Supper At Emmaus

Supper at Emmaus by Caravaggio, 1601

Then he [Jesus] 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?"

Luke 24:25-32

From Rmj in the comments to my Noli Me Tangere post below:

We used to have wonderful discussions in seminary about Jesus after the resurrection. Did he have a body, or not? All the Gospel witnesses are intentional[ly] inconclusive. In Luke, he appears to the disciples, but is only recognized in the breaking of the bread, then he vanishes. In John, he walks through walls and closed doors, but has wounds that can be touched, and eats fish with Peter (to prove he's not a ghost).

Fascinating stuff. Ambiguity is the very warp and woof of life!

Indeed it is! Assuming Jesus had a body of some sort, I wonder what it would have been like to be among the disciples on the road to Emmaus with Jesus and hear him explain the Scriptures. What would it have been like to break bread with Jesus that night? Although they did not know him as they walked with him, there was something about him that made them want to remain in his presence. I put myself in their company.

Come And Eat With Me

Will you come and eat with me?
You can stay the night.
Stay just a while and have a meal.
As we break our bread, we'll talk.
Stay with me; rest a while.

Here, take your bread.
Wait! Who are you?
You are Jesus, the one who died!
You are dead, but here you are alive,
Here you break bread with me.

You made me come alive,
As you spoke to me of the prophets.
You set my heart on fire when you told me
How you had to suffer and to die.
What! You're gone? Just like that?

June Butler - 4/9/07

From Luke 24:25-32

Noli Me Tangere

Noli Me Tangere (1524), by Hans Holbein the Younger

Jesus Appears to Mary Magdalene

But Mary stood weeping outside the tomb. As she wept, she bent over to look into the tomb; and she saw two angels in white, sitting where the body of Jesus had been lying, one at the head and the other at the feet. They said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping?" She said to them, "They have taken away my Lord, and I do not know where they have laid him." When she had said this, she turned round and saw Jesus standing there, but she did not know that it was Jesus. Jesus said to her, "Woman, why are you weeping? For whom are you looking?" Supposing him to be the gardener, she said to him, "Sir, if you have carried him away, tell me where you have laid him, and I will take him away." Jesus said to her, "Mary!" She turned and said to him in Hebrew, "Rabbouni!" (which means Teacher). Jesus said to her, "Do not hold on to me, because I have not yet ascended to the Father. But go to my brothers and say to them, 'I am ascending to my Father and your Father, to my God and your God.'”

John 20:11-17

Why did Jesus tell Mary not to touch him? In my search for an answer, I found this article in The Smithsonian Magazine, titled "Who Was Mary Magdalene?" by James Carroll, who writes a regular column in The Boston Globe.

The multiplicity of the Marys by itself was enough to mix things up—as were the various accounts of anointing, which in one place is the act of a loose-haired prostitute, in another of a modest stranger preparing Jesus for the tomb, and in yet another of a beloved friend named Mary. Women who weep, albeit in a range of circumstances, emerged as a motif. As with every narrative, erotic details loomed large, especially because Jesus’ attitude toward women with sexual histories was one of the things that set him apart from other teachers of the time. Not only was Jesus remembered as treating women with respect, as equals in his circle; not only did he refuse to reduce them to their sexuality; Jesus was expressly portrayed as a man who loved women, and whom women loved.

The climax of that theme takes place in the garden of the tomb, with that one word of address, “Mary!” It was enough to make her recognize him, and her response is clear from what he says then: “Do not cling to me.” Whatever it was before, bodily expression between Jesus and Mary of Magdala must be different now.

After his Resurrection, Jesus has a body. He is the same Jesus, but, at the same time, he is different, and his physical relationship with his disciples had to be different.

Carroll's entire piece is worth reading as a counter-story to the nonsense floating around about Mary Magdalene.

An archive of his recent columns can be found here.

Preface of Easter

Almighty God, who through thine only-begotten Son Jesus Christ overcame death and opened unto us the gate of everlasting life: Grant that we, who celebrate with joy the day of the Lord's resurrection, may be raised from the death of sin by thy life-giving Spirit; through the same Jesus Christ our Lord, who liveth and reigneth with thee and the same Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.

Alleluia, Christ is risen.
The Lord is risen indeed. Alleluia.

Good-bye To All That

The Good Friday services are over, but the remembrance of the death of God and God in the tomb goes on until Sunday. In my youth, Good Friday was a solemn day, a somber day. We spent three hours in church in the afternoon. There was no radio, no movies, nothing that was fun. We knew were commemorating something serious, even as children.

