I'm writing from work (slow day today), so I won't be able to share the Easter photos just yet. Rest assured that they're on their way! Anyway, I write for a different reason this afternoon. Today's Gospel is one of the most beautiful passages in all of Scripture (OK, so that's my humble opinion)... or at least one of the best stories. Often known as the story of the "Road to Emmaus," here's the passage you'd hear at daily Mass today, from Luke's Gospel. I've shortened it a bit, and I've followed it with some of my own thoughts and a beautiful poem from Denise Levertov (reflecting on a Diego Velazquez painting) that you MUST read:
That very day, the first day of the week, two of Jesus’ disciples were going to a village seven miles from Jerusalem called Emmaus,and they were conversing about all the things that had occurred (aka Jesus' crucifixion and death). And it happened that while they were conversing and debating, Jesus himself drew near and walked with them, but their eyes were prevented from recognizing him.
He asked them, “What are you discussing as you walk along?”They stopped, looking downcast. One of them, named Cleopas, said to him in reply,“Are you the only visitor to Jerusalem who does not know of the things that have taken place there in these days?”And Jesus replied to them, “What sort of things?”(They told him about Jesus' ministry, crucifixion, death, promised resurrection, and the fact that the somen who had visited his tomb that morning found it empty. He basically tells them that they're foolish and lacking in faith and then explains the way that all of the prophets' words refer to HIM and that this all had to happen in this way.)
As they approached the village to which they were going, he gave the impression that he was going on farther. But they urged him, “Stay with us, for it is nearly evening and the day is almost over.”So he went in to stay with them. And it happened that, while he was with them at table, he took bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to them. With that their eyes were opened and they recognized him, but he vanished from their sight.
Then they said to each other,“Were not our hearts burning within us while he spoke to us on the way and opened the Scriptures to us?” So they set out at once and returned to Jerusalem where they found gathered together the Eleven and those with them who were saying,“The Lord has truly been raised and has appeared to Simon!”Then the two recounted what had taken place on the way and how he was made known to them in the breaking of the bread.
-Luke 24:13-35ish (today's Gospel)
I love this reading. I love it because it's about blindness and sight, about belief and doubt, about mystery and the obvious. It's about a journey-- our journey-- that vascilates between all of those. We're all always on the Road to Emmaus. God is in everything, but we're often too blind or too caught up in the drama of the day to stop and realize it. Jesus is always right in front of our eyes, but sometimes we miss him, just as these guys did. We look past the truth. We miss the beauty. We don't make the connection.
And then there are those moments when we're blindsided with certainty and overflowing with vibrance; when our hearts do burn within us; when we feel an extra-special connection or communion with one another or a harmony with creation; when we are suddenly so alert, so aware of the presence of the Divine, of Beauty, of Truth; when we feel like we're exactly where we're supposed to be. Sometimes these moments come when we least expect; sometimes it's over a normal dinner or through a casual conversation among friends (as is the case here) that our eyes are most opened and we are able to see through all of the haze to what's actually going on, what actually matters, what's actually real.
I found myself, at Easter Mass, struggling with a few key questions about my faith. I found myself thinking hard about things like whether or not I really believe in transubstantiation. It threw me off when I realized I'm really not so sure. There are certain things about being Catholic that I just downright disagree with, both regarding theology and social teaching, and there are things that don't make sense to me-- I know that everything doesn't make sense, and that's where faith comes in, but there are things that still bother me. Still, I feel a real presence of God in my life. I see Christ in other people and in the world. My heart, at times, does feel as if it is ablaze. There are things that I can't wrap my head around and things that I simply don't think are in line with my own heart's convictions, but I still extract so much inspiration and strength from the story we tell on Sundays (and Wednesdays!), from the symbols we use to tell that story, and from my faith community.
I like this Gospel reading because it's about the here-and-now, about paying attention, about realizing what's going on inside of our own hearts and our own bodies-- and what that means for our faith. The followers of Jesus in the story were incredibly blind even as they walked with Christ, ate with him, and talked with him. They were so concerned about the details of the situation, the drama, the logistics. They were in business mode. This, after awhile, can numb or even kill your faith. I will never stop thinking critically about things, and I think that doubt is a healthy and beautiful part of faith. I don't feel like I have to buy or believe every single thing when it comes to the business/details side of being Catholic. What I think is most important is recognizing Christ when he's in front of me, whether that's in beautiful Mt. Hood or in the client across from me or in my Easter basket or in the orchid Jose gave me... and embracing the journey.
I think about my clients and their faith. They tell me "God bless you" all the time. They say they'll be at their scheduled meeting with me "God-willing." Usually, their faith doesn't come from intense study of doctrine or dogma. They may not have the most theologically sound understanding of what it means to be Catholic (or whatever). But it's real, and it's a faith derived from lived experiences, which to me is far more important and more inspiring. They're looking for God. They feel God in their lives. They have some kind of personal relationship with God, and maybe it's "simple," but that's OK too because all of the rules and technicalities can really bog you down and make you bitter if you think that being a person of faith is all about believing 100% of what is written in the Bible or in the Catechism. To these people I say, but do you see Christ when he's sitting next to you? Do you treat people with dignity and compassion and live out the Holy Thursday mandate to serve one another?
