A picture is worth a thousand words, so they say. This especially is true in the painting “Supper at Emmaus” by Michelangelo Caravaggio (1570-1610), one of the greatest artists of the Italian baroque period.
The painting shows four figures: Jesus and two disciples, all seated at a table having a meal, and the innkeeper or waiter standing nearby.
In St. Luke’s Gospel (24:13-35), two disciples were walking from Jerusalem to Emmaus, a town several miles from the Holy City. Along the way, a stranger joined them. The three discuss recent events, the most important of which was the crucifixion of Jesus. The stranger explained the meaning of the events.
Arriving in Emmaus, they go to an inn for rest and a meal. Nothing is unusual until Jesus takes a piece of bread and breaks it. Suddenly, the disciples realize that the stranger is the Lord. He has risen from the dead! He is celebrating the Eucharist. (The first Christians called the Eucharist the “Breaking of the Bread.”)
Primed by faith to see a miracle
Caravaggio was a genius, possessing an extraordinary talent to show human emotions and reactions on the faces he painted.
In this painting, Jesus is serene and deliberate. He is providing the Eucharist to believers, as the Church still provides it in the Mass.
The disciples are thunderstruck. In the painting, their faces proclaim their faith. They grasp the fact that a miracle, empowered by Almighty God, is occurring before their very eyes. In the bread, they see the body of Jesus, crucified and risen. In the wine, they see the Lord’s precious blood, recently shed for them and for all sinners. Vividly, they see that Christ lives — in the “breaking of the bread” (Lk 24:35)!
Because of their faith, the disciples immediately recognized Jesus. They understood what was happening. The Lord conquered death. He was bringing to them his body and blood, fulfilling his own command, spoken at the Last Supper, to repeat the miracle of that meal, giving his sacred body and blood for the spiritual nourishment of those who believe.
By contrast, the innkeeper’s countenance reveals incomprehension. He sees nothing exceptional because he is without faith. His face shows a vague curiosity about what Jesus is doing, and why it so captivates the other two men.
Caravaggio teaches a lesson. Faith opens eyes. It puts the pieces of a puzzle together. It shines light into the darkness.
God does not force faith on us
Faith in God, and in Christ, is not a hunch, a last resort or a wish, maybe driven by desperation or uncertainty. It produces realization, insight.
It comes to some, such as the disciples in Emmaus, but not to others, like the innkeeper. It is God’s gift, but faith is not given to the lucky and withheld from others according to God’s whim. It is not thrust upon anyone. While divine grace is essential, also critical is a person’s willingness to admit the value of, and to pursue, a meaningful awareness of God.
Humility is required before receiving the gift of faith. And being humble — recognizing limitations, spurning personal preferences, curbing instincts — requires determination.
Faith is not for the unconvinced or the half-hearted. Faith is not grasping at straws or a way “to feel good.”
Luke’s Gospel names one of the two Emmaus disciples: Cleopas (Lk 24:18). John’s Gospel states that “Mary the wife of Clopas” was present when Jesus was crucified (Jn 19:25). Were Mary’s husband and the disciple at Emmaus the same person?
If so, it’s plausible that Cleopas heard from his wife in detail about the Lord’s death — a defeat and an end, in human judgment. Yet, on the road to Emmaus, even before the meal, Cleopas still believed. Somehow, despite the horror of Calvary, he knew that Jesus was the Son of God, the savior of the world.