Now church services are shorter; fewer activities are forbidden. In fact, earlier in the day yesterday, I attended a party. Alas and alack! It's still somewhat shocking to me that, in my very Roman Catholic area, a tradition has arisen to have a crawfish boil party on Good Friday. It seems strange to me, and it was difficult for me to participate when the custom began in my own family. What am I doing at a party on Good Friday - the most solemn day of the year? Since it was a family gathering, I'd go, but I felt uncomfortable.

This year as I mulled over the tradition in my mind, I thought to myself, "Is it right for me to be the Puritan in this instance? Should I go, but with a disapproving attitude? The members of my family are not getting up a posse to go murder people or rob houses. It's an innocent crawfish boil. Am I to suggest to my family that they're not to pass a good time on Good Friday? I think not."

I went yesterday with a good heart, and it was much better for me, and, no doubt, for the others also.

The Deposition

The Deposition by Caravaggio

From the Vatican Museum


When evening had come, and since it was the day of Preparation, that is, the day before the sabbath, Joseph of Arimathea, a respected member of the council, who was also himself waiting expectantly for the kingdom of God, went boldly to Pilate and asked for the body of Jesus. Then Pilate wondered if he were already dead; and summoning the centurion, he asked him whether he had been dead for some time. When he learned from the centurion that he was dead, he granted the body to Joseph. Then Joseph bought a linen cloth, and taking down the body, wrapped it in the linen cloth, and laid it in a tomb that had been hewn out of the rock. He then rolled a stone against the door of the tomb. Mary Magdalene and Mary the mother of Joses saw where the body was laid.

Mark 15:42-47


Good Friday Solemn Collect:

Let us commit ourselves to God, and pray for the grace of a holy life, that, with all who have departed this world and have died in the peace of Christ, and those whose faith is known to God alone, we may be accounted worthy to enter into the fullness of the joy of our Lord, and receive the crown of life in the day of resurrection. BCP p.280


Lately, in the blogosphere, there has been much discussion of the meaning of Jesus' death on the cross, atonement, salvation, and from Rmj, who likes to use fancy words, soteriology. I've put in my two cents here and there, but I've found it much easier to say what I don't believe than what I believe. I've been struggling over the last few days to come up with my own theory on the meaning of Jesus' death. First off, I find that I can't separate the death from the Incarnation and the Resurrection. Second, I have not come up with anything that could be called coherent.

In the comments to a post by Rmj, I found this from Boreas:

Fr. Armand Veilleux, O.C.S.O., a member of the General Council and Procurator General of the Cistercian Order in Rome, essayed an answer which seems germane to this conversiation [on salvation], and which I quote in part:

"Christ saved us by his life, not by his death. But his death is part of his life. It was because he was faithful to being the witness to his Father to the end that he had to accept death as the consequence of this witness. But he did not accept it joyfully. The agony was a tremendous difficulty for a young man who was facing death at thirty-three years of age. Also, if you analyze the New Testament very closely, you see that Jesus puts an end to the practice of sacrifices.... Christ was not killed as a sacrifice, he was murdered. Because he accepted to be murdered, it is his life -- including that consequence -- that has replaced all the sacrifices. And so in our life, we are not pleasing God by making sacrifices; we are pleasing God by living according to his message as Jesus did. And this, our life, is the only "sacrifice" that God wants. So when we celebrate the Eucharist, we celebrate the fact that Christ -- God incarnated as a human being -- has given himself as "food." We are not killing him; we are celebrating his life and the gift of life that he gives us as food -- as nourishment -- for our life."(pp. 231-32

From The Gethsemani Encounter in 1999 by the Continuum Publishing Co., of New York.

The words of Fr. Veilleux come closest to my thoughts on the meaning of the cross. Jesus' whole life, including his death, was the offering.

The Sacrament Of The Last Supper

The Sacrament Of The Last Supper by Salvador Dali. National Gallery of Art, Washington DC


While they were eating, he took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to them, and said, ‘Take; this is my body.’ Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks he gave it to them, and all of them drank from it. He said to them, ‘This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many. Truly I tell you, I will never again drink of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God.’

Mark 14:22-25

Over the ages there have been countless discussions, explanations, and disagreements among Christians about the Real Presence of Jesus in the Eucharist. I believe in the Real Presence in the bread and the wine rather than a symbolic remembrance or reinactment of the Last Supper. The how of the presence of Jesus in the bread and wine is something else entirely, and I don't know of a completely satisfactory explanation. Jesus said it, so I believe it.

I grew up in the Roman Catholic Church, with transubstantiation, which I find unsatisfactory. I cannot fully explain the Presence, but from the accounts in the Gospels, I find the words of Jesus, "This is my body....This is my blood," compelling.

In addition are these prophetic words from John's Gospel:

I am the bread of life. Your ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and they died. This is the bread that comes down from heaven, so that one may eat of it and not die. I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats of this bread will live for ever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh.’

