Sunday, April 19, 2026

AEaster3




Velazquez’ “Kitchen Maid With Supper at Emmaus”

https://www.nationalgallery.ie/sites/default/files/2017-04/w1500-Vel%C3%A1zquez-Kitchen-Maid.jpg


Then the two disciples described what had happened along the road and how Jesus was made known to them as he broke the bread. (Luke 24:35)


We were walking along the road talking about everything that had happened in the last few days. We spoke about how Jesus had come to Jerusalem. 


We welcomed him with branches strewn in the road and cloaks spread across the path where he passed. Hosannas were in the air. 


Then he went into the temple and taught. Even as he left for the day he had healed people. His words and his deeds were powerful. Everyone could tell that he was a mighty prophet.


But then our chief priests and the elders themselves handed him over to be sentenced to death, and they crucified him. 


Here we had hoped and had hoped. All our hopes were in him that he would be the one: the savior, the Messiah, the one to redeem Israel. 


All these things had happened just three days before.


But then, we recalled what had happened earlier that day. Some of the women had gone to the tomb in the morning and found an empty tomb, and angels who said that Jesus had risen. and when Peter went to check, he found no one there at all.


It was strange and disturbing to hear these things and we had left town. We were on our way away from all this when a stranger came alongside us and became our companion on the way and we told him what was in our minds and on our hearts.


Somehow, he was someone you could trust. So we told him.


He surprised us, though, by rebuking us, saying we were foolish and had not understood.


We were going the wrong way in what we were thinking and what we were feeling.


We thought it was all over, but he said, this is something that had to happen. 


I wish we had taken notes. He told us from the beginning of the scriptures all that the prophets had to say about the Messiah.


The miles passed more quickly and we found ourselves at the village as evening was drawing in.


We did not want the conversation to end. We wanted to hear more. He seemed to be ready to walk on alone, but we pressed an invitation on him to stay with us. It was after all drawing on to night and it was not a time for travelers to walk alone.


So he came in with us to the Inn and at the table he took the bread, gave thanks, broke it, and gave it to us.  


And that is when we recognized him.


It had only been three days after all since we had last broken bread with him.


And here he was breaking the bread again and sharing it. Alive, as always alive. More than always. He shared the bread with us, and then as our eyes were opened he – disappeared.


On the way as he had told us what was happening, our hearts were warmed. Our minds were opened so that we understood 

that 

what had happened and 

what was happening 

was not the end, 

was not cause for despair, 

but that in it, 

even in the worst of it, 

was hope 

and that now a new hope was beginning: 

for he has risen. 


So we could not help but turn around and run back up the hill to Jerusalem to tell our friends.


***


They were there, they told the story. But did they understand it? Weren’t they headed the wrong way, thinking that all was over, when in fact all was only beginning?


When they are most despondent or at least baffled, the holy one appears…but he is transformed and unfamiliar.  


He meets them where they are. He joins them on their journey. 


They admit to this stranger, this unexpected companion on the way, that they are discouraged and uncertain how to proceed… except, apparently, to head away from the center of action. 


He invites them to reveal their thoughts, wonderings – to tell their own story of what had happened these last days.


He encourages them to share their perceptions, hopes, questions, disappointments. 


They take him for a foreign visitor, and a particularly clueless one, as even those seem to have been aware… but he is not offended.


Jesus never takes his interlocutors for granted. He gives them the dignity of supplying their own answers, as he did when he asked the blind beggar Bartimaeus “what do you want me to do for you?” 


(Of course this enhances the storytelling quality of the narrative, drawing us further in, as the dialogue continues.) 


The other disciple is unnamed - could it be us?


There was a common understanding of Jesus as a prophet. 


Everybody, it seems, knows what to expect and what it meant – except this stranger.


Then: It looks like it’s all over….. but he is risen.


How could this possibly be?


As if they were blind and needed their eyes, and their hearts, to be opened, just as the blind and the lame and the deaf needed healing, beyond the physical, to the spiritual, so these need the ‘opening’ of their minds, the healing of hearts.  


