While they were walking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him.
—Luke 24:15

One thing seems fairly clear about the presence of the Risen Christ: most of the time, we don’t get it. Nor did the disciples. Our perception of events and how we are affected by those events often leaves us blinded by our own sadness or disillusionment or internal chaos. We find it hard to perceive the presence of this Risen Christ in the midst of confusion and grief. If things are not hunky-dory, we tend to act as if the divine presence has got to be elsewhere.

Yet the Risen Christ is here, now and always. In all times and in all places. In the war zone, in the torture chamber, in the emergency room. Here, now and always—wherever there is death and dying, there dwells the Risen Lord, waiting to quicken us with life. We suffer from the same malady as the disciples in this verse from Luke—our eyes are kept from recognizing him.

Julian of Norwich, a 14th century English mystic, wrote emphatically that we are always, eternally, enfolded in the love of God. Living in a time of plague and famine, war and religious persecution, Julian came to understand that in the crucifixion, we are shown God’s maternity.

We are invited to see that in the blood and water issuing from the side of the crucified Christ, we are regenerated, we are birthed anew. Whatever diminishments beset us, whatever dying we may experience, the possibility and promise of God’s mercy and grace allow those diminishments and dying to be the initiation into new life.

Ask for new eyes. Ask to recognize the Presence that is already there, especially where you least expect to be encountered by Christ.

Risen Christ, may I know you as you walk beside me. Amen.