Resurrection Song: Choir Sunday
Reading: Luke 24:13-35 Preacher: Kevin Kim
This Sunday is Choir Sunday, and our service will be filled with the sound of resurrection hope as the choir leads us in two beautiful Easter anthems. Surrounded by butterflies—symbols of new life and transformation inspired by Elizabeth Kübler-Ross—we’ll be reminded that resurrection is not just a past event, but a present reality.
Our Bible reading from Luke 24:13–35 takes us on the Road to Emmaus, where two grieving disciples encounter the risen Jesus. As he walks with them and breaks bread, their eyes are opened, and their hearts burn within them.
Sermon Text
As we gather this morning surrounded by butterflies, continuing our Easter celebration, I want to reflect briefly on their meaning. When Phil first suggested decorating with butterflies, I immediately thought of Elisabeth Kübler-Ross.
In 1946, at 19, Elisabeth volunteered to help post-war Europe and visited Majdanek Concentration Camp. There, in the children’s barracks and gas chambers, she saw hundreds of butterflies carved into the walls with fingernails and rocks. Shaken by this discovery, she later understood it as a profound message: the children believed they would soon be free — no longer trapped by suffering, but like butterflies, released from their broken bodies into new life.
Throughout her life, Kübler-Ross used the butterfly as a symbol of resurrection and transformation. In her book The Wheel of Life, she wrote:
“Death is not destruction but transformation, and the butterfly reminds us that we are spiritual beings, truly ourselves, taking flight from the body in freedom.”
Even at her funeral, a butterfly release was held, echoing her belief that death is not an end but a passage into something more beautiful.
Those butterflies, carved by children in a place of death, were signs of hope they could not yet see—but they believed in it.
In the same way, on the Emmaus Road, two discouraged disciples discovered that beyond their grief, new life was walking right beside them.
The risen Jesus reminds us that even in sorrow, God is already at work, bringing resurrection.
Have you ever found yourself in a place where you least expected to meet the risen Christ—and yet, there he was?
That’s what happened to the two disciples on the Emmaus Road.
Luke 23 ends in full darkness: the tomb closed, the Sabbath quiet, hope buried. But chapter 24 opens with a glimmer of light — the empty tomb and the first hints of resurrection. Luke 24 has three parts: the women find the empty tomb, Jesus meets the travellers to Emmaus, and Jesus blesses his disciples at Bethany.
Today, we focus on the middle part — the Emmaus journey.
Two disciples, discouraged and confused, were leaving Jerusalem. Their hopes had died with Jesus on the cross. As they walked, a stranger joined them. They did not recognize him, but later, in the breaking of bread, their eyes were opened. They realized: Christ was alive and among them.
Have you had that kind of surprising encounter with the risen Christ?
Maybe not on a dusty road, but in a conversation, a meal, or a simple act of kindness?
Sometimes our eyes are clouded, like the disciples’. We don’t expect to see Jesus, but he is there, in the ordinary moments.
There’s a story called The Rabbi’s Gift.
A once-thriving monastery had grown small, with only a few discouraged monks remaining. The head of monastery, abbot, sought advice from a wise rabbi, who simply said, “The Messiah is among you.” The Abbot returned to the monastery and said to the monks that, “the Rabbi says that one of us is the Messiah.”
The monks began treating each other with great reverence — what if any one of them was the Messiah? Slowly, a spirit of love and respect returned, and life blossomed again in their community.
The Messiah, the Risen Christ, was truly in their midst. These monks treated everybody as they would treat Christ in their ordinary life, and indeed the risen Christ brought a change and gave them a new vocation.
Last Sunday, I helped lead our combined Easter service with the Korean Hosanna Church at St Andrews. It was only the second time we’d done this, and around 60 of us gathered together. Over the last two years, St Andrews and Hosanna have built a really warm relationship through different events, and it felt good to be continuing that.
I’ll be honest though — when I heard just a few days before Easter that they would still be holding their own service at 12pm after our combined one, I was not sure how it would go. I understood, of course — Easter is a special time for every church — but part of me still felt a bit disappointed.
But when Easter morning came, nearly 70% of their congregation joined us, and all my worries faded away. Over two languages, two cultures, what filled the room was simple joy — in the worship, in the fellowship, in the children decorating the cross with flowers. And in the middle of all that ordinary, beautiful life, I caught a glimpse of the risen Christ.
Who is Jesus Christ for us today? This is one of the most important questions we can ask.
For the monks, Christ was hidden among them.
For the Emmaus travellers, Christ was the unknown companion who became known in the breaking of bread.
For us, Christ is found as we welcome, nourish, and treasure others, especially the stranger.
Jesus is both guest and host. He invites us to open our homes and our hearts, to offer hospitality that transforms lives.
When we treat others with kindness—not just friends, but strangers too—we create space to meet Christ again.
Our answer to the question “Who is Jesus Christ for us today?” will shape how we live, how we love, and how we hope.
I pray that in our everyday lives, even in times of uncertainty, we may encounter the risen Christ—bringing light to our darkness, and hope to our hearts.
In Caravaggio’s The Supper at Emmaus, we watch three people react to the risen Christ, each in their own way—and somehow, we find ourselves among them.
One disciple throws his arms wide open, as if the shock of recognizing Jesus is just too much to hold inside. His whole body almost leaps out of the painting toward us. He’s not even looking at Jesus’ face—he’s caught by the simple act of breaking bread. It’s that ordinary, familiar gesture that finally opens his eyes.
The second disciple, sitting right at the front, grabs his chair and pushes back in amazement, nearly falling over. Like his friend, he sees through the action more than the appearance. Both are stunned into a speechless, physical astonishment — and somehow, we’re pulled into their wonder too.
Meanwhile, the innkeeper stands close by, watching curiously but missing the miracle unfolding in front of him. He reminds us how easy it is to be near grace and yet not recognize it.
Through all of this, Jesus stays calm and steady, offering bread, offering himself. Caravaggio paints not just a moment in time, but a chance for every one of us to see Christ in the middle of the everyday.
The question for us today is: how will you respond to the risen Christ?
Are you like the first disciple—excited and reaching out with wide open arms to meet the risen Lord?
Or are you like the second disciple—so surprised that you can hardly stay on your feet, overwhelmed by the wonder of it all?
Or perhaps you are like the innkeeper—close to the moment, hearing the words, but missing the opportunity to find the truth that could change your life forever.
Just like those disciples at Emmaus, we are invited to open our eyes—to see Jesus not only in extraordinary moments, but in the simple, ordinary gifts he gives: bread shared, words spoken, a gathering of people, a song sung.
And today, it’s timely that we celebrate Choir Sunday. Because singing has always been a way God’s people have remembered and recognized his work among them.
When God rescued the Israelites from Egypt, what did they do? They sang.
Exodus tells us, “Then Moses and the Israelites sang this song to the Lord.” (Exodus 15:1)
Later, in Deuteronomy, God even commands them, “Now write down this song and teach it to the Israelites and have them sing it.” (Deuteronomy 31:19)
Songs help us remember. Songs help us see. They carry the story of God’s faithfulness across generations.
And today, as we listen, as we sing, we’re doing just what those first disciples did — recognizing Christ among us, sometimes not through grand signs, but through simple, beautiful gifts like a meal, a prayer… and a song.
May our eyes be opened, and may our hearts sing. Amen.