Wednesday of Easter Week

April 23, 2003

One day a young science major boarded a train from Lyons to Paris . There were few empty seats to choose from. Eyeing one beside an elderly gentleman, he asked if he could have it and introduced himself as Pierre . The older gentleman said, “Please be seated, I am called Louis.” The young scholar, glancing sideways eyed the old man reading the Bible. The scholar asked in a taunting voice, what are you reading?

The elderly man replied, John 6, the miracle of the multiplication of loaves and the subsequent teaching of it being bread, food for life.

The “would be” scientist asked sarcastically, “Do you believe in miracles?” “Most certainly,” the elderly man replied. “In my many years I have seen my share.” “Well!” the young student countered, “I’m a scientist and I know for certain that bread is bread. It is nonsense what Catholics believe about the body of Christ; anything that cannot be empirically proven is not real.”

“You know, Napoleon was right. The goddess of reason is the only deity that has any relevance.”

The old man excused himself politely, “I must depart here, it’s been an interesting chat, and I hope you remember that Napoleon did not invent reason. Perhaps we might discuss this another time,” and he handed a business card to his would-be scientist. Mssr. Docteur Louis Pasteur, one of the most prominent scientists of his day.

The young man sank into his seat totally embarrassed.

Today the gospel describes for us the journey of three men walking the road from Jerusalem to Emmaus. As the two friends listened to the stranger, their hearts were opened as they listened and a little while later their eyes were opened to see something that had not been visibly present.

The difference in these two travel stories might be obvious, but maybe not. Pierre ’s heart was not open to listening. He was the proud scientist who had all the answers. His only concern was to make a fool of the old man; but when the tables were turned, he was the one who appeared the fool.

The disciples on the road to Emmaus were so weighed down by grief, they were confused and downtrodden; they had heard stories about Jesus rising on the third day, but they were obsessed with the tragedy of Good Friday and not ready to believe. But their hearts were open, as they listened. Their hearts burned and they were given new vision and hope.

Are we so different? When we are preoccupied, we see only what is immediately evident before us, an unusually high utility bill, a warning letter from a collection agency, a vivid stain in the new carpet or upholstery, a broken goblet of Waterford crystal, or a trusted friend deleting or destroying an e-mail relationship.

Our level of awareness is often reduced to the size of our concerns. If paying the bill is the issue, or suffering from an ache somewhere in our body, then it seems as if nothing else in the world matters.

But what Jesus asks of us is so simple. He does not demand perfection in order for Him to be with us. He hungers. He died and rose from the dead in order to be with us. He longs for our invitation to Him to join us in our imperfections.

Precisely because we are not either/or; not one or the other, but simultaneously we are both saint and sinner, good and bad, less and more than merely human.

Our failures, sufferings, and imperfections prove to be the very source of our longing for perfection. To be human is to be incomplete and broken, yet craving wholeness and recovery, which begins by acknowledging that we are humanly imperfect, or to say it another way, perfectly human.

Recognizing that I am but a helpless sinner, unable to effect my own recovery, I can allow myself to be vulnerable, for in weakness strength is recovered; and in wretchedness, joy; and in the abyss of nothingness, the fullness of grace. This is the paradox of mystery.

God wants all of us to experience his joy, excitement and hope every time we participate at Mass. He wants to capture our hearts and open our eyes; fill our minds and voices with the excitement that sent these two pilgrims racing back another seven miles to return to share the Good News.

That is the conviction and the hope that Jesus offers us to receive. There is no one to whom the invitation is denied. But we must choose what to with it!