Sermon by Fr James Heard, United Benefice of Holland Park, Sunday 30th April 2017, Easter 3
Sermon by Fr James Heard, United Benefice of Holland Park, Sunday 30th April 2017, Easter 3
The neurologist Oliver Sacks wrote a book in 2010 called,
The Mind's Eye. In it he explores how the plasticity of the human brain
compensates for different types of blindness. He identifies different
kinds of blindness. This can be
· from
birth defect
· accident
· injury
· disease
He gives some fascinating examples. In one of them, a
person can recognise the tiniest letters on an eye doctor’s chart, but couldn't
read words or music, even though she was a famous pianist. Other examples
include those who can't recognize common objects like their own car. Oliver
Sacks himself had an inability to recognize faces.
In our Easter season of stories, we hear about two of
Jesus’ disciples walking despondent on the road to Emmaus. Two disciples who
were suffering from a sort of spiritual of faith blindness. They talked about
Jesus, recalling who he was and what he had done the preceding three years.
They even talked to Jesus, who walked with them for seven miles from
Jerusalem to Emmaus. But they couldn’t recognise him (Luke 24:16, NASB).
The story describes how they reach Emmaus and Jesus looks
as if he’s travelling on beyond the village. The disciples are unwilling to see
this stranger go off into the dangerous night and press him to stay with them.
And then there’s the famous revelation where their eyes were opened and they
see clearly – it’s the subject of a thousand paintings, of sculptures and
stained glass windows and the beautiful depiction of Caravaggio at National
Gallery and in today’s Service Sheet.
We looked at this image during our course last year,
Exploring Faith through the Arts. Caravaggio is famous for his use of
light. His painting is baroque theatre and this new style was considered
shocking at the time.
He shows extremes of light and shadow without much in
between, which heightens the dramatic and emotional effect of his
paintings. Here the evening light is coming in from somewhere high up and
off to the left, highlighting all the lighter colours – the white table cloth,
white and light brown items of clothing, the faces and hands of the
people. There are four figures in the scene – two disciples and Jesus,
plus a servant waiting at the table. Jesus appears to be leaning forward
out of its gloom and into the light, and his face is emphasised.
There is something unusual about Jesus’ appearance. He’s
shown clean shaven, which is highly unusual. And he has a round, soft, almost
girlish face.
Caravaggio attempts to draw us in to this dramatic scene.
It captures the Gestalt “Ah ha!” moment, the shock realisation of who is
present. As the stranger in their midst blesses and breaks the bread, the
moment occurs. The stolid inn-keeper doesn’t get it, but the pilgrims do. The
disciple on the left is moving backwards with his chair, creating a sense that
this front side of the table is being opened, exposing us as viewers to the
person of Jesus. At the same time the disciple on the right is flinging
his arms wide open. The trick of perspective makes it look as though his left
hand is coming straight at us, out of the canvas, as if to pull us in, whilst
his right hand is almost touching Jesus’ shoulder. It’s as though that
disciple on the right is a tangible link between us and Jesus.
The bowl on the edge of the table about to fall off. It’s
a very odd thing to see in a still life painting. But he’s doing it for effect.
Just as the disciples are involuntarily exploding out of the picture towards
us, so we are involuntarily drawn in to prevent a domestic accident.
Caravaggio is determined that we don’t remain spectators, distant in space and
time. He’s going to drag us into the action and make us personally present at
this supper.
At the same moment, Christ raises his hand towards
us. A gesture of blessing over the food, yes; but also a gesture of
invitation and welcome, extended towards us, drawing us forward to sit with him
at table and eat.
One’s reminded of that wonderful George Herbert’s poem,
‘Love,’ in which the person of Love invites the reluctant sinner to join his
banquet:
‘You must sit down, says Love, and
taste my meat: So I did sit and eat.’
Meanwhile, the servant just doesn’t get it. And here
we return to the theme of perception, of having eyes to see and a heart that’s
open. Like many people today, the servant is going about his everyday business,
laying food on the table, but largely unaware and perhaps indifferent to God’s
presence in his midst, witnessing God’s extraordinary generosity, but failing
to recognise it for what it is, even when it’s right in front of them.
The story is a disturbing reminder of how we can be
oblivious to God’s presence even when he's right beside us. I wonder what your,
my, blind spots might be – and whether we dare allow our eyes to begin a new
way of seeing.
One of the things I’ve learnt from my yearly retreat to
St Beuno’s is an important Ignatian spiritual practice. We are encouraged to
spend 45-60 minutes reading such stories and to imaginatively place oneself
within it, asking what God might be saying to us.
So, perhaps its worth reflecting today where you fit into
this picture. Whether you are like these two disciples, needing to
recognise Jesus afresh in the blessing and breaking of bread. Perhaps you
are the unseen viewer whom Jesus himself, is inviting to pull up a chair and
join the company at the open side of the table, to sit and eat at Love’s
banquet. Perhaps you are like the servant, and somehow God has just
escaped you and you’ve never really understood what all the fuss was
about. Jesus’ blessing includes you… you also are invited. Here we see
all the life of the Church, of whatever variety, gathered around our Lord,
being blessed by him, being invited and welcomed to his table.
The invitation is to have eyes to see, the invitation to
have our eyes opened, and our hearts warmed that we may recognise his presence,
and respond with joy. To finish, the poem ‘Love’ by George Herbert.
Love
bade me welcome. Yet my soul drew back
Guilty of dust and sin.
But
quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,
Drew
nearer to me, sweetly questioning,
If I lacked any thing.
A
guest, I answered, worthy to be here:
Love said, You shall be he.
I
the unkind, ungrateful? Ah my dear,
I cannot look on thee.
Love
took my hand, and smiling did reply,
Who made the eyes but I?
Truth
Lord, but I have marred them: let my shame
Go where it doth deserve.
And
know you not, says Love, who bore the blame?
My dear, then I will serve.
You
must sit down, says Love, and taste my meat:
So I did sit and eat.
Reference:
Jonathan
Baker, Canon Missioner, Peterborough Cathedral