On the Road to Emmaus
One of my favorite writers is James Lee Burke. Although he writes crime/mystery novels, most featuring either a recovering alcoholic deputy sheriff in south Louisiana or an ex-Texas lawman turned lawyer, his underlying milieu is the troubled and tortured souls of deeply-flawed men, those who know the direction to truth and justice but who fail too often to overcome their lesser humanity. Burke's central, universal fulcrum, the pivot-point around which the world turns, is the story of the Garden of Gethsemane, where Jesus goes to pray after the Last Supper and before the betrayal.
There are two big themes there: in one, the disciples who attend Jesus can't stay awake. Despite their fervor and devotion, they are unable to overcome their humanity and the burden of their flesh, and they fall asleep. Even after Jesus rouses them and admonishes them, they still drop off to sleep. They are men; as much as they try, they cannot break free from their earthly, bodily restraints. They strive for the place the spirit wants to take them, but in the end, they remain flawed angels.
The other theme is Jesus' own plea to God to "allow this cup to pass from my hand." Jesus is all man in seeking to avoid his fate. What lies ahead of him is horrific: the reason it is "the Passion" is because it could not be an "action." Neither God nor Man could act to cause this to happen to him, but in this instance God allowed Man to act upon Him, passively. But Jesus is also all God, and knows that this plea will not, can not stand. Even though Jesus knows this is his fate, and knows what the end result will be, and knows that the only hope for Mankind is the path through his passion, he brings all men into communion with him by bringing himself into communion with all men: he begs God to ease his fate.
Burke sees these intersections of divinity and humanity, and the role of fate in directing the intersection of divine intentions and human failings, as the central theme in understanding the human condition.
But for me, lately, I've been thinking about events of three days after the events in Gethsemane, namely on the Road to Emmaus. On April 17 (the Third Sunday after Easter), the Gospel reading tells the story of two disciples fleeing Jersualem after the Crucifixion. It's actually Easter Sunday, and the disciples are walking to Emmaus, about 7 miles from Jerusalem. They want to get out of Jerusalem quickly, for fear that the fate that might await them would be equal to that of Jesus. They had entered Jerusalem with Jesus just days earlier, heralded by throngs of people welcoming them as kings, throwing palm branches in their path. Just as it seemed that their rabbi was about to enter into his rightful position as leader of Israel, on what they thought might be the eve of his triumph, all descended into chaos and death. The rug was simply pulled from beneath their feet, and now they were on the lam.
As they walked and discussed what had transpired, they were joined by another traveller who seemed not to know what had happened in Jerusalem the preceding days. At first one of the disciples, Cleopas, is astounded that the other traveller does not know what has happened in Jerusalem to Jesus, and tells him. The mystery traveller chastises them as foolish and slow for not seeing how all that has transpired was presaged and required by the Scriptures, and proceeds to take them step by step through the Scriptures, outlining all that was previously written and how it matches what has come to pass. The disciples are amazed, and when they reach Emmaus and the house where they are going to stay, the traveller seems as if he's going to keep walking. They ask him to stay with them and eat, and he agrees. Then, when the meal is served, the traveller breaks the bread, and at that point the disciples see him for who he is: Jesus himself. At that moment, Jesus disappears, and the disciples run back to Jerusalem where they learn that Jesus has also appeared to Peter.
The story of the Road to Emmaus has three steps. First, the disciples are crushed and heartbroken at the death of Jesus and the disappointment that their hero has been laid low. The palpable sense of disappointment is purely human emotion: the agony of defeat. The disciples cannot know what God thinks or understand how the seeming random and tragic events preceding that Sunday were part of a greater plan for God's glory. At this point, they are in a purely human state and frame of reference, confusion. They are Men, they are human, and they cannot break free of the bond that their bodies have on their minds and spirits. At least, they cannot until God provides the explanation and context for them. This is the second step, explication. Even then, they do not understand what they are experiencing. Their "hearts burn" while the stranger explains to them their human misunderstanding, yet still they do not know that it is Jesus telling them. Finally, in the third step, they experience revelation through communion. Jesus breaks the bread, the symbol of his supreme sacrifice and the vehicle for his ongoing communion with the family of Man, and he is revealed to the disciples.
