by Marjorie Hascall
It is a Saturday in Advent, a
number of years ago; a Quiet Day is beginning, Bishop Walmsley speaks about
this time together. As he speaks my
thoughts are drawn to the nave of the church and to one of the stained glass
windows. I hear little that is being
said. Yet one statement dos come through: “We are mostly somewhere else.” Yes,
I am somewhere else at this moment, visualizing a window – The Road to Emmaus.
As each of the periods for meditation
begins I enter the church and sit where I can study and focus on the
window. It is a particular favorite of
mine. Jesus sitting there with two
people, appearing in conversation. I notice
the marks of the nails on his hands. The
woman in the scene seems to be reaching out to touch those hands in a caring,
soothing, healing way. Do they see who
this person is or are their eyes still clouded.
I look beyond the foreground to the village and hills beyond. The stars in the sky are so brilliant, they
almost seems to be twinkling.
The ‘caption’ to the window
states ‘He broke bread and gave it to them, then their eyes were opened.’ Where is the bread? Have they eaten? Are they now seeing Jesus for who he is? Do I see Jesus? Are my eyes opened after I
receive the consecrated bread and wine?
What always draws me to this
window? What does it represent to me
that I don’t see? What is there that I
do not see? On the surface there is the
night sky with the stars shining brilliantly. The hill with its many earth
tones, the village and the foreground with Jesus and this couple. They have welcomed him into their home. He is the Risen Christ, who they don’t
recognize until he breaks bread and gives it to them. I am on the outside looking in on the
scene. What would it be like if I could
step into the scene and join the group?
Would I have recognized Jesus
and welcomed him as my Lord; or would it have taken the act of blessing,
breaking and giving me bread to have recognized him, for me to know him as the
Risen Christ,
My eyes are drawn time and
time again to the marks of the nails on his hands. It I were in the scene would I have seen
them. They tell us who he is. They are reminders of the agony he has
suffered. Is the woman now reaching out
to touch those marks in hopes of healing them?
There is a look of concern on the man’s face. What is he thinking? This is the resurrected Jesus – the Savior,
the Redeemer.
I look to the sky and the stars. They shine this night as they shone the night
Jesus of Nazareth was born. They are the
same stars that shine now on this earth 2000 years later.
There is a bowl between Jesus
and the couple. It appears empty – the
bread must have been consumed. That may
be the answer to the look of concern on the young man’s face. He wonders – “How can this be?” He was taken from the cross and buried; yet
here he is with us. He fed us, he opened
our eyes, he is our Lord. He has
returned from the dead. How can this
be?”
The woman reaches out as if
to touch those wounded hands. Does his
garment reveal evidence of his pierced side?
No, and the hands are not blood stained only the marks of the nails are
revealed. Jesus, who was fully human,
now reveals his full divinity in human form.
Yes, all those years from the time he was born he was both fully human
and fully divine. He enters into the
bread that he blesses breaks and gives.
This couple are truly blessed
to be in his presence. The presence of
God. And to this day aren’t we all truly
blessed and in the presence of God. That
Jewish couple represents all believing Christians. They know they are in God’s presence. Receiving the Holy Bread from that Holy man
who is God and has opened their eyes.
Why just the two of them,
where are the throngs who welcomed him to Jerusalem
just a few short days ago? But this
scene might have lost its power if throngs had gathered. God doesn’t need throngs of people to reveal
himself – He does it best it seems to the few at a time. Perhaps that is the reason the quiet service of Holy Eucharist
with few in attendance is for me the more Holy Service. Where I feel the strong presence of God,
where I feel truly fed.
It is as if at those times
that I have entered this scene for the quiet private time with God that I seem
to yearn for. This is where and when I
feel that I can best talk with my God.
Maybe I am sitting there with
the others talking with this stranger that we met on the road to Emmaus. We were returning from Jerusalem, after that terrible Friday. When the man we had known as the Teacher was
crucified. He appeared to be lonely as
we met him on the road. It was growing
dark – not really all that safe to be traveling alone. We greeted him, and invited him to join us as
we walked toward our home.
There was something strange
about this man. There was both a look of
defeat and triumph about him, and those
deep scratches on his forehead and the marks on his hands, what were they? He somehow seems lost and lonely yet he moves
with purpose. He tells us nothing about
himself yet we find ourselves sharing fully with him our lives, our hopes and
our dreams, our cares, our worries. How
strange! How can this be?
We invite him into our
dwelling where he joins us in conversation.
The lamp is lit to break through the darkness of the place. Over the courtyard wall we can see the
village close at hand and the hills looming high in the distance. The sky is so blue tonight, a dark, dark blue
that allows the stars to shine brightly.
Bread and wine are prepared
and brought to where we sit. This man,
this stranger now seems to be larger than life.
Without a word he takes the bread, blesses it, breaks it, and offers it
to us.
Suddenly we realize who this
stranger is. He is the Risen Lord who
had been crucified just days before. He
is here with us. Our God and our
Savior. We say nothing for a while, we
are in awe of this man, who is no longer a stranger or a man but is our
God. We recall all those other times
that we were with him. All too soon he
prepares to leave to continue his journey.
He rises blesses us and moves out of the circle of light and out of the
door of our dwelling. We watch as he
continues along the road into the mist and out of sight.
I now feel that every time I
approach the altar rail, where I kneel to
partake of the bread and wine
at a celebration of the Holy Eucharist I enter this scene. Where again the Lord feeds me with the food
of pardon, solace strength and renewal.
We are mostly somewhere
else!!
The Road to Emmaus 2 by Daniel Bonnell