From the beginning until now, he taught them, Christ was coming.


(heightened tension) He explained what the Christ is, on the road, but they wanted to know, who is he? “Where can I find this living water?”


In the great Middle Eastern tradition, they show hospitality … and find themselves entertaining more than an angel, unawares. 


They fully recognized him in the breaking and sharing of the bread, rather than only in the exposition of Scripture. Now he is real. 


This is the one who only three days before had last broken bread with his disciples. Now he is transfigured in the resurrection.


It was in the ‘opening’ to them of the scriptures that they first became inspired, and left behind their ‘folly’ and disconsolate past. 


But: this is their moment of illumination. They recall, only now, after his glory is revealed, all that he had taught them – on the road to Emmaus that day, and on all those roads they had travelled before his death.


He has turned them around –  from despair to hope.


They encountered him on the road; he opened their minds through his teaching. In the action of communion, he opened their hearts. 


In the bread, in the wine,  of Eucharist, when we are in the presence of each other in communion, we may truly perceive his presence, in the Spirit, in our midst.


Open our eyes, that we may see… beyond our own preconceptions and preferences. Perhaps the Christ we need to see comes to us similarly veiled.


Do our eyes need to be opened? Our hearts? Our understanding? Do we need to be healed, as the blind were healed, but in our souls?

 

Who or what has prevented us from recognizing Jesus? Our fear? Anxiety? Preconceptions of the Messiah? Preoccupations?


I wonder: Do we truly know him in the breaking of the bread? In the communion we share? Do we see the stamp of Christ in each other?  


When do we fully see Jesus for who he is? When do we see each other in fullness? And then, as we go out into the world to spread the word and serve the world in its breathless need, do we see its goodness, the love of Christ reflected in his care? 


Lord Jesus, be our companion in the way, kindle our hearts, and awaken hope, that we may know you as you are revealed in Scripture and the breaking of bread. Grant this for the sake of your love. Amen. (from A Collect for the Presence of Christ)

https://www.lectionarypage.net/YearA_RCL/Easter/AEaster3_RCL.html

http://edgeofenclosure.org/easter3a.html



Kitchen Scene with Supper at Emmaus, Rijck, 1605
http://edgeofenclosure.org/emmausrijck.html

 

Velazquez’ “Kitchen Maid With Supper at Emmaus”
https://www.nationalgallery.ie/sites/default/files/2017-04/w1500-Vel%C3%A1zquez-Kitchen-Maid.jpg

Sunday, March 22, 2026

Grief

Grief has lingered with me this week. Not much to do with Lazarus or his sisters or his friend Jesus from the hill country. It began with a musty old cupboard underneath a window. I'd filled it with cardboard cartons shortly after we returned to Tucson from exile in the Pacific Northwest. It contained some easily discarded decades-old retirement planners. It contained a copy of the Leach family coat of arms crusted with mold: a blot indeed on my family's escutcheon.

But it also contained old letters, and old photographs, and old prayerbooks, and old appointment diaries. The letters had all been scanned in by my brother Dave, who has since died. The prayerbooks are obsolete (if pretty) and the diaries too.

The photographs included slides from the 1960s taken by my mother and father. Maybe there is a technique to recover them, though they too have probably been scanned. 

What has not been preserved, but has survived the mold, are pictures of my past, from college through about 2002. There for example are pictures of a camping trip on Point Reyes in 1977. And from 2000 a picture of a friend in my parent's driveway, on his motorcycle, there to welcome my return from an earlier, solo, exile to the East Coast. 

What brought grief up for me in these artifacts, and these pictures, is remembering what I had lost, or never gained, in those years; and those things now slipping away. Friends die, move away, fade. Even die of neglect. 

Relationships shift. New ones are painfully bought. Old ones are even more painfully lost. 

