When I was a college student, there was a retreat program called “Emmaus” led by Jesuits and student leaders. It took place over the course of a weekend at a beautiful old Victorian house on a lakeside, but the details of the retreat were kept somewhat secret.
As a first year student, I wasn’t going to mass much and was much more interested in other activities on weekends, (which I will also keep confidential, but which I am sure you might be able to imagine). Suffice it to say that many of my professors thought that I was majoring in student activities, rather than in any particular academic discipline that first year.
In my second year, I returned to campus heartbroken after being dumped by my girlfriend at the time. By the end of September, it was clear that I was in “sophomore slump,” and even considering transferring to a different university. Friends of mine who had made the Emmaus retreat convinced me that it would be a good thing for me to experience, especially given my sorry state. While they didn’t share the details of what happened on the weekend, they did share with me the effect that the retreat had on them.
They spoke of the way that the retreat made space for them to connect with themselves in a way deeper than they had ever experienced before. For example, my friends described how they had time to reflect on their beliefs, doubts, values, and their hopes for the future in a way that was new and revealing. They also described they found an authentic community where they could be themselves without fear of judgment or rejection, without posturing or performing. It sounded to me as if they felt simultaneously a sense of liberation from having to conform to others’ expectations and of belonging, which was quite appealing to me, something that I longed for myself. And perhaps most importantly, they described an experience of God that wasn’t abstract or theoretical, but of a tangible God who was manifest in their stories of both heartbreak and high points in their lives, in the Scriptures and in the table fellowship at Eucharist.
I don’t know if it was those effects that they described that grabbed my attention as much as the way they shared them. Instead of excitement, my friends spoke of the retreat with a kind of quiet intensity, their eyes shining with gratitude, as if this weekend had been the best gift that they had ever received. They had a fire burning in their hearts and conveyed this in the way they spoke. They also showed up to meals and events with diverse new friends who clearly had found a connection with one another that was deeper than the typical reasons for affinity- academic majors, athletic teams, favorite styles of music, etc. And I noticed that for them, going to mass on Sundays seemed a whole lot more interesting and meaningful than fulfilling an obligation.
How could I resist? Clearly, whatever I was trying to do to climb out of my pit of teenage heartbreak wasn’t working, and I was curious.
Now, 38 years later, I find myself looking back on that first retreat and seeing how it was a key moment in my life, a decisive turning point that is part of my vocation story. Even as I think of it at this very moment, my heart burns with gratitude for the way that God became manifest to me in the concrete reality of that weekend, like recognizing the Risen Jesus in the breaking of the bread.
I hope that you, too, have had such an experience in your life, where God ceased being an abstract idea, but became incarnate and real, and that the experience is still burning in your heart. And I wonder, if you’ve had such an experience, whether you’ve dared to share it with others?
We know the story of those disciples on the way to Emmaus, and perhaps have heard many interesting interpretations about why they left Jerusalem and headed away from the rest of the disciples, or why they were unable to recognize Jesus on the way. We might wonder about the details of what happened as they walked along, and about what happened when they reached their lodging and invited the Stranger in to take supper with them. There are so many layers to this story and its meaning. But what I want to focus on is what happens to the disciples, and then what happens next..
What could have catalyzed such a dramatic change, and shifted their interior mood from disappointment, depression, and maybe even despair, to joy, excitement, and the courage to return to their community, to their mission? Of course this must have been the Risen Christ. It was the Risen Christ that helped them reinterpret the Scriptures in a new light, and see the promises of the prophets fulfilled. It was the Risen Christ who consoled them in their pain, and helped them realize that isolating and distracting themselves wasn’t the kind of relief that would really soothe and heal their pain. The effect of Christ’s resurrection on them was so palpable as his gladness and gratitude kindled consolation in their hearts as well.
As leaders who are also disciples, how do we share the story of the ways that the Risen Christ has touched our lives? This takes vulnerability, courage, and great skillfulness, doesn’t it? We don’t want to proselytize, but rather, to evangelize by literally sharing the “good news” of the ways our lives have been improved or transformed by our relationship with God. The authenticity of these stories, the stories that burn in our hearts and fill our eyes with tears of gratitude and humility, these are the stories that will bring others to encounter this Jesus who is so precious to us.
How are the effects of the Resurrection evident in our lives? And with whom are we sharing the story?
With you on the road,
