A Reflection for Wednesday in the Octave of Easter
Find today’s readings here.
“I have neither silver nor gold, but what I do have I give you.” In today’s first reading, Peter and John, now fully invested as Jesus’s disciples, are easily able to heal a crippled man. They have seen and engaged with the risen Christ, they believe, and now they are boldly carrying out his mission. By contrast, in the Gospel reading we see two unnamed disciples who have heard that Christ is risen but they have not seen. Sad and downcast, their faith shaken, they fail to recognize the risen Christ who walks alongside them and converses with them on the way to Emmaus. They have heard the stories but fail to believe until Jesus reveals himself to them. How often are we like those two disciples, walking with Jesus, encountering him in others, but never really seeing him.
I was privileged to do a full thirty days of the Spiritual Exercises of Saint Ignatius. During that time, I prayed and meditated with the Gospels and, for a good portion of it, I imagined myself walking with Jesus in those early days of his ministry. What struck me the most during that time was the human Jesus who cared for all the people among whom he walked, a Jesus who showed mercy, compassion and love; a Jesus who healed broken spirits much more than he healed the lame or the blind. A Jesus who showed us that we are all called to do the same and we all have the power to do so.
One of my new favorite modes of prayer is something that I have branded my own “Emmaus walks.” I go for a walk, and I imagine Jesus there alongside me. We notice our surroundings and, most importantly, we see the people around us. I have been enjoying this mode of prayer especially in New York City. There are so many people to see, and there are far too many people who go unseen. (Of course, since this is New York City in the twenty-first century, I have liberally interpreted using public transportation as part of my walks.) The last time I roamed the streets of the city was in the early 1990s, and although I was not doing so in prayerful contemplation then, I have noticed one stark difference. Nowadays far too many people, whether walking on the streets or riding on public transit, are in their own private bubble. The signs of that bubble are two earbuds, often white, and a small screen that they are focused on the entire time. Few people acknowledge each other, and the panhandlers and beggars go even more unseen. On my Emmaus walks, I at least notice them, see their faces, read the handwritten signs they might have and try to show compassion. Like Peter and John in that first reading, I have no gold or silver to give, and while that often makes for an awkward encounter, they are all meaningful and sometimes painfully instructional.
A couple of weeks ago, I decided to take my Emmaus walk on Fifth Avenue, from the Diamond District uptown towards Central Park. Amidst all the luxury stores and shoppers, I wanted to see those people on the street that went unnoticed, and there were many on that cold day. Under construction scaffolding and in the shadow of Trump Tower, Tiffany’s and the magnificent new Louis Vuitton building, I encountered a young woman huddled in the cold with three small children, one of whom was in a wheelchair. The woman had a sign that read: “Please Help. My husband has been deported. My daughter needs surgery. I need help.” Most people walked by not seeming to notice the woman and children huddled against the cold. A few dropped some loose change into the container that she had and then walked on. She seemed startled and a bit fearful when I stopped to talk with her. She spoke little English so I used my rudimentary Spanish to express my sorrow at her plight. She managed to tell me that they were from Venezuela and that her husband was due to get his papers in a month, that he was the breadwinner for the family but that he had been taken away and now she didn’t know what to do. I too had neither silver nor gold to give, but I managed to explain that I was a religious worker and tried to convince her to seek out Catholic Charities over on First Avenue as a safer option than being on the streets. I don’t know what happened to her; she seemed fearful of any authorities, so I suspect she did not go.
As we continue our own journey with Jesus in this Octave of Easter, let us imagine ourselves walking with the risen Jesus as those disciples walked to Emmaus. Let us ponder the mission he continually asks of us, the Scripture he interprets for us, such as in Matthew 9:13 when he asks us to ponder Hosea’s words: “I desire mercy, not sacrifice.” Perhaps we can continue those Emmaus walks from time to time, not just in the Octave of Easter but throughout the year, to walk with Jesus out in the world and encounter those on the streets, those less fortunate than us. To see them, to converse with them, to feel compassion for all our brothers and sisters, and to see them through that lens of mercy. Thus might our own eyes and hearts be opened to the fullness of God’s vision.