So as I go back through the ages, seeking what can be saved, and what must be forgotten, old griefs are awakened, connected to new joys or sorrows. Practically speaking, knowing that my brothers' stewardship was more careful than my own, I can refer family members to the essential items in new electronic form. 

But what lingers are the memories awoken. 

Jesus had no such problem, apparently, with memories awaking. "Lazarus, come out!" he said and he did. Martha and Mary had each chastised him earlier with the worthy words, "if you had been here he would not have died". Not a claim many of us could make, though many have tried. "If I had only'" met by "there was nothing we could do". In all that, "thanks for the memories" seems pretty vague.

Were Martha and Mary ever annoyed with their friend? I think so. But then his grief was genuine. Became genuine. "Where have you laid him?" and "Jesus wept."

The evangelist John can be so abstract it can seem painful, even cruel. "I am glad for your sake that I was not there" is not going to fool anybody. 

Yes, you are the son of God. Are you also a friend? Yes. The 'son of Man', better, 'the human one', is a friend and not a stranger. When it comes down to it, he is real. Jesus is real. God is not an abstraction. A difficulty. A philosophical proposition. 

The compassion of the Lord is personal, real, and immediate. Lazarus does not go down to the grave unmourned. He does not rise unaided. And when he dies again, not to be resuscitated from a corpse, he or his sisters, God will be with them too.

In the name of God, merciful, compassionate, and wise. 

"Jesus wept." 


Lazarus rises from death to inevitably face death again. But in this life he is now a sign, anticipating the resurrection I shall know and can know now. -Suzanne Guthrie


In the first eleven verses of the eleventh chapter of the gospel of John, the focus seems to be on Jesus’ delay in responding to the news of his friend’s illness. He seems very cool: hearing this news he stays put another two days.


What kind of friend does that? You or I might, for a start. For practical reasons. Transportation, lack of information, other commitments. But Jesus has a practical reason he does not mention. He has just come from Judah where it has become too hot to hold him. The occupiers are on his trail, and the collaborators are not far behind. The Romans, the Herods. So he has just arrived in Galilee but then turned around and journeyed back through the hill country of Samaria to Judah again. At the risk of his life. But his friend is ill. And so he shows some compassion and bravery in the midst of apparent passive indifference. It’s a risk. But he goes. 


Show me where they have laid him. That is what sets him off. Up till now the fancy talk of showing the power of God. Now he has too – if it is there, if it is real. He weeps at the tomb of his friend. Then he calls, “Lazarus, come out!”


The unbinding of Lazarus prompts us to ask, how are we bound? What holds us back from the fullness of life, resurrection life? 


Lazarus. The resuscitation of a corpse. Not yet the fullness of resurrection. He will die again, and his sisters will mourn him. Or predecease him. 


What does it show us? The power and compassion of God are intermingled. He is not remote. He is on his own time table, for reasons we do not know. 


When he comes. In a sense he is already there. In the compassion and the grief. But it is the presence of a friend, a personal touch, and his voice, that brings us to the miracle. The miracle: God’s showing, through extraordinary events, that he is real. That love is stronger than death. That hope, not fear, is at the end.


“I am the resurrection and the life. Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die. Do you believe this?”


Lord, you consoled Martha and Mary in their distress; draw near to those who mourn, and dry the tears of those who weep. You wept at the grave of Lazarus, your friend; comfort all who sorrow. You raised the dead to life; give to all eternal life.


Grant, O Lord, to all the spirit of faith and courage, that we may have strength to meet the days to come with steadfastness and patience; not sorrowing as those without hope, but in thankful remembrance of your great goodness, and in the joyful expectation of eternal life with those we love. And this we ask in the Name of Jesus Christ our Savior. Amen.


Postcommunion prayer:

Almighty God, we thank you that in your great love you have fed us with the spiritual food and drink of the Body and Blood of your Son Jesus Christ, and have given us a foretaste of your heavenly banquet. Grant that this Sacrament may be to us a comfort in affliction, and a pledge of our inheritance in that kingdom where there is no death, neither sorrow nor crying, but the fullness of joy with all your saints; through Jesus Christ our Savior. Amen.









