Like
the two disciples dragging their crucified dream toward Emmaus, many of us carry
our broken dreams into adulthood. The two disciples in today’s Gospel walked with disillusionment and despair
for their dream of a Messiah with political power and might died on the Cross.
Many of us live lives of quiet desperation, frozen by fears, lost in love,
unforgivable, unlovable, rejected, or lonely. We can be betrayed by those we
trust, let go from good jobs, let down from those whom we thought believed in
us, or disheartened by our family, church, society. God does not come through as
we’d liked or lets us or those around us suffer chronic illnesses, crippling
addictions, left to our worse selves. Many of us enter young adulthood with
glorious dreams and great hope. But inevitably, our bubbles burst, reality
bites, loneliness persists, deep childhood fears rise like tsunamis, meaningless
jobs replace imagined careers. Midlife
crisis overshadows us; quarter-life crisis in our mid-twenties and
mid-thirties.
One
of my consistent patterns of crucified dreams lies with my idealism. Naively, I
place too much hope in authoritative figures or structures. When their clay
feet shows, when their darker sides appear, when agreed visions and plans are
betrayed by distrust, fears, or excessive control, my heart breaks. I let
disillusionment, anger, hopelessness take over. My spirit dies, I withdraw from
relationship, I drop commitments. Like the disciples fleeing Jerusalem, I leave
the place where dreams give life and prod through life kidding myself that I am
still alive with love and passion, bent only on survival-mode.
Many
times in my life, good friends have been my lifejackets. They challenge me to
be real – to be open, honest, and vulnerable. They walk with me, support me,
help me to be in touch with my broken dreams and false expectations. They let
me grieve. Somehow I recognize God’s presence in our midst; I discover the
Risen Jesus accompanying us; re-interpreting my suffering story, re-shaping my
dream. Often, just sitting silently before Eucharist time after time re-awakens
something deep within. Just sitting, trying to listen, look, and love as I
struggle to voice and let difficult feelings be. Letting my dear friend in the
Eucharist listen, look, and love me.
There
is a life-force loved into us that no pain, sin, or injustice can kill; a fire
that no crucified dream or hope can extinguish; an undercurrent of joy no
unhappiness or failure can drown. It is not easy to access. Yet, like the
seasons, it springs anew after dead winters of discontent. This resilient life
within resurrects us from our spiritual deaths, from what Ronald Rolheiser
calls “a string of empty tombs.” It is resilient,
persistent, unstoppable.
Easter
Season gives us the opportunity to let this tenacious life resurrect passion,
elicit joy, re-ignite fire within us. We are beckoned by the Risen One, the Arsonist of the Heart, to witness this spirit of life!
“O Risen One, thaw my
heart and its cold, dead chambers with your consoling presence and love.”
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