Where were they going? (Easter A3)

At our minsterial meeting Cliff was looking at this painting of the road to Emmaus over my head.

"What are they going away from?" He asked. "Have they given up? Going home? Going away from Jesus?"

He was interested that "their eyes were kept from recognizing him." If they had seen him for who he was, Cliff thougth, they would have been so overwhelmed that they wouldn't have heard the scriptures opened to them.

We also quipped about who the two were. One is named Cleopas, is the other his wife who was at the cross? (One of the disciples in this painting could be a woman.) Was it Simon Peter? Some other Simon? Ultimately what does it matter?

Also we were divided over the breaking of the bread. We agreed that to the two it probably wouldn't have been identified with the Eucharist, but would Luke's audience have made that association? Can we?

I love meeting with those guys to question.

Fire of the word (Easter A3)

So far the connection between the reading seems strange to me... Fire.

On the Emmaus road we meet the men of the burning heart.

Peter says "You have been born anew, not of perishable but of imperishable seed, through the living and enduring word of God." Just as the men on the Emmaus road, as the scriptures are opened to us, our hearts burn - burn away all that is transient and finite.

Acts continues the story of the day of Pentecost, Katherine Grieb calls this the story of the Church on fire.

The Psalmist declares thanksgiving with the fire of offerings and vows.

I've been doing yardwork at the church and burning leaves and fallen branches. Perhaps that explains my preoccupation with fire. I always wonder, Why isn't the fire in the church so easy to tend? Perhaps this week gives some hope to us. Today when I came in to the office, I stirred the dead grey ash. The fire came back. Lord, you make all things beautiful in your time. I pray that you stir our coals, blow your wind, and set our hearts ablaze again.

Emmaus (Easter A3)

the story of Emmaus in art and text,
by Ruben Duran.

I'm struck off hand by the way people come to recognize the risen Christ. The breaking of bread like so many times before, a word, a meal of fish cooking over the coals, his scars. What does it for me? When does the risen Christ become real and not just some truth in the corners of my mind?

There I times I sit to center myself in him and my mind is a rush of thougths and plans and emotions. I grasp at him, not knowing what I want from him. It feels like there is a paper wall between my mind and my forehead that I have to somehow poke through to his presence.

Once there I know him by an overwhelming peace and warmth that sometimes brings tears to my eyes. At those times I like to put my head back and breath in deeply, as he, like in last week's gospel, breathes on me.