Troparion (Tone 1)
By raising Lazarus from the dead
before Your passion,
You did confirm the universal Resurrection,
O Christ God!
Like the children with the palms of victory,
We cry out to You, O Vanquisher of death;
Hosanna in the Highest!
Blessed is He that comes in the Name of the Lord!

Kontakion (Tone 2)
Christ the Joy, the Truth and the Light of all,
The Life of the World and the Resurrection
Has appeared in His goodness to those on earth.
He has become the Image of our Resurrection,
Granting divine forgiveness to all!

Orthodox, Saturday of Lazarus

http://edgeofenclosure.org/lent5a.html



https://www.vangoghmuseum.nl/en/collection/s0169V1962

The Raising of Lazarus (after Rembrandt)

Vincent van Gogh (1853 - 1890), Saint-Rémy-de-Provence, May 1890

Van Gogh Museum, Amsterdam (Vincent van Gogh Foundation)

 


Tuesday, March 17, 2026

Penny Rounding




Regarding “Penny rounding now legal in Arizona”, Arizona Daily Star, Monday, March 16, 2026, Page B1: 


A quarter isn’t worth a nickel these days — so it’s no surprise that a penny costs more to make than its face value — but you know that a penny here, a penny there, sooner or later amounts to real money.


That’s why I suggest that Arizona make its own Penny.


The euro one cent coin by the way is copper covered steel. (I remember an impromptu Irish wishing well at St Enda’s Chapel in the Aran Islands. An old stone with a hollow was filled with .01 euro coins. Unfortunately the color bled and tainted the water in the basin. I poured them out.)


But the Arizona penny should be made of 100% Arizona copper …maybe instead of a penny it should be worth what it’s made of… maybe it should be a $.15 piece.



https://www.visitgalway.ie/explore/religious-and-spiritual/religious-ruins/church-of-st-enda/


As submitted as a Letter to the Editor of the Arizona Daily Star on Tuesday 17 March 2026.




Sunday, March 8, 2026

well and spring

 

First, a couple of pleasant stories about wells and women, from Genesis.


In the 24th chapter of Genesis, Abraham, having grown old at last, sees it is time his son Isaac was married, and sends a servant back home to the old country to find him a bride from among ‘our own people’. He stops by a well where the women of the town come to get water for the camels. He prays that the one among them whom he asks for water will be the one to be the bride. And so it turns out. Rebecca gives him a drink and also offers to water the camels. She’s the one.


Five chapters and a generation later, Rebecca and Isaac send their son Jacob back to the old country to find a bride – from among ‘our own people’. By a well he sees men watering their sheep. And then a young woman arrives. Rachel. He rolls the stone away from the mouth of the well and waters her sheep. He’s the one.


Two - shall we try for a third? The third evokes the pattern, and breaks it. Jesus may be thirsty, be resting by a well after a long journey, and asking for a drink from a woman he has not seen before. She knows him for a stranger. To her he is not ‘our own people’ - and likewise for him. This is not ‘in the family’ - except that the family expands, to become the kingdom of God.


 He has no bucket, nothing to use to draw the water up from the well. He asks her to give him a drink. 


He is a man, and a Jew; she is a woman, and a Samaritan. Jews and Samaritans had nothing to do with each other; literally, they had no time for each other. They did not co-ordinate, co-exist, as a rule. But here they are. 


She is pretty sharp. She asks him some questions. But his answers are not practical, but spiritual. If you knew who was asking, you would ask him for living water. 


Well water is still. Living water is running water. Sweeter, healthier. Endless. Like the Spirit. And it is flowing forth, from Jesus, and then – from her.


Then – ‘go, call your husband’. He sees her. More deeply than anyone else. And, seeing her, he loves her.


The disciples come back from town. They’ve bought food. But Jesus says he has food they don’t know about. To do the work his father has sent him to do. That is sustenance – bread from heaven, bread for the world. And that is what the woman will share. 


