The Story
13 Now that same day two of them
were going to a village called Emmaus, about seven miles[a] from Jerusalem. 14 They were talking with each other
about everything that had happened. 15 As they talked and discussed
these things with each other, Jesus himself came up and walked along with them;16 but they were kept from
recognizing him.
17 He asked them, “What are you
discussing together as you walk along?”
They
stood still, their faces downcast. 18 One of them, named Cleopas, asked him, “Are you
the only one visiting Jerusalem who does not know the things that have happened
there in these days?”
19 “What things?” he asked.
“About
Jesus of Nazareth,” they replied. “He was
a prophet, powerful in word and
deed before God and all the people. 20 The chief priests and our
rulers handed him over to be sentenced to death, and they crucified him; 21 but we had hoped that he was the
one who was going to redeem Israel. And what is more, it
is the third day since all this took
place. 22 In addition, some of
our women amazed us. They went to the tomb
early this morning 23 but didn’t find his body. They
came and told us that they had seen a vision of angels, who said he was alive. 24 Then some of our companions went
to the tomb and found it just as the women had said, but they did not see
Jesus.”
25 He said to them, “How foolish you are,
and how slow to believe all that the prophets have spoken! 26 Did not the Messiah have to
suffer these things and then enter his glory?” 27 And beginning with Moses and all the Prophets, he explained to them
what was said in all the Scriptures concerning himself.
28 As they approached the village to
which they were going, Jesus continued on as if he were going farther. 29 But they urged him strongly,
“Stay with us, for it is nearly evening; the day is almost over.” So he went in
to stay with them.
30 When he was at the table with
them, he took bread, gave thanks, broke it and began to give it to them. 31 Then their eyes were opened and
they recognized him, and he disappeared
from their sight. 32 They asked each other, “Were not
our hearts burning within us while he talked with
us on the road and opened the Scriptures to us?”
33 They got up and returned at once
to Jerusalem. There they found the Eleven and those with them, assembled
together 34 and saying, “It is
true! The Lord has risen and has appeared to Simon.” 35 Then the two told what had
happened on the way, and how Jesus was recognized by them when he broke the
bread.
LUKE 24: 13-25
Luke’s tale
of the downcast disciples who encounter the risen One, Jesus, as they walk from
Jerusalem towards Emmaus has always been among my favorites. It has so many elements that I identify
with—the downcast disciples’ hearts are set aflame by the way Jesus “opened the
Scriptures”. A dinner is served. Then as the ancient prayer that declares God
“blessed” for creating and sharing bread
is recited, then as the bread is broken, and only then as the broken bread is
sacramentally shared do they finally see the One with whom they have
walked---the risen Lord.
Over these
last few years, I have delighted in filling in the background details to the
oft heard tales from the bible as a way to further explore the story’s
meaning. Imaginatively filling in those
details is part of my process of wrestling with Scripture. Any painter who attempts to paint a bible
story must, of necessity, do the same. The details they sketch and fill with
color tell us something about the unspoken background, the imaginative
landscape, which gives life and meaning to the sparse words of the story on the
page.
In about
1620, the Spanish painter, Velazquez, retold the story of the Road to Emmaus in
a painting we have come to call, The Kitchen Maid. Luke does not tell us who prepared the meal
that Jesus and the downcast disciples shared, but quite obviously, someone did. Luke does not tell us where the bread came
from or who washed the dishes after the meal, but again, give it a moment’s
thought, and there is indeed a ‘from somewhere’ and a ‘by someone’.
Velazquez
makes a decision to not only fill in those details, but to bring them front and
center. In Spain in 1620, with memories
of the oft-times savage “Reconquista” of Spain by Christians over the dark
skinned Moors from North Africa still fresh in the cultural imagination,
Velazquez tells the story of Emmaus with a woman, a dark skinned Moor, a
servant, perhaps a slave, at the center of the tale. Jesus, Cleopas, and the unnamed disciple are
off to the side. The outsider is brought
into our focus. She stands amidst disorder. Pots are overturned, crumbs about. She is trying to keep up. She is listening, ear tilted, intently. Her job, after all, is to wait on the men in
tense anticipation. She overhears the
discussion, maybe the prayer. In my mind
her ear is turned by the sound of thumbs digging in, of crust tearing at the
sublime moment of disclosure. The
downcast disciples see the One in that moment of broken bread. This outsider, a black scullery maid, she too
hears the sound of bread broken. The
light on her face: grace which floods over her as well. Grace enough for the outsider, maybe even just
for the outsider.
The story of
the Road to Emmaus draws me in because it speaks to my uncertainty about my
place in God’s story. The downcast
disciples are first of all told of their place as the Scriptures are “opened”
to them. Yet, it isn’t until Jesus acts
by blessing, breaking, and sharing bread, that He is fully revealed. Words are not enough. Words prepare the way, but Jesus himself,
blessed, broken, and offered freely, is the Way. And then Velazquez tells the story
again. There I am again. This time, I’m with that girl in the
kitchen. I’m broken enough inside,
despite all of the advantages of my life, not to feel quite comfortable or at
home at the head table in the other room. Yet, my hope is that even though I
stand amidst disorder, my face might also be warmed by that light. Warmed by grace-filled light, if I but wait
in tense anticipation, tilt my head, and listen carefully for the sound of
bread broken . . . for us all, even me. Buen Camino.
