Sunday Musings

What we don't see

Today is the Third Sunday of Easter, the fifty day cycle of the great feast of the Resurrection.

The focus for Sunday Musings during this Easter season is “Practicing Resurrection,” a phrase drawn from Wendell Berry’s 1973 poem, “Manifesto.” Through May, the Musings will feature poetry inspired by the lectionary gospel readings and intended to nurture joy, awe, and a deeper awareness of God’s living presence.

The question for these weeks IS NOT: What is the resurrection?

Rather, the questions WILL BE: Where does resurrection show up in our lives? How do we practice resurrection?

The gospel for the day is a story about two disciples who are troubled by the events surrounding Jesus’ death. As they walk toward Emmaus, Jesus appears to them but they don’t know who he is — until just before he leaves.

The biblical text is from Luke. It is followed by two poems for your reflection on how the story of Emmaus invites us to practice resurrection.

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Luke 24:13-35

Now on that same day two of Jesus' disciples were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles from Jerusalem, and talking with each other about all these things that had happened. While they were talking and discussing, Jesus himself came near and went with them, but their eyes were kept from recognizing him. And he said to them, “What are you discussing with each other while you walk along?” They stood still, looking sad. Then one of them, whose name was Cleopas, answered him, “Are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who does not know the things that have taken place there in these days?” He asked them, “What things?” They replied, “The things about Jesus of Nazareth, who was a prophet mighty in deed and word before God and all the people, and how our chief priests and leaders handed him over to be condemned to death and crucified him. But we had hoped that he was the one to redeem Israel. Yes, and besides all this, it is now the third day since these things took place. Moreover, some women of our group astounded us. They were at the tomb early this morning, and when they did not find his body there, they came back and told us that they had indeed seen a vision of angels who said that he was alive. Some of those who were with us went to the tomb and found it just as the women had said; but they did not see him.” Then he said to them, “Oh, how foolish you are, and how slow of heart to believe all that the prophets have declared! Was it not necessary that the Messiah should suffer these things and then enter into his glory?” Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures.

As they came near the village to which they were going, he walked ahead as if he were going on. But they urged him strongly, saying, “Stay with us, because it is almost evening and the day is now nearly over.” So he went in to stay with them. When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened, and they recognized him; and he vanished from their sight. They said to each other, “Were not our hearts burning within us while he was talking to us on the road, while he was opening the scriptures to us?” That same hour they got up and returned to Jerusalem; and they found the eleven and their companions gathered together. They were saying, “The Lord has risen indeed, and he has appeared to Simon!” Then they told what had happened on the road, and how he had been made known to them in the breaking of the bread.

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Where does the resurrection show up? How can one practice resurrection?

In today’s gospel, Jesus shows up — but his friends don’t recognize him. Below are two contemporary poems that reflect on this strange incident on the road to Emmaus.

The first, by Sandra Duguid, invites us to imagine Jesus joining us on the roads of our own days. Who walks with us in our fears of the “crucifixions . . . in our town”? Does our rage and fear keep us from seeing God’s presence?

The Duguid poem is accompanied by a photo of a protest following the school shooting in Uvalde, Texas.

The second, by Denise Levertov, is a meditation on a circa 1620 painting by Diego Valazquez that imagines — in a kind of literary midrash — a servant who recognized Jesus long before his disciples did. The young Black woman in the painting sees Jesus clearly while others remain in the dark.

Levertov’s poem is paired with the painting that inspired her.

Both poems and illustrations emphasize the importance of seeing to faith. Perhaps that’s the most important lesson from the story — if we don’t really see that God is present with us in the most painful situations and unexpected circumstances, we can’t practice resurrection.

This Sunday invites us to open our eyes, to look for God on every road and among the pots and pans.

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POEM 1:

There have been crucifixions, too,
in our town — innocents
gunned down in their doorways
or in school halls; or radiations
black outlines, three crosses
marked a sisters chest: no wonder
we walk in quiet rage, musing

And who, on this road, will join us,
seeming unaware
of the worst news in the neighborhood,
but spelling out the history of the prophets
and a future:
       Ought not Christ to have suffered these things
       and to enter into his glory?
Could our hearts still burn within us?

Will we ask the stranger to stay?
Break bread? And how
will our well-hammered and nailed
kitchens and bedrooms appear to us
when we understand who he is
just as he steals away?
— Sandra R. Duguid, “Road to Emmaus”

POEM 2:

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, “The Servant Girl at Emmaus”

“The Kitchen Maid with the Supper at Emmaus” by Diego Valázquez, c.1620

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Both poets comment on power and social class — and our ability — or inability — to see Jesus and the transformative possibilities of resurrection. Would you miss Jesus out of fear, anxiety, or rage? How does the addition of the Black maid reshape the meaning of the Emmaus story?

Which poem do you most relate to? Or, do you respond to both? What is your emotional reaction to these poems and illustrations?

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The road to Emmaus is this world.

— Franz Wright

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ON THE ROAD IN COLORADO SPRINGS: April 28-30

Join me at First Congregation Church in Colorado Springs next weekend for the 2023 JWW Lectureship Series. I’ll be speaking on “Going Deeper on Where Faith Intersects Contemporary Culture.”

Friday night, 7-8 pm; Saturday morning, 10-11:30; Sunday worship and forum, 10-noon.

For information and registration, CLICK HERE.

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SUNDAY SURPRISE!

In this bonus episode of the Empty Altars class, I share about my two “patron saints” — Marcus Borg and Phyllis Tickle. Tripp and I decided to open this widely because we know how many people will enjoy these deeply personal and inspiring reminiscences. Rather unexpectedly, this conversation ends with me and Tripp riffing theologically on the nature of the resurrection!

If you are interested, you can still access the Empty Altars course. (You can sign up for free or offer a donation.) We won’t be meeting again live, but you can listen to all the recorded sessions.

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When we celebrate Easter, we are really standing in the middle of a second ‘Big Bang', a tumultuous surge of divine energy as fiery and intense as the very beginning of the universe.

— Rowan Williams

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