During their conversation, Jesus has asked her some piercing questions. Piercing yet loving. When she goes to town it is as if her testimony is this:


“I felt seen.” 


Humility, courage, joy, overcome shame: she went to the very people who may have shunned her (she went to the well in the middle of the day) to testify, even as it included her own sins: “he told me everything I had ever done”.  Spreading the good news, doing that work of the kingdom of God, overwhelmed and overpowered any sense of shame. For she knows, not only that he perceived her, but that, knowing her fully, he loved her completely. That is good news to share. How do we share such good news?


***

If You Want to Be 'Seen,' Try Seeing Others

Froma Harrop on Mar 3, 2026 (Arizona Daily Star)


I recently came across a curious headline: "The Retirement Crisis No One Warns You About: Mattering." Very few people leaving the workplace have prepared for losing a big part of their identity, according to the Wall Street Journal article. They long to "feel seen" in the next chapter of life.


Much has been written about the desire to "be seen" or "feel valued" or "to matter." And not only for retirees….


In a culture that can feel relentlessly impersonal, it's common to feel overlooked. Still, remedies exist. First on the list, if you want to be seen, see others.…


https://www.arcamax.com/politics/fromtheleft/fromaharrop/s-4028220


***


“I felt seen” - Who doesn’t want to feel that, from the people that matter to us, the people that matter to us always and the people that matter to us in that moment? If we are the clerk giving change, eye contact and a thank-you would be welcome (not to be acknowledged by “uh-huh”) just as much as if we are the person receiving it. When I got home from college, at the airport I was met by cheerful parents; at home, the old collie summoned excitement at my arrival. When we tell the doctor our symptoms we want his attention on us not his AI assistant. When we speak to someone of something vitally important (or even trivial, to the uninformed) we want our listener to PAY ATTENTION. Don’t we?


Imagine something much deeper in import and in value: paying attention to our souls. To feel seen deep within - and still loved. “He told me everything I had ever done” – everything! and still he loved me – “could he be Christ?”


That is what is happening, in this strangers’ encounter at the well in the middle of the day. The disciples return from town with food, see what is happening, are surprised, but know better than to interrupt. Because what is really going on is the work for which the Christ was sent. As he puts it, he has “food ye know not of” – that is, to be doing the work of grace is food.


My food is to do the will of him that sent me, and to finish his work.


Which is to convey grace. Grace, forgiveness, wholeness. Healing. Salvation.


The woman leaves her water-jar on the spot and goes into town. She goes to the very people who may have shunned her, who surely knew about her past, some of the ‘everything’ she has done, and it is to them that she says, I felt seen. And loved. 


Notice she does not leave it there, at the well. The good news, the living water, that she now has herself to share, is more life-giving than any well-water that her jug ever could contain. And it flowed out of his soul to hers, and from hers onwards. So it spreads. The people come out of the town. And the Messiah dwells among them. The Word, which from time immemorial and before any time, is the source of life, now is dwelling among people.


And he speaks with them. Drinks from their well. He sees them. And, seeing them, he loves them. 


And we are invited to share that living water, that grace, in the water of baptism, in the food that is Eucharist, and in the food that is doing his will.


May we do so with the good grace that is bestowed upon us to share. Amen.



***

Genesis 24:13-14 (KJV): Behold, I stand here by the well of water; and the daughters of the men of the city come out to draw water: And let it come to pass, that the damsel to whom I shall say, Let down thy pitcher, I pray thee, that I may drink; and she shall say, Drink, and I will give thy camels drink also: let the same be she that thou hast appointed for thy servant Isaac; and thereby shall I know that thou hast shewed kindness unto my master. (Photo of UA undergraduate Dylann Kate Sweeney and friend, during her study abroad in Morocco)

[https://alumni.arizona.edu/arizona-magazine/arizona-magazine/winter-2026]


8 March 2026