Arsonist of the heart
is the last line of a poem by theologian-poet John Shea about the road to Emmaus. Shea’s reflection on the liturgical Gospel reading for Wednesday compels more than a cursory read of the too-familiar Gospel passage about Jesus’ disciples who have decided to get out of town: the road to Emmaus. What happened to Jesus, their Rabboni, Messiah, was more devastating than our sanitized twenty-first-century minds can conceive of. And so they do what we all do when things get too awful: we run from Jesus.
The poet Shea compresses whole volumes of theology and a profound understanding of our sick, weak, and faithless human heart:
“On the road that escapes Jerusalem
and winds along the ridge to Emmaus
two disillusioned youths
drag home their crucified dream.
“They had smelled messiah in the air
and rose to the scarred and ancient hope
only to mourn what might have been.
And now a sudden stranger falls upon their loss
with excited words about mustard seeds
and surprises hidden at the heart of death
and that evil must be kissed upon the lips
and that every scream is redeemed for it echoes
in the ear of God and do you not understand
what died upon the cross was fear.
“They protested their right to despair but he said,
‘My Father’s laughter fills the silence of the tomb.’
Because they did not understand, they offered him food.
And in the breaking of the bread
they knew the impostor for who he was –
the arsonist of the heart.”
–The Hour of the Unexpected from Ron Rolheise
At one time or another, we take that road
That road that escapes Jerusalem. The poet’s phrases sear:
carrying our crucified dreams;
we must kiss evil on the lips.
When we need salvation most, we seek escape from him. We surely do not practice John Shea’s declaration, “what died on the cross was fear, “even us believing Christians. And so, our ancient enemy uses the vast array of resources to fuel that fear. Unfortunately, many of us inhale the “terror on all sides” with each breaking news day.
Can we imagine the reaction of the disciples when he appeared three days after they watched that horrifying spectacle of his capture, torture, and crucifixion? Each had professed their undying fidelity to the Lord at the last supper. But once the soldiers came and Jesus commanded them to put their swords away, they watched helplessly.
And ran.
The eleven were hiding, terrified of being discovered by the Jewish authorities, when Jesus appeared through the locked door.
Imagine their shame when seeing this resurrected Jesus?
But their Lord’s first words were of peace: Shalom.
The disciples of Jesus recounted what had taken place along the way,
and how they had come to recognize him in the breaking of bread.
While they were still speaking about this,
he stood in their midst and said to them,
“Peace be with you.”
But they were startled and terrified
and thought that they were seeing a ghost.
Then he said to them, “Why are you troubled?
And why do questions arise in your hearts?
Look at my hands and my feet, that it is I myself.
Touch me and see, because a ghost does not have flesh and bones
as you can see I have.”
And as he said this,
he showed them his hands and his feet.
While they were still incredulous for joy and were amazed,
he asked them, “Have you anything here to eat?”
They gave him a piece of baked fish;
he took it and ate it in front of them.
He said to them,
“These are my words that I spoke to you while I was still with you,
that everything written about me in the law of Moses
and in the prophets and psalms must be fulfilled.”
Then he opened their minds to understand the Scriptures.
And he said to them,
“Thus it is written that the Christ would suffer
and rise from the dead on the third day
and that repentance, for the forgiveness of sins,
would be preached in his name
to all the nations, beginning from Jerusalem.
You are witnesses of these things.”
Witnesses of these things
Pope Francis’ death has galvanized hundreds, maybe thousands, of articles, interviews, podcasts, and videos. National Catholic Register was one of the few I read in its entirety. Monsignor Roger Landry’s allusion to El Jesuita‘s quote from Pope Francis leaped off the page, “For me,” he said, “feeling oneself a sinner is one of the most beautiful things that can happen, if it leads to its ultimate consequences. … When a person becomes conscious that he is a sinner and is saved by Jesus … he discovers the greatest thing in life, that there is someone who loves him profoundly, who gave his life for him.”
He lamented that many Catholics have sadly not had this fundamental Christian experience: “There are people who believe the right things, who have received catechesis and accepted the Christian faith in some way, but who do not have the experience of having been saved … and who therefore lack the experience of who they are. I believe that only we great sinners have this grace.”
The book is not easy to find. Only after a lengthy online search did I locate it because of the title change. This is an eminently readable and surprisingly practical “conversation” between Rabbi Sergio Rubin and the Argentinian Cardinal Jorge Bergoglio.
When asked about the Catholic obsession with bloody death, the soon-to-be Pope Francis remarked on the modern narrow use of the word, martyr.
We should clarify something: to speak of martyrs means speaking of people who bore witness until the end, until their death. To say that “my life is a martyrdom” should mean “my life is testimony.” But nowadays, the idea has become associated with the gruesome. Nevertheless, for some witnesses, the word becomes synonymous during their final stretch of life with giving one’s life to faith. The term, if you’ll forgive me the expression, has been belittled. Christian life is bearing witness with cheerfulness, as Jesus did. Saint Thérèse of Lisieux said that a sad saint is a holy sadness.
Pope Francis: Conversations with Jorge Bergoglio: His Life in His Own Words .
It’s a lengthy interview replete with pithy maxims the Holy Father has learned over the years, like “travel with patience.” By reaching the limit,” he adds, “by confronting the limit, patience is forged. Sometimes life forces us not to ‘make,’ but to ‘suffer,’ enduring—from the Greek ypomeno—our own limitations as well as the limitations of others. Traveling with patience,” he explains, “is knowing that what matures is time. Traveling with patience is allowing time to rule and shape our lives…To travel in patience means accepting that life is a continuous learning experience.”
They knew the imposter
for who he was: the arsonist of the heart.
And this “everything” that is the risen Christ opens our life to hope. He is alive, he still wants to renew our life today. To him, conqueror of sin and death, we want to say:
Pope Francis Easter Message 2025
“Lord, on this feast day we ask you for this gift: that we too may be made new, so as to experience this eternal newness. Cleanse us, O God, from the sad dust of habit, tiredness and indifference; give us the joy of waking every morning with wonder, with eyes ready to see the new colours of this morning, unique and unlike any other. […] Everything is new, Lord, and nothing is the same, nothing is old” (A. Zarri, Quasi una preghiera).
Sisters, brothers, in the wonder of the Easter faith, carrying in our hearts every expectation of peace and liberation, we can say: with You, O Lord, everything is new. With you, everything begins again.
