Greetings again for Eastertide. I’m using the email to advertise two forthcoming events: the Ecumenical Bible Week and the Scripture Summer School.
The Ecumenical Bible Week (www.bibleweek.ie)
This takes place as usual from Pentecost to Trinity Sunday. There’s a wide variety in the programme this year, including a symposium on the Reformation (www.bibleweek.ie/symposium-2017/) and the usual Thinking Allowed (www.bibleweek.ie/thinking-allowed-2017/). It would be good to book for the symposium.
Scripture Summer School (http://www.tarsus.ie/page-15/)
This year the focus will on the Eucharist in Biblical Perspective. Booking is really important and you can find all the details on the web page above.
Luke 24:13-35 is a profound passage in Luke’s Gospel. The centre of the story is “slowness of hearts”, i.e. hesitation or delay when it comes to full Easter faith — not unknown in our day! However, it may well be that the key moments in “how” of Easter faith lie elsewhere. I’m thinking of the moment when Jesus stops the disciples (“they stood still, looking sad”) and the later moment when the disciples stop Jesus (“Stay with us, Lord”). The desire, the choice, to have this Jesus in your life is the irreplaceable personal moment which opens us up to full Resurrection faith.
The audio of the Gospel notes
Click here: https://soundcloud.com/user-679942596/a17easter3.
A poem by Archbishop Rowan Williams
First the sun, then the shadow,
so that I screw my eyes to see
my friend’s face, and its lines seem
different, and the voice shakes in the hot air.
Out of the rising white dust, feet
tread a shape, and, out of step,
another flat sound, stamped between voice
and ears, dancing in the gaps, and dodging
where words and feet do not fall.
When our eyes meet, I see bewilderment
(like mine); we cannot learn
this rhythm we are asked to walk,
and what we hear is not each other.
Between us is filled up, the silence
is filled up, lines of our hands
and faces pushed into shape
by the solid stranger, and the static
breaks up our waves like dropped stones.
So it is necessary to carry him with us,
cupped between hands and profiles,
so that the table is filled up, and as
the food is set and the first wine splashes,
a solid thumb and finger tear the thunderous
grey bread. Now it is cold, even indoors;
and the light falls sharply on our bones;
the rain breathes out hard, dust blackens,
and our released voices shine with water.
Kieran O’Mahony, OSA