Supper at Emmaus
Diego Velázquez, 1618

My dear friends,

On this evening of Easter Sunday, let us walk the road to Emmaus as the Bodhisattva path, seeing each moment not merely as history, but as a living reflection of our own pilgrimage toward awakening. As disciples of both Christ and the Buddha, we trace the journey of the awakening mind (Bodhicitta), in sorrow, in mystery, in fellowship, and finally in the blazing clarity of recognition.

Here the journey begins in grief and disorientation, hallmarks of samsara, the conditioned realm of suffering. The two disciples, lost in their own concepts, cannot see Christ walking beside them, just as we often do not recognize the presence of truth in our daily walk. The Bodhisattva, too, walks unseen among beings, never forsaking them, even when their eyes are clouded. This passage whispers the deep truth: the awakened one is near, always near, even if unrecognized.

The disciples speak of the crucifixion with bewilderment. On the Bodhisattva path, we are trained to see that great suffering can become the cause of great compassion. The Cross, like the Bodhisattva's vow to remain in the world until all are free, is a sacred contradiction. It is not failure, but the supreme gesture of fearless love. The messianic hope of liberation from outer oppression must be transmuted into the deeper liberation from inner bondage.

Their dashed hope mirrors the disillusionment that often precedes spiritual maturity. The Bodhisattva, having abandoned worldly hopes, does not despair, for he or she walks not for self-liberation alone, but to bear the suffering of others with wisdom. Jesus did not come to fulfill a political hope but to plant the seed of eternal liberation—the kingdom not of this world, but of awakened heart.

In their astonishment, we see the beginning of faith being stirred by the mysterious. Just as signs and wonders begin to shake the disciple from fixed views, so does the Bodhisattva, through skillful means, plant doubt in the solidity of appearances. The empty tomb is not a loss; it is an invitation to deeper seeing, to the realization that form is emptiness, and emptiness is form.

Now the Christ speaks with the voice of Dharma, the eternal teaching. As a Bodhisattva interprets suffering through the lens of compassion and wisdom, so does Jesus guide them through the scriptures, revealing that the path of suffering is not to be avoided, but embraced as the gate to glory. This is the union of samsara and nirvana: the very suffering of the world becomes the training ground of enlightenment.

The disciples invite him in—the moment of hospitality is the moment of turning. The Bodhisattva does not pass by; he responds to the invitation of beings to dwell with them in their darkness. The evening draws near, symbolic of the end of the age, but also the sacred pause before the dawn. We must ask Christ to remain with us, just as we must open to the awakened mind’s presence in our hearts.

Here is the moment of recognition. As Jesus takes, blesses, breaks, and gives the bread, the memory of the Last Supper only three nights past rises like incense in their minds. It is not merely bread they behold, but the self-offering love of their teacher. This eucharistic act, mirrored in the Bodhisattva's vow to nourish all beings, awakens their perception. The one who was hidden is now seen; love remembered is the key that opens the eye of wisdom.

At once, they rise and return—the final sign of true encounter is the impulse to share it. The Bodhisattva, too, turns back from solitary peace to serve the world. No longer do they walk with sorrow and confusion, but with the radiant knowing of those who have seen the face of the Lord. Their joy is not for themselves alone but is poured out for all beings.

Thus, my dear ones, let the road to Emmaus be your road, and let the Christ who walks unrecognized become the Bodhisattva within your own heart. Recognize him in the brokenness of bread, the opening of scripture, the fire within, and the stranger beside you. Let bodhicitta arise—the mind of awakening, the spirit of the risen Christ—and lead you always into Easter joy.