In the breaking of bread

One of my favourite Gospel readings is from the end of Luke. Jesus had been crucified, and the apostles reacted as we would; they were afraid, wary, confused, grief-stricken.

This story tells of two of them walking to a village some miles from Jerusalem called Emmaus, "conversing about all the things that had occurred." (Luke 24:14) A man joined them, asking what they were talking about. Naturally they were astonished that he seemed unaware of what had happened, and filled him in... or so they thought. 

They were so silly, because of course that man was Jesus and of course he knew what had happened, but they were not yet able to recognize him. Even when he explained all the prophecies in scripture referring to himself and how what had happened, had to happen, they still did not recognize him. (This sounds so much like me) When they reached the village, they encouraged him to stay the night there, rather than go on further.  This is the best bit: "And it happened that, while he was with them at table, he took bread, said the blessing, broke it, and gave it to them. With that their eyes were opened and they recognized him..." (Luke 24: 30-31)

Have you ever heard or read something you just couldn't stop chewing on?  I've been pondering on this since it was read at Mass: they recognized Jesus when he broke bread with them.  I love the imagery of these two men walking along with Jesus, listening to him teach and thinking he's a pretty cool guy. But then he picks up a loaf of bread, and #ohmygoshit'sTheLord!! (Oh to Instagram that supper!)  There's something to be gleaned from them not knowing Jesus until they broke bread together. They sat and had a meal. 

We can share all the book learning. Teach all the theology. Most of the time, though, meeting a person where they're at, offering hospitality, feeding them, is the way to really reveal Christ  to them. (All the 'learning' means more later on, after they've been introduced).  It's also how we come to know and recognize each other: spend time together. Have conversations. Linger over a meal. Be present in a moment of each other's life.

How sad it is, that for much of a year we haven't been able to spend time together. How many people are walking alone on that road to Emmaus? How many people have not been able to share in the breaking of bread - in the Church sense, but also in the hospitality sense. Because of that, how many people do not know the Lord?  How many people are unknown in their own lives?

Let us all resolve that, when this is over - or at least when we are allowed to - we share as many meals with others as we can.  Not fancy, planned out, stressy 'dinner parties', but 'come into my home and share my meal'.  We need to break bread together.

Of things in pockets

One of the nicest things about having someone else around all the time is that I'm never stuck for something to do. Waiting our turn to go in the grocery store, extra long ad breaks on tv, or when I visit in his shop and he tells me long (ie. technical) descriptions of what he's doing... no need to fear boredom! There is always something interesting to do: go through his pockets.

He's an electronics technician, with a special interest in repairing vintage things. You know those old handheld games? Or Atari consoles? Even typewriters!  That's his jam. I was never into video games so I don't get excited about all of that, but the very cool thing is the tools and gadgets he has laying around for repairing and building. (I just love any activity that allows for a whole new collection of accessories.) Many of them are small, which makes them even more interesting. Tiny screwdrivers, small snips and cutters, wee little pliers. Then there's a thing that heats and melts plastic, another nifty tool for soldering, something else that looks like a heart monitor. 

The soldering gun is too big to carry around, of course, but I bet you'd be surprised at what he considers important enough to tuck into a pocket 'just in case' (I suspect sometimes he just forgets he put it there, and then we end up at Costco and he has a full-sized wrench in his pocket)

I have found:

Elastics, screwdriver, tiny screws, telescoping flashlight with magnetic end, two-way radio, electronic handheld games, zip ties, bulb from string lights, batteries, fork, transistor radio, manuals to old things, rosary, St. Jude prayer card, mechanical pencils, wrappers, cat lazer pointer thing, kolbasa, way expired gift cards and credit cards, pine cones

We went through airport security a couple of years ago. I was pulled aside because my hand lotion was 5 ml over the limit, and I dared to pack the tablet and keyboard in the same bag.  Meanwhile, he sails through with a full-sized laptop in his carry on, and walked through the x-ray machine with a pocket full of several lengths of wire, bits of cables, and several mini tools! Airline staff were probably reassured having someone on board who obviously would be able to rebuild the engine should it be necessary.

My own MacGyver.

Near and far

Do you remember that Sesame Street skit from ages ago? One of the characters runs up to the camera to demonstrate "Near!" then runs into the distance to demonstrate "Far!" over and over again.

Time is like that, isn't it? Events, moments, from our past can feel like they happened just yesterday, and then the next time we look at them they seem to be very far off in history, as though they were written by someone else.

Over the course of Easter weekend, with the help of modern technology, we watched two Masses from the church I went to back in Days of Yore when I lived in Capital City. Though I could point out things that have changed in the *gulp* 12 years since I was last there it felt so immediate, surely I could step out my own front door and walk up the stairs of that church to celebrate with those dear, familiar faces I spotted in the (Covidly thin) crowd. The music included hymns I haven't sung in over a decade yet the words tumbled out of my mouth with no hesitation. 

The priest celebrating Mass told the story of an Easter Vigil more than 20 years ago, where the then Pastor, Father F, nearly set fire to the church. The Vigil, you see, begins with the church in darkness.  The priest stands outside with the unlit Easter candle. He lights a fire (usually a small one, in a hibachi, well outside the building - even if it snows, which it often does because this is Canada). Father F, however, had a dramtical flair. He wanted a Fire and he wanted it In The Church. So he lit a fire inside the main doors. A Big Fire. The flames were, by different accounts, 6, 8, or 10 feet high. It was exciting! The Easter candle was lit from the fire, then like a wave moving through the congregation row after row of us lit our tapers from it until the building glowed with golden candle light and we settled in to listen to the Old Testament readings (I think we did seven that year, some of them accompanied by drums. As I said, Father F liked it dramatic.) The church was fine, by the way. Whilst we lit our candles and our hearts thrilled to the 'Escaping Egypt' beat of the drums, the ushers dealt with the fire-code-breaking fire. I think, being quite used to Father F, they knew to be prepared for any eventuality.

I haven't thought of that night in a long time, but hearing the telling of it Saturday night, it felt like he was telling my story. I was there. I remember it. Remembering ties me to that place, those people. It bring us near to each other no matter how removed we might actually be.

Even though I've lived a lot of life in other places, and am entirely content where I now am, it doesn't take a lot of doing to pull the distant past near. Memories can be like a slinky: they  stretch further and further away, until something tugs on them and they come sproinging back to you, and in this case the sproing totally made my Easter. My hope is that you also had moments of happiness this weekend, and that there is joy aplenty ahead.  Happy Easter to  you and yours from us in The Lighthouse.

t.

Of the tomb and the crocus

As of this morning, we are in Lockdown 3.0. Or is it Lockdown #2, version 19?

I wasn't doing well leading into this, so when I heard rumblings I was a little concerned it would prove too much.  BUT WAIT! Lest you worry this is going to be another depressing post, rest easy, dear Reader! You see, a crocus has popped its charming little head above ground this morning, despite freezing temperatures overnight and snow covering the ground just hours before.

"A crocus?" you say. "What the dickens has a crocus to do with anything?"  Well, I see it as a sign of hope. It encourages me to trust that even though circumstances may seem bleak, like frozen, snow-covered ground, life truly does go on. Yes, it sometimes looks like dandelions, but now and then, when it seems most unlikely, life is a beautiful, unexpected crocus. That is a promise.

Keep hopeful, friends. In this moment (Holy Saturday, when Jesus is in the tomb), the world is silent and sorrowing. But joy comes in the morning! Watch for it...