The story of the road to Emmaus is that we can understand our failings and those around us, and we can understand the triumph and tragedy of everyday life, but we understand those things through a human prism. We see tragedy, and we see (as those disciples did) terrible things happen to good people, and we do not understand. In fact, we often doubt God; how can bad things happen to good people? Why does God allow that?
The answer in the Old Testament was harsher. Job asked God why, and God said, "Where were you when I created the heavens and the seas?" To us, rain seems to fall randomly, but perhaps it's just a problem of perspective; if we saw it from a different place, we would see the pattern. The lesson from Job is that "God has his reasons, and human's can't know them;" but the lesson from the Road to Emmaus is that God gives us these burdens and tragedies for His reasons, and that if we allow His enlightenment to shine on us, we will not only see His triumph but will share in it. We are poor, pathetic humans, with earthly bodies that drag us down and earthly emotions that will control us if we let them. But we are also embued with a spirit that can and will seek God, if we allow it.
Saturday, April 30, 2005, Ellen Claire Drummond took her First Communion. As you may know, Ellen suffers from Pervasive Developmental Disorder/Not Otherwise Specified (PDD/NOS), a disorder on the Autism spectrum. She is in our world, but not of our world. She is highly sensitive to outside stimuli, does not deal with pressure or changes in her routine, and has a difficult time interacting with others or taking part in normal social interactions. She works very hard at understanding things that we all know almost instinctively: how to start and carry on a conversation, how to tell when someone is speaking literally or figuratively, what is a joke and what is serious. And she has made great progress over the 8 years of her life. She has a long way to go, but she keeps going; and we keep going with her.
We worked with Ellen for months leading up to her First Communion. We practiced how she would hold her hands, the dialogue, and crossing herself. We even bought matzo crackers so she would have some idea what unleavened bread would taste like (she wouldn't even try the matzo, though). When we got to the church, we kept her out of the auditorium where the rest of the kids were assembled; it was loud and chaotic, and that would've put her on edge. We kept her by the school aquarium where she could watch the fish. When we went into the auditorium and got in line, she was scared. She was nervous walking into the church. We were sitting near the back of the block of pews set aside for the First Communicants, and a few of the little girls who are in St. Patrick School and are also in Ellen's Indian Princess Tribe turned to wave to Ellen. That show of support heartened me. The Gospel was the story of the Last Supper, naturally, but Msgr. Johnson's homily was about the Road to Emmaus. When it was our turn to go up for Communion, Ellen was actually physically shaking. We stood in the center aisle, Ellen between Anne Marie and I, and I kept my right hand on her shoulder; I was actually concerned that she might bolt. I whispered words of encouragement to her, told her to go ahead and put her hands out even though were were a long way from the altar, and tried to be soothing to her. We got to the altar, she took the host in her hand, and turned about a quarter turn toward me. I took my host from Msgr. Johnson while moving to block Ellen in; I thought she might run for it. But she took the host and ate it, and we headed back to our pew. On the way, I saw a couple of her Indian Princess mates and their fathers, and got contratulatory gestures from them. We got back to the pew and she said, "that didn't taste so bad." We did it! SHE did it! Of course, I spent the rest of the mass trying to hold my shoulders still so nobody could tell I was sobbing like a baby.
When your child gets sick, you suffer more than they do. When your child has real problems, whether they be life-threatening problems like cancer or life-altering problem like PDD/NOS, they can crush you and suck out your spirit. But it's at those time in life when you have to look around for the road signs for Emmaus; it may seem that all is lost, that your dreams have been crushed, that defeat has snatched away victory, that evil has conquered good. But if you simply allow it, God has an explanation; if you accept it, if you accept Him, God will fill that empty spot in your heart. God will commune. We suffer, and bad things happen to us, but we carry on and accept our burdens as part of God's plan, because that's what they are. Jesus came into the world not to remove suffering, but to fill it with his presence. Know that suffering is part of the package, and accept it, and look for God's explanation, and find God's communion.
