"Where Hearts and Minds Converge”
The Rev. Elizabeth C. Knowlton
3rd Easter Luke 24:36b-48
April 30, 2006
7:45 & 9:00 a.m. Mikell Chapel
It is easy for me to forget the gift we are given in our liturgical calendar by the season of Easter. As we have all probably reached our yearly quota of marshmallow peeps by now, it is a little harder to recreate the magic of that early Easter morning a few weeks ago.
Yes, to really let loose with a robust Alleluia at this moment might be a tad unseemly. I mean if the Target will now give us all of our decorations at 75% off, can we really be expected to sustain that joyful exuberance? I am curious why somehow I can more easily enter into forty days of penance and discipline than I can exert for fifty days of Easter celebration.
On one level Lent is easier. It is easier to be aware of my shortcomings and the need to straighten my life out. There can almost be something satisfying about naming that and entering into a new phase with the solemnity of Ash Wednesday ringing in my ears. I am indeed “dust and to dust I shall return.” Yep that makes sense. I know logically I will come up against my limits over and over again, and my heart is strangely comforted through my naming of that reality.
But Easter is harder to sustain. I’m not even sure if is my head or heart that get in the way. Either way if they are not in sync, it is difficult to feel any sense of peace. I feel off center, uncomfortable. Buffeted between poles of cynicism or pollyanna-like optimism it is hard to feel rooted and grounded.
Most of us have a natural preference to follow our feelings or use our rational powers to make decisions. Since the Enlightenment period we might culturally tend to give preference to the rational, but the reality is we use both. But I think we look for congruence. We want the head and the heart to converge. And when they do, we have a deeper sense of well-being and hope.
But we are often not given the luxury of that convergence during transitions. We might have to head off into the unknown lacking that perfect sense of peace. We might instead step out in faith to uncharted territory and mystery.
I know I felt this way when I entered seminary. I felt grounded in my call to the priesthood, but completely undone by the unknown. One of the hardest aspects was leaving my home parish. I had loved St. Bede’s. It was a place where I had been rooted and loved for ten years.
As I began my time at St. Bartholomew’s, I was happy. It was a warm and accepting place, and for every rational reason I should have been completely settled from the first day. But it didn’t happen immediately. While my brain was fully engaged with seminary and my new community, there was part of my heart that still missed St. Bede’s.
I was thrown off by the lack of familiarity and being unsure of my place. It took some time to move both my heart and my head there. I remember after my first Easter thinking to myself, “Hmm, I’m really here now.” I still missed St. Bede’s but something had happened that allowed me to feel rooted. My heart had caught up with my head. And now I felt peaceful in a way that had not been possible at the first.
But it is not always our heads that get there first. Sometimes our hearts move first and our minds need time to catch up. For those of us who are more intuitive, we might know something is going to happen before it fully makes rational sense.
And of course sometimes we are funny mixture of both. We vacillate between having our head or heart in the right place and can’t seem to make it work at the same time. That is how I think the disciples must have felt in our passage from Luke today.
I mean on one level it doesn’t make any sense. Why don’t they recognize the risen Christ this time? It’s not the first resurrection appearance, so weren’t they better prepared? In fact they are calmly discussing the fact that Jesus has risen from dead (note the brain appears to be on the right track). But then they practically jump out of their skins when the very thing they’re discussing happens.
Their hearts can’t fully grasp that yes, this has really happened. They are terrified, they’d more easily believe they are seeing a ghost than believe Jesus is really there. So he assures them. Appealing to their logic he shows them the wounds. He invites them to touch him and believe that he really is there in the flesh.
But the disciples are not quite done. They shift to realizing that the risen Christ is among them. But, then they are “in their joy disbelieving.” Their hearts are overflowing, but they are afraid it is too good to be true. Can it really be him? While their hearts deeply want to believe in the resurrection, everything they’ve been taught to date has not prepared them to fully embrace it.
Whether they are terrified or joyful, they simply can’t get their hearts and minds around this Messiah. One that died on the cross and was raised. Not a ghost, but a person that shows its wounding and consumes broiled fish.
But to be fair, how could they have been prepared? Even as Jesus tried to prepared them pre-resurrection, could they really have known? Known at the level where they could be rooted and centered in such a mystery, right from the outset? It would seem impossible.
Frankly I am strangely comforted by their doubts, even post-resurrection. Because when we encounter the depth of the salvation that is given to us through Christ------it should throw us off kilter. Such an extravagant gift flies in the face of every rational explanation.
As our hearts rush forward to embrace it, we out of necessity draw back. Draw back because our hearts feel it might be too good to be true, and our minds warn us that we will only be disappointed. This is not the type of thing that can happen immediately. If we even grasp it in fifty days, we are doing pretty well. More likely it is the whole of our Christian journey.
So as the disciples are roiling about buffeted between heart and head, Jesus is simply present. He doesn’t perform a stunning miracle of healing. Nope, Jesus eats a piece of broiled fish. In that simple act he assures their minds that yes, he is real. Could a ghost eat food? But by his presence he is relating to their hearts.
But even then they are not done. He realizes the future will bring further doubts. So he “opened their minds to understand the scriptures.”
And there is a reason for that. He is continuing to give them time to fully apprehend what has happened. He gives them the time before his ascension to begin to get their hearts and minds in the same place. It is what he promised when he says “Peace be with you.”
Because the peace of God is not merely an absence of war, but rather an overall state of being that allows for conviction in the truth. It is not an assurance of light happy feelings, but a deep peace that sustains us through the hard times.
And we know we and the disciples are going to have hard times. Discipleship requires all the gifts of our intellect and the courage of our hearts. But the peace they are promised in Christ is the hope that allows us to carry out our vocation.
Because the key turn in this passage is the last line. The disciples are no longer students or followers. For the first time Jesus calls them witnesses. To fully go forward and witness to Christ means a willingness to proclaim the mystery of resurrection. The mystery that at times can feel like the deepest longing of our heart, but rather irrational to stake our lives on. Or, the mystery that we say, even when we don’t feel particularly hopeful.
We are reminded that Christ will enter into this journey with us. In a real bodily way he promises to be present to us. We don’t just have to talk about it, we embody it ourselves every time we gather as community. If my heart or head are not in the right place, I can trust that presence on the altar or within each one of you to carry me forward.
Our witnessing is a corporate act that will require the peace of God. The peace that come from hearts and minds converged on the truth of resurrection. The good news is we are called to receive the gift so we can witness, but we are not able to create it ourselves. It is a gift from Christ. As a community we can reflect it back to one another, but we cannot create it. It is the breath of God that infuses us and reconciles us to a mystery our hearts and minds can only begin to grasp.
So, I’m glad we have at least fifty days to think about that. Maybe this year it will be enough to allow our boldness to continue through these great fifty days. Alleluia! Christ is risen!
Comments? Contact Beth Knowlton at: BKnowlton@stphilipscathedral.org