The Road to Emmaus

It seems to me there is one page of the Gospel for each one of us. Some weep with Mary Magdalene before the empty tomb and suddenly He appears: a man who pronounces their names in a low voice. Others put their fingers in the open wounds with Thomas. For my part, I have walked all my life with the two tired travelers who entered Emmaus in the evening. Christ was dead; they had lost everything. Only now, when the shadows of my life are deepening, do I understand what I wrote twenty years ago on this subject in my Life of Jesus: "Who among us is not familiar with the inn at Emmaus? Who has not walked on this road in the evening when all seemed lost? Christ was dead within us. They had taken Him from us – the world, the philosophers and sages, our passions. There was no Jesus for us on the earth. We followed a road, and Someone walked at our side. We were alone and yet we were not alone. It was evening. Here was an open door, the obscurity of a room where the flame from the fireplace lightened nothing but the trampled earth and made the shadows flicker. O broken bread! O breaking of the bread, consummated in spite of so much misery! 'Stay with us…the day declineth…' The day declineth, life is coming to a close. Childhood seems further away than the beginning of the world; and our lost youth means no more to us than the last sound in the dead trees of an unknown park…"

François Mauriac in The Son of Man

As we celebrate the liturgical seasons of the Church year with its multitudinous solemnities and feasts, I always go back to re-read certain spiritual books with well-marked passages that continue to feed my soul and speak to my inmost being. By now I know many of these passages almost by heart, yet they are remain new to me in their timelessness. One such treasured book is the slim volume by François Mauriac, The Son of Man. It totals only 123 pages yet overflows with riches on every page. Mauriac wrote this book at the age of 73, making him 53 years old when he penned the above poignant passage on the Gospel of Emmaus. He lived another 32 years after that, dying at the age of 85.

Today I pray especially for those who walk the road to Emmaus. O Christ our living bread, "consummated in spite of so much misery," let not such misery embitter us! May it turn us to You, our kind and merciful Jesus. May Your Easter joy fill us with hope. May Your Risen Love transform our hearts, making them confident in You and enlarging them with Your compassion. Yes, the day declines and the shadows lengthen, but You, our Morning Star, shine forever. As we prayed at the beginning of the Easter Vigil on Holy Saturday night, may Your light, rising in glory, dispel the darkness of our hearts and minds forever. Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!!!