My mother-in-law used to say, “I take photos at family gatherings because I’m too nervous during the event to enjoy it.” After it was over, she could look back at the photos and truly savor the joy of laughter, conversation, eating pie and cookies with the whole family gathered under one roof. I found her approach a bit curious for many years. But slowly, I began to sense what she was describing. Sometimes we are present but we miss the moment.
The gospel of Luke describes a similar experience (Luke 24: 13-35). The Disciples are walking on the road to Emmaus, looking sad and feeling hopeless, when a strange man joins them on the road. Though they chat with this unnamed man, it never dawns on them that their beloved Jesus is risen from the dead and standing right before their eyes. But there was this one second, when the man lifted the bread and broke it and handed it to them, and they recognized it was Jesus before their very eyes. After Jesus vanished, the disciples replayed the mental snapshots and exclaimed “Were not our hearts burning while he was with us?”
This is my favorite account of the post-Easter Jesus. The one who slips in among ordinary conversations with friends and reveals that there is more to the moment than meets the eye. It’s harder for me to picture Jesus slipping through walls like magic. It takes a bit of mental gymnastics to imagine Jesus ascending on a cloud. But what I can totally relate to, because it has happened to me so often, is that sometimes there is this glimmer of life in ordinary conversations where God seems to rise up.
I experienced one of those glimmering moments last week while chatting with a young 20-something who was seeking a spiritual home but worried about making the wrong decision. It happened again to me a few days later while at Sunday brunch with long-time friends. It emerged tenderly and without fanfare while gathered with some church friends who were going through a really sad time of grief. Together, we found the courage to name the not-so-pretty truth of real life and to tell stories that made us laugh. Woven throughout our days are these ordinary snapshots when we drop our daily facade, reveal the messiness of the human heart, and claim the freedom to be really, really real with each other. In such moments, God seems to rise.
Grace and Peace,
Carla