We're all on the Road to Emmaus. Keep your eyes open for the other traveller who will help you understand it all.
There are two big themes there: in one, the disciples who attend Jesus can't stay awake. Despite their fervor and devotion, they are unable to overcome their humanity and the burden of their flesh, and they fall asleep. Even after Jesus rouses them and admonishes them, they still drop off to sleep. They are men; as much as they try, they cannot break free from their earthly, bodily restraints. They strive for the place the spirit wants to take them, but in the end, they remain flawed angels.
The other theme is Jesus' own plea to God to "allow this cup to pass from my hand." Jesus is all man in seeking to avoid his fate. What lies ahead of him is horrific: the reason it is "the Passion" is because it could not be an "action." Neither God nor Man could act to cause this to happen to him, but in this instance God allowed Man to act upon Him, passively. But Jesus is also all God, and knows that this plea will not, can not stand. Even though Jesus knows this is his fate, and knows what the end result will be, and knows that the only hope for Mankind is the path through his passion, he brings all men into communion with him by bringing himself into communion with all men: he begs God to ease his fate.
Burke sees these intersections of divinity and humanity, and the role of fate in directing the intersection of divine intentions and human failings, as the central theme in understanding the human condition.
But for me, lately, I've been thinking about events of three days after the events in Gethsemane, namely on the Road to Emmaus. On April 17 (the Third Sunday after Easter), the Gospel reading tells the story of two disciples fleeing Jersualem after the Crucifixion. It's actually Easter Sunday, and the disciples are walking to Emmaus, about 7 miles from Jerusalem. They want to get out of Jerusalem quickly, for fear that the fate that might await them would be equal to that of Jesus. They had entered Jerusalem with Jesus just days earlier, heralded by throngs of people welcoming them as kings, throwing palm branches in their path. Just as it seemed that their rabbi was about to enter into his rightful position as leader of Israel, on what they thought might be the eve of his triumph, all descended into chaos and death. The rug was simply pulled from beneath their feet, and now they were on the lam.
As they walked and discussed what had transpired, they were joined by another traveller who seemed not to know what had happened in Jerusalem the preceding days. At first one of the disciples, Cleopas, is astounded that the other traveller does not know what has happened in Jerusalem to Jesus, and tells him. The mystery traveller chastises them as foolish and slow for not seeing how all that has transpired was presaged and required by the Scriptures, and proceeds to take them step by step through the Scriptures, outlining all that was previously written and how it matches what has come to pass. The disciples are amazed, and when they reach Emmaus and the house where they are going to stay, the traveller seems as if he's going to keep walking. They ask him to stay with them and eat, and he agrees. Then, when the meal is served, the traveller breaks the bread, and at that point the disciples see him for who he is: Jesus himself. At that moment, Jesus disappears, and the disciples run back to Jerusalem where they learn that Jesus has also appeared to Peter.
The story of the Road to Emmaus has three steps. First, the disciples are crushed and heartbroken at the death of Jesus and the disappointment that their hero has been laid low. The palpable sense of disappointment is purely human emotion: the agony of defeat. The disciples cannot know what God thinks or understand how the seeming random and tragic events preceding that Sunday were part of a greater plan for God's glory. At this point, they are in a purely human state and frame of reference, confusion. They are Men, they are human, and they cannot break free of the bond that their bodies have on their minds and spirits. At least, they cannot until God provides the explanation and context for them. This is the second step, explication. Even then, they do not understand what they are experiencing. Their "hearts burn" while the stranger explains to them their human misunderstanding, yet still they do not know that it is Jesus telling them. Finally, in the third step, they experience revelation through communion. Jesus breaks the bread, the symbol of his supreme sacrifice and the vehicle for his ongoing communion with the family of Man, and he is revealed to the disciples.
