There is a particular kind of exhaustion that no one warns you about. It is not the exhaustion of doing too much. It is the exhaustion of always doing less than you know you are capable of, and knowing, with absolute clarity, exactly why. For fifty years I have been a creator. A visual artist trained in the discipline, formed by it, living inside it even when life tried to arrange itself around everything else. And for most of those fifty years, I have been swimming upstream, against the current of institutional falling inline, priestly duty, community suspicion, administrative necessity, and the quiet, persistent pressure of people who love you but do not quite understand what it is you are trying to do. This is not a complaint. It is a reckoning. The ancient Chinese called it as rowing against the current. If you stop, you do not stay still. You go backward. The artist who tries to create within an institution, within a vocation, within a web of obligations and relationships and...
For Cleopas and his companion Jerusalem had become a city of collapsed hopes. They had laid everything, their understanding of the Messiah, their vision of liberation, their salvation on the life of one man; and now that man was dead. The crucifixion had not merely taken a life; it had taken the world of these apostles. And so they leave to Emmaus. Not in rage, but in the quiet devastation of people who have decided, almost politely, that there is no reason to stay. And yet, and here is the grace, they do not stop talking. This is what saves them, initially. Not faith, not clarity, not courage, but conversation. They are discussing and debating as they walk, and it is this very openness of speech that creates the opening for the stranger to draw near. In Homer's Odyssey , Odysseus survives not because he is the strongest or even the most faithful, but because he is the most curious, he keeps speaking, keeps asking, keeps engaging even when the gods have turned against him. They ...