The Emmaus Experience

Back in November before this whole pandemic started, I was part of a 2PC worship retreat. One idea that came up in a discussion with Barbara Willock was making greater use of art on the front of the weekly bulletin. I mentioned, as an arbitrary example, a painting that I’ve always loved, Caravaggio’s “Supper at Emmaus,” for the relevant Sunday after Easter. Well, on Sunday Travis preached about the Emmaus story (Luke 24:13-35) and I was too distracted to get organized and we missed that opportunity to do anything with the bulletin.

“The Supper at Emmaus” is a painting that can be found in London’s National Gallery and, growing up on the outskirts of London, I would visit both the gallery and the painting often. In my last year of high school and I did a project on Caravaggio – a mixture of sketches based on his paintings and an analytical paper on his technique – and my high school art teacher, Mrs. Finch, turned me on to the idea that a painting could read closely in the same way as a book.

The simple gimmick here is that Caravaggio chose to show Jesus without a beard, so the viewer has the same double take as those eating with him. Even though they have been with him all evening, it’s only in this exact moment that they realize this is the post-resurrection Christ. Theologically, it’s such a rich story, as demonstrated by Travis’ homily. As the Bible puts it, they talked with him but “they were kept from recognizing him.”

Formally, it’s quite an interesting composition – and here I’m just repeating what my art teacher showed me by making some doodles in my sketchbook. (I’ve tried to replicate her doodles below). First and foremost, it’s a dynamic painting as exemplified by Caravaggio’s typically exaggerated lighting and with the man scooting back from the table in surprise, almost encroaching into the viewer’s space. Even the food on the table has a certain drama – the bowl of fruit is perched precariously on the front edge of the table, and it casts a shadow that looks suspiciously like a fish, a symbol of early Christianity. The man on the right has arms outstretched – a candid expression of surprise? a symbol of blessing? an echo of Jesus on the cross? There are also beautiful little touches that take longer to reveal themselves: the white of the shell brooch worn by the man on the right is visually balanced against the white fabric exposed by the torn elbow of the clothing of the man on the left; and the positioning of these two men’s arms and shoulders work to draw our eyes to the center. There’s all that and more to say about this painting – Caravaggio’s gorgeous rendering of human reactions to a surprising situation – and that’s even without talking about the enigmatic man in the center. (TW)