“. . . for they shall see God”

It’s still the time, the season, of remembering Christ’s appearances to those He loved.  Let us not move too quickly back into ordinary time.  (Is there ever an “ordinary” time with Christ in our lives?)  Luci Shaw captures this need to learn to recognized Him in this Sunday-poem.  We, too, need to “get beyond the way he looks” in our everyday lives:

He who has seen Me has seen the Father (James Tissot)

“. . . for they shall see God”

Matthew 5.8

Christ risen was rarely
recognized by sight.
They had to get beyond the way he looked.
Evidence strong than his voice and face and footstep
waited to grow in them, to guide
their groping from despair,
their stretching beyond belief.

We are as blind as they
until the opening of our deeper eyes
shows us the hands that bless
and break our bread,
until we finger
wounds that tell our healing,
or witness a miracle of fish
dawn-caught after our long night
of empty nets.  Handling
his Word, we feel his flesh,
his bones, and hear his voice
calling our early-morning name.

~Luci Shaw

That breakfast on the beach

Browsing through my journal, I came across a quote from five years ago that is a wonderful reflection on last Sunday’s gospel:

“Feed my sheep,” Jesus said to Peter as the first rays of the sun went fanning out across the sky, but, before that, he said something else.  The six other men had beached the boat by then and had come up to the charcoal fire knowing that it was Jesus who was standing there and yet not quite knowing, not quite brave enough to ask him if he was the one they were all but certain he was.  He told them to bring him some of the fish they had just hauled in, and then he said something that, if I had to guess, was what brought tears to their eyes if anything did.  The Lamb of God.  The Prince of Peace.  The Dayspring from on High.  Instead of all the extraordinary words we might imagine on his lips, what he said was, “Come and have breakfast.”

I believe he says it to all of us: feed my sheep, his lambs, to be sure, but first to let him feed us–to let him feed us with something of himself.

“He was one of us, no stranger . . .”

The poem for this Sunday describes the experience of the two disciples on the road to Emmaus:

Companion

When first He joined us, coming, it seemed from nowhere,
and yet, somehow, as if he had followed us a long, long time,
immediately, He was one of us, no stranger, but
a close companion, speaking softly, familiar with our lives,
these days, the answers to our doubts.

And when we moved Him to at least partake of food,
he stood there at the table, not as guest, but host,
and broke the bread to portions, one for each,
then poured the wine, His dark-marked hands
blessing the wine and us.  Was it that act,

His broken hands raised up against the wooden walls,
the prayer-bowed head, the gently spoken word
or some reflection trembling in the wine,
a thickening of air, a luminosity not of wavering light,
that pierced our hearts with joy,

that filled our mouths with praise?  O praise!
O joy!  Then suddenly the light withdrawn,
no longer form and lifted hands above the bread.
Stumbling, we found the road to town,
knowing that never, never would we walk alone again.

~Marie J. Post (all rights reserved)

Where is He?

I’ve been trying to imagine what it was like for Jesus’ friends shortly after the Resurrection.  As word spread of His appearances to this one and that one, they must have wondered to whom and where He would appear next.  And would they recognize Him when He did–since so many of them failed to recognize Him at first glance?  Thinking about this led me to ponder my own life and take stock of how great my own expectation is of His “appearing” to me in my daily life.  How often do I not recognize Him when He is present to me?  Come, Holy Spirit, and open our eyes to recognize Christ where He is in our lives.

Supper at Emmaus (Caravaggio)

All the doors being shut

A Sunday-poem along yesterday’s lines:

Open

Doubt padlocked one door and
Memory put her back to the other.
Still the damp draught seeped in, though
Fear chinked all the cracks and
Blindness boarded up the window.
In the darkness that was left
Defeat crouched, shivering,
In his cold corner.

Then Jesus came
(all the doors being shut)
and stood among them.

~Luci Shaw

Locked doors

I always find this kind of reflection on the Easter appearances full of great hope for folks like me: “Jesus moves among men and women–even if it means passing through doors locked from within” (Jn 20.19-23). (Fr. William M. Joensen)  Many of us frequently–or continually–bolt the doors of our hearts from within, yet we long for Christ to come to us.  We can have great hope . . . for He is the One who can enter “through doors locked from within.”

With the eyes of faith

I love pondering the post-Resurrection appearances of Christ.  I guess I feel in good company when those who had spent three solid years with Christ failed to recognize Him.  It’s always a reminder to me of the need to sharpen our eyes of faith, to look for Him in His many disguises.  In today’s Gospel, we see Jesus showing a sense of humor (in my opinion).  He repeats advice that He had given them when He first met them: put the net down on the other side.  How many times does that happen to us, that God comes to us in a familiar way?  Let’s not miss His appearances to us in our every day life.

“He stood as a common person . . . “

For those who may be mourning a loss:

“He did at first conceal himself from her.  He stood as a common person, and she looked upon him accordingly.  She turned herself back from talking with angels and sees Jesus himself standing, and yet she knew not that it was Jesus. ‘The Lord is nigh unto them that are of a broken heart’ (Ps 34.18), nearer than they are aware.  Those that seek Christ, though they do not see Him, may yet be sure that he is not far from them.”  (Matthew Henry)

This is the day

One of the things I love about the week after Easter is that the Church relates to each day of the octave as though it is Easter Day.  In the Preface of Easter I, the priest is directed to pray during the octave: “We praise you with greater joy than ever on this Easter day when Christ became our paschal sacrifice.”  (Unfortunately most of the priests where I attend daily Mass pray “in this Easter season.”)  In the Liturgy of the Hours, we pray Morning, Evening, and Night Prayer of Easter Day all week.  To me this is a foretaste of heaven when each day will be as the first.  “This is the day the Lord has made.  Let us be glad and rejoice in it!”