The story of the road to Emmaus is that we can understand our failings and those around us, and we can understand the triumph and tragedy of everyday life, but we understand those things through a human prism. We see tragedy, and we see (as those disciples did) terrible things happen to good people, and we do not understand. In fact, we often doubt God; how can bad things happen to good people? Why does God allow that?
The answer in the Old Testament was harsher. Job asked God why, and God said, "Where were you when I created the heavens and the seas?" To us, rain seems to fall randomly, but perhaps it's just a problem of perspective; if we saw it from a different place, we would see the pattern. The lesson from Job is that "God has his reasons, and human's can't know them;" but the lesson from the Road to Emmaus is that God gives us these burdens and tragedies for His reasons, and that if we allow His enlightenment to shine on us, we will not only see His triumph but will share in it. We are poor, pathetic humans, with earthly bodies that drag us down and earthly emotions that will control us if we let them. But we are also embued with a spirit that can and will seek God, if we allow it.
Saturday, April 30, 2005, Ellen Claire Drummond took her First Communion. As you may know, Ellen suffers from Pervasive Developmental Disorder/Not Otherwise Specified (PDD/NOS), a disorder on the Autism spectrum. She is in our world, but not of our world. She is highly sensitive to outside stimuli, does not deal with pressure or changes in her routine, and has a difficult time interacting with others or taking part in normal social interactions. She works very hard at understanding things that we all know almost instinctively: how to start and carry on a conversation, how to tell when someone is speaking literally or figuratively, what is a joke and what is serious. And she has made great progress over the 8 years of her life. She has a long way to go, but she keeps going; and we keep going with her.
We worked with Ellen for months leading up to her First Communion. We practiced how she would hold her hands, the dialogue, and crossing herself. We even bought matzo crackers so she would have some idea what unleavened bread would taste like (she wouldn't even try the matzo, though). When we got to the church, we kept her out of the auditorium where the rest of the kids were assembled; it was loud and chaotic, and that would've put her on edge. We kept her by the school aquarium where she could watch the fish. When we went into the auditorium and got in line, she was scared. She was nervous walking into the church. We were sitting near the back of the block of pews set aside for the First Communicants, and a few of the little girls who are in St. Patrick School and are also in Ellen's Indian Princess Tribe turned to wave to Ellen. That show of support heartened me. The Gospel was the story of the Last Supper, naturally, but Msgr. Johnson's homily was about the Road to Emmaus. When it was our turn to go up for Communion, Ellen was actually physically shaking. We stood in the center aisle, Ellen between Anne Marie and I, and I kept my right hand on her shoulder; I was actually concerned that she might bolt. I whispered words of encouragement to her, told her to go ahead and put her hands out even though were were a long way from the altar, and tried to be soothing to her. We got to the altar, she took the host in her hand, and turned about a quarter turn toward me. I took my host from Msgr. Johnson while moving to block Ellen in; I thought she might run for it. But she took the host and ate it, and we headed back to our pew. On the way, I saw a couple of her Indian Princess mates and their fathers, and got contratulatory gestures from them. We got back to the pew and she said, "that didn't taste so bad." We did it! SHE did it! Of course, I spent the rest of the mass trying to hold my shoulders still so nobody could tell I was sobbing like a baby.
When your child gets sick, you suffer more than they do. When your child has real problems, whether they be life-threatening problems like cancer or life-altering problem like PDD/NOS, they can crush you and suck out your spirit. But it's at those time in life when you have to look around for the road signs for Emmaus; it may seem that all is lost, that your dreams have been crushed, that defeat has snatched away victory, that evil has conquered good. But if you simply allow it, God has an explanation; if you accept it, if you accept Him, God will fill that empty spot in your heart. God will commune. We suffer, and bad things happen to us, but we carry on and accept our burdens as part of God's plan, because that's what they are. Jesus came into the world not to remove suffering, but to fill it with his presence. Know that suffering is part of the package, and accept it, and look for God's explanation, and find God's communion.
We're all on the Road to Emmaus. Keep your eyes open for the other traveller who will help you understand it all.
posted by Jeff at
10:08 AM