I want to share with you with a beautiful poem by Denise Levertov, one of my favorite poets. She was a convert to Catholicism because she found that it matched up with the values of justice and nonviolence she held as a peace activist during the Vietnam era and because she had already been quite religious in her written work, celebrating the sacredness of everyday via beautiful verses and prose. She liked the rich tradition of Catholicism and its concern for the marginalized, but she said herself that she rejected the hierarchy of the Church authority and the rigidness of the dogma. All of her life, she welcomed doubt and faith simultaneously, which made for some beautiful poetry and for a very real, but turbulent, relationship with her Creator.
One of my favorite poems from Levertov is a reflection on a painting by Spanish artist Diego Velázquez, circa 1628; the painting is called “Kitchen Maid with the Supper at Emmaus” and is now found in the National Gallery of Ireland in Dublin. Here's the painting, and below is Levertov's poem, "The Servant Girl at Emmaus (After a Painting by Velázquez)," in which she imagines the internal movements of the servant who, from another room, overhears the conversation Jesus has with the men from the road to Emmaus-- and instantly knows in her heart of hearts that this man is the Christ. This is a beautiful example of what it means to have an inward-out faith rather than a faith that we build from what we have been told. This girl, probably uneducated, marginalized, and pretty poor, doesn't need a Catechism to know what it takes the men until after Jesus' departure from them to know. She feels her heart burning within her, and despite all of the doubts and logistical details that she might be missing, she does not miss out on this genuine spiritual encounter.
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| "Kitchen Maid with the Supper at Emmaus" |
The Servant Girl at Emmaus (After a Painting by Velázquez)
She listens, listens, holding
her breath. Surely that voice
is his—the one
who had looked at her, once, across the crowd,
as no one ever had looked?
Had seen her? Had spoken as if to her?
Surely those hands were his,
taking the platter of bread from hers just now?
Hands he’d laid on the dying and made them well?
Surely that face—?
The man they’d crucified for sedition and blasphemy.
The man whose body disappeared from its tomb.
The man it was rumored now some women had seen this morning, alive?
Those who had brought this stranger home to their table
don’t recognize yet with whom they sit.
But she in the kitchen, absently touching the wine jug she’s to take in,
a young Black servant intently listening,
swings round and sees
the light around him
and is sure.
-Denise Levertov
(You can read more of Denise's work from this particular volume, Breathing the Water, online. It's lovely!)
To be honest, I wasn't all that moved during Easter Mass. I was kind of distracted by all of the cute kids screaming and squealing (also an example of an encounter with God, right?). I loved Skyping with my family. I enjoyed the Easter Egg Hunt in the morning and opening the treats from the Wisconsin Easter Bunny and filling my stomach to the brim along with all of my housemates, Jose, and Colleen's family, who treated us to an unfathomably extensive brunch at Salty's on the river. The Paschal Mystery was just a little too much for me to wrap my head around and really get into on Easter Sunday. The pomp and circumstance was just a bit too distracting to me.
But Holy Thursday Mass was absolutely magnificent. I also attended St. Ignatius for that service, and the priest's homily was one of the most beautiful interpretations of the Last Supper/Washing of the Feet themes that I've ever heard. He spoke about the Passover and the relationship between our celebration and the pivotal feast celebrated by our Jewish brothers and sisters. This caught my attention because Jillian, my semi-Jewish housemate, recently put on an entire Seder meal for us, complete with bitter herbs and a cup of wine for Elijah. It was really a moving experience, even as we giggled through parts of it (four mandatory glasses of wine will do that to you!). On Holy Thursday, the priest reflected on that Passover story and on the Exodus and challenged all of us to think about what it is that we need to leave on the shores of our Red Sea-- be it sin, prejudice, or anger-- in our pursuit of freedom.
And then he transitioned into talking about love and compassion and service of one another (my favorite themes!), which he tied into a concrete example: immigration. This hit home. For many people who have come to our country in search of hope, the Rio Grande was their Red Sea (I thought that was absolutely gorgeous).We are called to treat every person, regardless of legal status, with dignity, he said. We are to be a community that welcomes and serves people of all sexual orientations, ethnic backgrounds, ages, creeds, etc., no questions asked.
When I had my feet washed by a beautiful girl who looked to be about 10-years-old and whose parents were most definitely not born in this country, I fought back tears. She was hesitant at first, glancing at my toenails and their chipped purple polish. And then, with a little prompting from an older lady monitoring our washing station, she lightly gripped my big, white foot and gently poured water over my toes. Then, one by one, she dried them with her towel, concentrating hard all the while and seemingly searching for serious meaning in my feet. I couldn't help but smile the entire time. Finally, she looked up at me with her huge brown eyes, and there are no words for the certain communion we shared in that moment.
That's what matters to me, and that's what I'm figuring out more and more as I try to keep my eyes peeled for the Divine while I walk my road to Emmaus, while I wash my dishes (like the servant girl), and while I celebrate this Easter season. He is risen indeed! He is in you and me and my orchids! :)
Credits:
Happy Birthday to you special April babies: Bethany, Nicki, Mom, Mara!
Thank you to those of you I've been able to chat with (or have made phone dates with!) recently. It is always so nice to hear your voices. Kelly, Bridget, Katharine, Nicki, Jill, I love you all! Family: it was so great to Skype you all on Easter!
Finally, I am keeping several of you in my prayers in a special way: Katharine, Jilly, Molls and Mrs. Henry, and all of you 2011 graduates, know that I am sending much love your way!
Until soon,
Amanda
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