emmaus story in Luke’s Gospel is a subtle interrogation of the two roles of host and guest. The disciples are clearly a pair, and this is their walk. Jesus accompanies them. And yet, as the journey continues, it is precisely in their unburdening themselves of their story, that the roles begin to shift… ‘beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.’ In a profound way, Jesus is actually leading them, whilst allowing them to set the pace. As they approach where they are staying, Jesus appears to keep going; so the disciples urge him to stay with them. He enters their space. And yet, at the table, Jesus is the one who says the blessing and breaks the bread. He is, in fact, the host. And just as their eyes are opened, and they recognise him as the fulfilment of all God’s promises, he vanishes. But immediately, they recall how their hearts ‘burned within them’ on the road earlier that day. Powered by this absolute clarity of realisation, they embark on their second journey back to Jerusalem and to the eleven apostles. The rest – as they say – is history. Our history. This is the living story of the Church in the age of the resurrection, now, which will remain until Christ completes his work at the end of time. Our job, meanwhile, is to walk together, in the company of Jesus, breaking bread, reconciling one another, and telling the truth about the destiny of this beautiful yet broken world, which was worth dying and rising for. We are one another’s host and guest in this work. 

I said earlier that Pope Francis was perhaps the most ecumenically-appreciated Pope in history. With his insistent and engaging style, with joyful encouragement and resolute pastoral care, this successor of St Peter taught the whole Church in a way which can certainly be received and lived by all Christians. So today, on the Octave Day of Easter, the last two paragraphs should go to the Pope buried yesterday, wearing his old, battered, walked-in shoes:

‘Jesus’ encounter with the two disciples of Emmaus is a fleeting one. But the entire destiny of the Church is contained within it. It tells us that the Christian community is not enclosed within a fortified citadel, but rather journeys along its most essential environment, which is the road. And there, it encounters people with their hopes and disappointments, burdensome at times. The Church listens to everyone’s stories as they emerge from the treasure chest of personal conscience, in order to then offer the Word of Life, the witness of love, a love that is faithful until the end. And thus, the hearts of people reignite with hope.

We have all had difficult moments in life, dark moments in which we walked in sadness, pensive, without horizons, with only a wall before us. And Jesus is always beside us to give us hope, to warm our hearts and to say: “Go ahead, I am with you. Go ahead”. The secret of the road that leads to Emmaus is simply this: despite appearances to the contrary, we continue to be loved and God will never stop loving us. God will walk with us always, always, even in the most painful moments, even in the worst moments, even in moments of defeat. That is where the Lord is. And this is our hope. Let us go forward with this hope! Because he is beside us and walks with us. Always!’[3]

Alleluia, Christ is risen. 
He is risen indeed, Alleluia!