The Jews then disputed among themselves, saying, ‘How can this man give us his flesh to eat?’ So Jesus said to them, ‘Very truly, I tell you, unless you eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood, you have no life in you. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood have eternal life, and I will raise them up on the last day; for my flesh is true food and my blood is true drink. Those who eat my flesh and drink my blood abide in me, and I in them. Just as the living Father sent me, and I live because of the Father, so whoever eats me will live because of me. This is the bread that came down from heaven, not like that which your ancestors ate, and they died. But the one who eats this bread will live for ever.’

John 6:48-58

....

Because of this many of his disciples turned back and no longer went about with him. So Jesus asked the twelve, ‘Do you also wish to go away?’ Simon Peter answered him, ‘Lord, to whom can we go? You have the words of eternal life.

John 6:66-68

Those who walked away seemed to have thought that they were hearing words that were difficult to believe. If Jesus was speaking symbolically, why would they have left?

I also like these simple words of John Donne:

He was the Word, that spake it:
He took the bread and brake it;
And what that Word did make it,
I do believe and take it.'

Divine Poems. On the Sacrament.

Is This What You Want, Baby?

Yesterday, we returned to New Orleans because we wanted to cook a roast leg of lamb for Easter dinner. Since the Winn-Dixie Supermarket closed down, we no longer have a place to buy good meat here in town.

We went to the Whole Foods Market in New Orleans and spent a whole lot of money on meat and imported and exotic stuff which we can't buy here. The butcher at the counter where we bought our meat was a not-young black man, who lost three houses in the Ninth Ward in New Orleans, his own house and two rental houses. He is fixing his house and going back there to live. He said, "Ive lived there 40 years." What courage.

All the while we were talking, he was calling me "Baby". "Yes, Baby. Is this what you want, Baby?" I thought to myself, "Where else but in New Orleans will you find a perfect stranger of a man who calls you "Baby" and means nothing familiar or disrespectful by it"? It's a great place full of great and courageous people, and I am proud that it is my home town.

The Temptation Of God

Tobias Haller at In A Godward Direction preached this sermon on Palm Sunday. The title is "The Temptation Of God". Tobias' sermons are lovely and quite accessible. I recommend that you read the whole sermon, but I especially liked his final words, which suggest a way forward for the time that remains in Holy Week.

Our yearly company with Jesus in his Passion has begun, as we set our feet upon the path of Holy Week once more. Let us then with courage set our faces towards Jerusalem and resist the temptations we face in our lives in the knowledge of his faith, his remembrance of us, who did not save himself, but gave himself that we might be saved. +

PALM SUNDAY - 2007

Palmesel means palm donkey in German, but most often refers to a statue of Christ on a donkey. These statues were mounted on a wheeled platform and used in Palm Sunday processions.

The Cloisters - A Medieval Art Museum in Fort Tyron Park, New York City


I note that in the statue illustrated above, Jesus appears to have a receding hairline. Take heart all you guys who have less than a full, luxuriant growth of hair on your heads. Perhaps Jesus was one of you.

Sunday I missed going to church because I took the Katrina disaster tour, with Scout of First Draft as the tour guide. She knows her way around New Orleans, especially the devastated areas, like a native, although she lives in Wisconsin. It was a strange, but perhaps appropriate initiation into Holy Week.

So far, I have not yet adjusted to the compression of Palm Sunday and Passion Sunday into one Sunday. With this arrangement, we move from Jesus riding triumphant - albeit on a donkey, a lowly animal compared to a horse - with the crowds shouting "Hosanna in the highest!" and waving palm branches to an abrupt thrust into the Passion story and Holy Week.

I've just finished reading the Passion of Our Lord from Matthew's Gospel. Often when I'm reading something familiar, certain words will leap out to grab my attention, words that I have taken little note of in previous readings. Today the words were from Matthew 26:56, "Then all the disciples deserted him and fled."

How many times have I deserted Jesus and fled from him? More often than I'd like, I'm ashamed to say. Perhaps that's fertile ground for meditation during this Holy Week.

DO YOU KNOW WHAT IT MEANS? - PART 2

First Draft Krewe Before

It's truly difficult for me to write about my weekend, because New Orleans is my city and will always be my city, although I have not lived there for nearly 50 years. It's my home. I have lived in my town for 37 years, and it's a good town. My children grew up here, and it was a fine place to raise a family.

The New Orleans which I loved the most did not exist even before Katrina. The NOLA which I grew up in and lived in fof the first 24 years of my life is the city that I loved the most. Over those 24 years, it seemed to change very little, but during the years that I lived away, it changed greatly, unfortunately not always for the better. But it was still there, and I continued faithful to my love who had gone somewhat bad. We visited and enjoyed the goodness which remained.

