Reflection on the readings for the 19th April, the 3rd Sunday of Easter
- Apr 22
- 5 min read
Readings: Acts 2:14a,36-41; Luke 24:13-35
Today’s reflection is by the Vicar, the Revd Canon Jonathan Cain:
Resurrection faith: open mind, open heart, open eyes
Among another stream of crazy international and political news headlines this week, there was a more domestic story that caught my attention; a recent report highlighting the academic underachievement of girls from poorer or, as the report framed it, working class families. Sadly, not perhaps a surprising headline, but it did remind me of story I came across recently of a young woman in her late teens.
Her childhood had been shaped by responsibility far beyond her years. With her father absent and her mother working several jobs, she became the carer for her younger siblings from the age of nine. Life left her undernourished in the widest sense — emotionally, socially, academically.
She didn’t thrive at school. She underachieved. She developed a hard exterior, a way of coping with the world. She always seemed slightly sad, slightly closed off, face downcast … as though she were watching life from behind a pane of glass.
One day, a kind stranger asked her a simple question:“How well can you see?”
It was a question she had never thought to ask herself. But, at that moment her mind opened to the possibility that something might be wrong with her eyesight — something she had simply lived with, unaware that life could be clearer than this. It took some time for her to make an optician appointment. Life had taught this young woman to be wary of asking for help; of making herself vulnerable. But eventually her heart opened sufficiently, and she went for an eye test.
The optician’s revelation: she needed glasses. She put them on… and her eyes opened — literally. Suddenly the world had colour and shape and possibility. She enjoyed the simple pleasure of being able to recognise someone from across the street. In time, she began to wonder: “Maybe I’m not as stupid as they made out at school.”
Her life changed. And it changed because her mind, her heart, and her eyes were opened — in that order. This quiet story mirrors the pattern we see in today’s Gospel reading.
Two disciples walk away from Jerusalem. Away from hope. Away from the place where everything had fallen apart. Luke tells us that when the risen and unrecognised Jesus meets them on the road and asks a question, “What are you discussing together as you walk along?” they “stood still, faces downcast.” It’s such a human detail. Grief has a way of stopping us in our tracks.
Jesus comes alongside them, though they still do not recognise him. He listens first — gently, patiently — and then he opens the Scriptures to them. He helps them to see the story they thought they knew in a new light and their minds begin to open. Something inside them shifts. Humiliation gives way to devotion. Later, they reflect: “Were not our hearts burning within us?” Their hearts open as sorrow gives way to warmth.
And then, during table fellowship, their eyes are opened. They see Jesus for who he truly is. Not in a miracle. Not in a vision. But in the ordinary act of breaking bread. And everything changes.
The reading from Acts 2 describes another moment of recognition — this time not on a quiet road, but in the middle of Jerusalem, in the noise and energy of Pentecost.
Peter stands up and speaks to the crowd. He tells them plainly who Jesus is — crucified and risen. He opens their minds to the truth of the Scriptures, saying, “Let all Israel be assured…”
And Luke tells us that the people were “cut to the heart.” Their hearts open in conviction and longing. And then their eyes open to a new possibility: that life can begin again, that forgiveness is real, that the Holy Spirit is for them. Three thousand people step into the waters of baptism. Three thousand lives changed in a single day.
Emmaus is quiet, personal, intimate.Acts 2 is loud, public, communal.But the pattern is the same: open mind, open heart, open eyes. The three stages of resurrection faith.
Let’s think some more about those three stages of recognition.
An open mind. On the road to Emmaus, the disciples have to be cajoled into having an open mind. Jesus is pretty blunt with them and calls them fools. But crucially he hears them out. He doesn’t interrupt them or say he knows what they’re thinking. He listens to their story and then tells the same story back to them in a revealing way.
An open heart. “Were not our hearts burning within us?” the disciples say to one another. There is a difference between having an open mind and having an open heart and you can have one without the other. The disciples only recognise their hearts burning in retrospect. Remember, they are on edge. They could be in danger on the road. They have been badly hurt and disappointed. Their hearts are tender and protected. They thought they were just opening their minds, but it has gone way beyond that.
Open eyes. I wonder whether their eyes really could have been opened without their minds and hearts being opened first. So many research studies conclude that we see only what we are looking to see. The two disciples did not expect to see Jesus and so their eyes refused to recognise him beside them. The conversation and meal together changed their minds and hearts, and only then could they see the nail marks in the hands of the one who broke the bread and recognise the face of their crucified and now risen Lord.
Open mind, open heart, open eyes. The three stages of resurrection faith. I wonder which is the important one for you. Maybe you struggle with information overload and find it hard to keep an open mind, to discover new things. Perhaps you’ve been deeply hurt, and you’re reluctant to let your heart be open to burn with hope again. Or possibly there’s truth or love or life staring you in the face and for some reason you just can’t see it.
Perhaps this is the quiet invitation of Easter for us today: not to force anything, not to manufacture certainty or emotion, but simply to notice where Christ might already be drawing near.
For some of us, it may begin in the mind — in the willingness to see a familiar story in a new light, to let understanding shift, to allow God to teach us again. For others, it may be the heart that needs tending: the place where sorrow might give way to warmth. And for some, it may be the eyes — the courage to look up, to see what is right before us.
Wherever we find ourselves, the risen Jesus meets us there. Patient. Unhurried. Walking at our pace. So, as we continue in worship, I wonder what it would be like simply to hold this prayer before God:
Open my mind. Open my heart. Open my eyes.
Not all at once. Not perfectly. Just the next small opening that grace makes possible. Because when you do, you will not be able to stand still, eyes downcast, but will feel your heart burning within you as Christ opens up his life to you.
Amen