Beholding in Emmaus

In a time when it seems the very earth beneath us may not hold we still find ourselves in the season of Easter, the season in which we celebrate the Paschal Mystery, the season in which we are to know Joy! 

We have emerged from the wilderness of our lives, knelt at the foot of the cross, somehow arrived at the empty tomb to discover with Mary and the disciples He is Risen. Alleluia

However, this Easter in spite of the theological assurances and the resurrection joy made known in springtime, we cannot help but feel that we are still in Lent. Our wilderness experience of isolation and anxiety and just plain strangeness continues. How long dear Lord, How long!

More than any other Easter in my memory I am tossed between the hebrew scriptures and the new testament hoping that the living God will rescue me and remind me and calm the seas.

More than any Easter in my memory I feel more like the people of 2000 years ago still processing, doubting and spinning. 

I have been thrown back onto that dusty road to Emmaus but I cannot actually get close enough to another human being to have a conversation about the man from Nazareth.

And so I, and perhaps you, on this dirty dusty road, another wilderness really, offer our doubts to anyone on zoom who will listen; we offer our doubts and fears to the trees and the birds; we offer them to God to whom all desires are known and from whom no secrets are hid. 

And we train ourselves differently to perceive signs of resurrection, to practice and to pray.

Imagine then yourself on the road to Emmaus, speculating about the Resurrection, speculating about the things seen and unseen, heard and unheard, smelled and tasted, touched even.

Imagine yourself on that road in today’s world alone and never alone and desperately wanting some sign to feed your faith..

In the midst of this season of post resurrection appearances I invite us to employ or deploy all our senses that we might perceive the Risen one in our midst. After all He summons us to a new consciousness charged with cosmic awareness.

On that road there might be birds singing songs of new birth or claiming their place to nest! The coyotes are chanting at night also claiming their place in resurrected life!

Listen for the holiness: audio divina

On that road as we get closer to the home we smell freshly baked bread wafting over and thru the dust. aroma divina!

We arrive and are served not just something fragrant but something which fits in our hands, compliments them really. Touch divina!

We begin to realize we have seen sights, smelled smells, heard sounds, touched surfaces, which bring us to this moment of taste: we put the blessed bread to our lips and realize a saltiness extraordinary and moist; it is the saltiness of tears mingled down.

We have perceived holiness in our midst! Joy unspeakable! yet exerienceable!

The burning of our tears is mirrored by the burning in our hearts.

Our eyes are also opened anew!

We are changed by this resurrection of faith.

This is conversion; this is a turning toward the Risen One and the Light. Conversion is a dance really; it is a moment and a lifetime; a process and a decision; 

it can be like lightning striking or barely perceptible.

Conversion to the life of a Christian does not mean things get easier or clearer

it means that we are never on that road alone and we will always have the supper of the lamb to feed us and restore us. we will have the word to nourish us, the sacraments to enlighten and inspire us. 

It takes all of us to meet all of That Holiness! It takes all our senses, not just sight.

Ours is a transcendent and immanent God beyond and near. Coming to us not only as the Word made flesh now risen, but also as the sights, smells, tastes, touches, and sounds of holiness constantly being made new. 

The bread of life burns in us! This is what it means to behold! Thanks be to God!

Much of the inspiration for this homily came from the following poem by Denise Levertov, herself a converting poet throughout her life, affected by creation’s sights and sounds, tastes and fragrances. The poem which in turn may be inspired by the painting of the servant girl by Velazquez, speaks of an ordinary potential experience which may have not been told in the Gospel but may be close to our own:

Denise Levertov (1923–1997)

The Servant Girl at Emmaus

(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 winejug she's to take in,

a young Black servant intently listening,

swings round and sees

the light around him

and is sure.