I had already met Scout on one of her previous trips to New Orleans, but it was great to meet Athenae and Mr. A., Ray in New Orleans, Sinfonian, Cynthia, Mike Danablog, Cheri and Harry (archeop), and Spork. I will forever picture Spork with three heavy cameras hanging around this neck as we took the tour of the devastated areas. You can see some of his terrific pictures at his blog.

Gutting a house is hard work. The house we worked on was on 1773 Sere St next to the London Avenue Canal, which breached about a mile away from the house and flooded a wide area. I will read about those who volunteer to help gut a house with great respect in the future, especially those who work in the heat of July and August. The suits are hot, the respirator is a scary-looking thing which I was not sure I would be able to wear since I have claustrophobia, but it was OK once I got it on. Wearing the hooded suit, the respirator, the goggles, and two sets of gloves - work gloves over rubber gloves - you sweat before you even start to work. Many of the other - ahem - much younger folks did heavier work than I did for a longer time, but I did my little bit for the cause, sweeping debris that fell when the walls were knocked down into a pile, shoveling it into wheel barrows, and picking up boards with nails in them so no one would step on them. The others worked with crowbars and hammers. Some of us found a certain satisfaction in knocking out sheetrock as you can see from Athenae's post.

Inside the house it was dusty and dark; our goggles fogged up and we were drenched in seconds, but it was satisfying, in a situation in which you feel there's so little you can do, to slam a crowbar into some drywall. And that's for the convention center, and that's for fucking Geraldo having smarts our government didn't have and that's for every right-wing nutball who said people should just pull themselves up by their bootstraps and that's for everybody who ever told me America was a Christian nation. That's for Gentilly and that's for St. Bernard and that's for New Orleans and that's for my country, you fucking fucks, as Ashley would say. [Sadly, Ashley Morris, who blogged brilliantly and prolifically about New Orleans, died unexpectedly on April 2, 2008.]

The retired couple who lived next door appreciated what we did. They are well along in fixing their house but still have their FEMA trailer parked in front. They very kindly allowed us to use the bathroom in the trailer as we worked. Later, the gentleman bought us two cartons of fried chicken wings, which quickly disappeared as we devoured them.

We had a great crew of college students from Elon University working with us as part of a requirement for a class. Good for their teacher for having them do this. I'm sure they learned a great deal from this time out of the classroom.

On Sunday, we took a tour through the devastated areas, some of which I had not seen yet. My husband and I had gone twice before to view the ruins, but at some point I had to ask him to stop before we saw certain areas, because I just could not take any more, but yesterday I saw parts of the city that I had not seen before. Block after block of wasteland, with the only visible progress being the removal of the huge piles of trash and vacant lots where houses had been bulldozed. Occasionally, in the midst of the wasteland, we'd see one house fixed and inhabited. I wondered how the folks could live there alone, surrounded by vacant lots and ruined houses.

We saw the breaches in the levee, which had been repaired, but adjacent to the repaired and reinforced areas were the same old levees that failed after Katrina. No one in the area believes that the US Corps of Engineers has fixed much of anything. The same disaster could repeat itself once again.

Remember that it was not Katrina that caused the major disaster in New Orleans. The city came through the storm pretty well, but the subsequent failures of the levees, built by the same US Corps of Engineers, caused the city to go under water.

Enough for now. I'll probably write more later.

First Draft Krewe After

UPDATE: Many thanks to lb1303 and Dangerblond for their wonderful New Orleans-style hospitality in opening their homes to us, and thanks to all who contributed the delicious food for the gatherings.

UPDATE 2: If you'd like to read an account of a New Orleans all-nighter, go read Mike Danablog at Detached Retina. Keep in mind that the all-nighter came after a hard day's work of house-gutting.

UPDATE 3: A happy ending: Sinfonian, a member of the group who worked with us, returned to 1773 Sere St, which we thought was a lost cause and likely to be demolished.  Pictured below is the termite- and roach-infested kitchen as it looks today.  I could hardly believe my eyes when I saw the beautiful new kitchen in the picture.  A young family purchased the house and lives there now.

  Below is a photo of the exterior of the restored house from Google Maps.

Do You Know What It Means?

Later, perhaps tomorrow, I'll write my impression of my trip to New Orleans with Scout Prime and Athenae from the blog First Draft and the other folks in our group. Meanwhile you might want to check out Athenae's post, We Are Marshall, at FD. I'm a little daunted to attempt to give my account, because she and Scout write so well.

If you are absolutely holding your breath, near to dying, to see a picture of me and Grandpère you can look at this post at First Draft and see if you can guess which of those lovely people we are. I warn you; it's going to be quite a challenge to pick us out.