Raymond's Commentary
By William Blaine-Wallace
Tuesday, March 29, 2005
Lectionary Reflections for the Third Sunday of Easter (A)
Readings for Easter 3, Year A, Apr. 10, 2005
- Acts 2:14a, 36-41
- Psalm 116: 1-3, 10-17
- 1 Peter 1:17-23
- Luke 24:13-35
In my library, the greatest commentary on the appearance story of Emmaus Road is my relation with Raymond. I was Raymond's hospice volunteer in the mid-1980s, for about six months. I was well-educated, white, well-off, ensconced in a safe suburb. Raymond was black, uneducated, poor, exposed to the on-edge and volatile housing project in Atlanta's most violent neighborhood. My safe passage into his environs was insured by a big, bright blue button on my chest, a Grady Hospital volunteer identification badge. Anyone associated with "The Grady's," Atlanta's hospital "for the indigent poor," was okay.
Here's what Raymond taught me about the gospel for the third Sunday of Easter:
Reiteration
Over the course of many conversations, Raymond's account of his dying moved from "a cancer on my lung" to "I'll miss this new baby, who will not remember her daddy," towards "thanks for hanging out with me under the hood of my Chevy."
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| The purpose of reiterative dialogue is not to talk ourselves and others beyond pain and brokenness, but to understand them in a new way. In holy conversation that is convivial and collaborative, the particularity of our oppression stories come to be held in the chalice of a universal story. . . | |
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Those who are oppressed by whatever dominative power need a predictable and consistent audience for telling their stories of oppression over and over again: "Jesus himself came near and went with them." Over time, and with a patient waiting for Grace's in-breaking, narratives of oppression, when shared and shared, often are transposed from darkness to light.
The purpose of reiterative dialogue is not to talk ourselves and others beyond pain and brokenness, but to understand them in a new way. In holy conversation that is convivial and collaborative, the particularity of our oppression stories come to be held in the chalice of a universal story, the sacred story of God's redemptive presence among and as the subjugated One: "Then beginning with Moses and all the prophets, he interpreted to them the things about himself in all the scriptures."
God's Hunger
Raymond and his wife, after awhile, would ask me to stay for supper. When our relation moved to the living room of their little apartment to a small table in their kitchen, the relation changed. I was less the conveyor of help and more the recipient of regard, their finest regard, food infused with their souls. The distinction between server and served evaporated. The finest tablecloth, the linen of mutuality, was spread between us.
The disciples recognized the generous stranger as the embodiment of God when they offered, rather than received, food. Jesus blessed their openhandedness: "When he was at the table with them, he took bread, blessed it, and gave it to them. Then their eyes were opened and they recognized him." Godliness begins with open hands, whatever hand, even God's. God's hunger, and desire to be fed by the hungry, flattens the hierarchy of heaven.
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| Godly hospitality is a moveable feast, moved from the hearth of the server to the hearth of the served. The server is de-centered. The served are centered. The server becomes the awkward and disempowered guest, the one interpreted rather than interpreting. | |
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By visiting Raymond in his home, I came to understand that any manner and all methods of my regard had to be fired in the kiln of his specific situation. After a few of my finest pots of affection cracked in his oven, I learned to see and hear his particular need, and respond effectively.
With hands carrying carefully prepared recipes of compassion, we are apt to trip over the rug of our cultural biases and power advantage, spilling our good will in the laps of those we seek to serve. Godly hospitality is a moveable feast, moved from the hearth of the server to the hearth of the served. The server is de-centered. The served are centered. The server becomes the awkward and disempowered guest, the one interpreted rather than interpreting. In such a position of vulnerability, the server's good will more likely pertains. The server's care is relevant and related.
I'm reminded of an experience in a Rwandan refugee camp. Children were given crayons so that they could draw their experiences of loss, their feelings of trauma. The children ate the crayons. They were hungry and had never seen crayons before. [From The Ministry of Reconciliation: Spirituality and Strategies by Robert J. Schreiter, Orbis Books, 1998.]
Jesus always seemed to host heaven as a guest in the homes and around the table of those in need: "So he went in to stay with them." Sometimes, I think that Jesus having nowhere to lay his head was much more strategic than pathetic
Thank you, Raymond, for shedding light on the appearance story of The Road to Emmaus; light that we may use as we travel similar roads, both as fleeing disciples and accompanying strangers.
The Rev. William Blaine-Wallace is rector of Emmanuel Episcopal Church in Boston, Mass. He may be reached by email at bb-w@emmanuel-boston.org.