“How an old man got new eyes”

An Easter story for young and for old from Madonna House:

How an Old Man Got New Eyes: An Easter Story

by Jude Fischer.

Once there was an old man. He was very unhappy and didn’t enjoy life very much. As things were never right, he grumbled and complained.

He grumbled that he had to get up in the morning. Then when nightfall came, it came too soon. He complained when he had to work, and found it boring when he didn’t.

He murmured that people didn’t pay enough attention to him, and when they did, it irritated him. He hated it when it rained, and then, when the sun came out, he found it too hot. In winter he longed for summer and in summer for fall. All in all, life was rather miserable.

One day he stopped at a fruit stand. He found some of the fruit was too ripe, and the rest not ripe enough. And so he decided to leave.

As he was leaving, the fruit seller said to him, “I wish you new eyes, sir, child eyes.”

“New eyes,” thought the old man as he walked away. “Why, my eyesight is perfect. My vision is sharper than that of many folks half my age. I see things every bit as clearly as I did when I was a child.”

A week or so later he stopped at the fruit stand again. The fruit seller had the fruit he didn’t want, and the fruit he wanted wasn’t there. As he was leaving the fruit seller said, “I wish you kingdom eyes, sir.”

“Kingdom eyes?” This puzzled the old man a bit. But no matter. He was a busy man, lots of things to do, and so he let it pass.

Some time later the old man stopped at the fruit stand again. It was the same old story. Everything he didn’t want, nothing he did want, everything too ripe or not ripe enough.

As he left, the fruit seller said, “I wish you treasure-hunting eyes, sir.”

“Treasure-hunting eyes?” Why he had been on a treasure hunt once. And of all in the group, it had been he who had finally spotted the treasure. Why, if anyone had treasure-hunting eyes, he had.

But where had it gotten him? There had been endless squabbling over the treasure, and in the end he had never received his share. Treasure-hunting eyes indeed!

But in spite of himself the old man began to wonder about what the fruit seller had said to him. What did he mean, new eyes, child eyes, kingdom eyes, treasure hunting eyes? The next time he stopped at the stand, he asked the fruit seller to explain.

“Well, you see,” the fruit seller began, “one day there was a stranger in town. Quite a crowd gathered to hear him speak. I joined them. He spoke of many things, but a few things he said really stuck in my mind.

“He said the kingdom of heaven is within you. He said it is like a treasure hidden in a field. And he said that unless you become like a little child you cannot enter it.

“I didn’t understand what he meant, but I wondered on it, and carried his words in my heart.

“The next day the stranger was there again. And there was a blind man, a man blind from birth, I believe. He went up to the stranger and said to him, ‘Sir, if you want to, you can make me see.’ And the stranger answered, ‘Of course I want to,’ and would you believe it, the blind man’s eyes were opened and he could see. He really could.

“How he delighted in all he saw. And it seemed to me then that I did not see rightly. For though I saw, I was not happy with what I saw the way this blind man was.

“And so, without hardly thinking about it, I blurted out to the stranger, ‘Please sir, give me new eyes.’ ‘I will,’ he answered, ‘I give you child eyes, kingdom eyes, treasure-hunting eyes.’ I thanked him and left.

“That was the last time I ever saw the stranger. But from that time on I saw things differently. Where before I saw only darkness, now I saw stars and fireflies. Where before I found only pain, now I discovered a door to joy.

“Where before I had seen nothing worthwhile, now I found much to marvel at. Where before I lived in a desert of doubt and despair, now a fountain of faith and hope sprang up. And where before people annoyed or irritated or bored me, now I saw something in them that reminded me of the stranger. And I rejoiced.”

The old man went away wondering at what the fruit seller had told him. He shrugged it off at first, but no matter how he tried to ignore it, the story kept coming back to mind.

And the more he thought about it, the more he began to long for new eyes for himself. He began to think about the stranger and to hope he would return. And when he did, he would ask for new eyes, too.

The thought excited him. But he began to worry that when he saw the stranger he would be too nervous to ask for anything. So he decided he would practice what to say: “Give me new eyes, sir, child eyes, kingdom eyes, treasure-hunting eyes.”

Yes, that is what he would say. Day and night he practiced this, to be sure he’d never forget, no matter how shaky he was when he saw the stranger.

After a while he put it to music, made it into a little song. Yes, that was the refrain he sang many times a day, day after day, month after month.

He kept alert for news of the stranger, but none came. Over a year went by. But the old man kept hoping and singing his song.

Then one day when he stopped at the fruit stand, he found the fruit seller very sad indeed. “What’s the matter?” he asked.

“I’ve just received news,” said the fruit seller, “that the stranger who gave me new eyes has been arrested and is being put to death this very day.”

The old man went home and cried and cried. His chance was gone. Now he would never meet the stranger. Now he would never have new eyes.

Yet the song had become so much a part of him that he continued to sing it. And as he was singing the song on the third day after hearing the tragic news of the stranger, he suddenly felt something like scales fall from his eyes. And he began to see things differently.

Where before he saw only darkness, he saw stars and fireflies. Where before he saw only the injuries done him and resented them, he saw how much he was loved, and he found a forgiveness that healed his wounds. Where before he had seen nothing of value, he found many hidden treasures.

Where before he had passed his days in boredom and suspicion, he now lived in wonderment and trust. And whereas before people had irritated him, he saw something in them that made him think of the stranger.

And so he knew that the stranger lived.

After shadow and darkness, the eyes of the blind will see (Isaiah 29:18).