We see what we expect to see, April 19, 2026

Let me start with Denise Levertov’s (LEV-er-toff) poem “The Servant-Girl at Emmaus (A Painting by Velázquez)” which Levertov wrote as a reflection of the painting you see here: Kitchen Maid with Supper at Emmaus, or The Mulata by Diego Velàzquez, ca. 1619

She listens, listens, holding

her breath. Surely that voice

is his — the one

who had looked at her, once, across the crowd,

as no one ever had looked?

Had seen her? Had spoken as if to her?

Surely those hands were his,

taking the platter of bread from hers just now?

Hands he'd laid on the dying and made them well?

Surely that face — ?

The man they'd crucified for sedition and blasphemy.

The man whose body disappeared from its tomb.

The man it was rumored now some women had seen this morning, alive?

Those who had brought this stranger home to their table

don't recognize yet with whom they sit.

But she in the kitchen, absently touching

                                        the winejug she's to take in,

a young Black servant intently listening,

swings round and sees

the light around him

and is sure.

And is sure. How could this young, black, servant girl, a mere maid, how could she be sure, sure of her recognition of the Christ, when these two disciples, these intimate followers of Jesus, were not? In Levertov’s imagination, this young black woman has been exposed to and touched by Jesus. And somehow those experiences, those encounters, have given this young maid the expectation that this somehow unbelievable thing could and has happened. 

Because our human truth is: we tend to see what we expect to see. Our preconceived beliefs shape how we see reality. It is one of the reasons why belief is so important, that what we trust in, who we trust in (which is belief expressed) is important. Beliefs form our expectation; expectation forms how we see and process the world around us, the neighbor next to us or the neighbor across the ocean.

Our Gospel story begins on Easter day, and we have these 2 disciples walking away from Jerusalem, walking away from where everything had seemingly fallen apart, trying to make sense of it all. Their expectation of how the Messiah’s story would unfold, their trust in that narrative is so deeply engrained in their hearts and minds, that it kept them from seeing the Christ—even when Love walked up right alongside them. Their preconceived beliefs and expectations made them “slow of heart.”  Such a nice, gentle phrase: “slow of heart.” Who do we know whose expectations have made them “slow of heart” so that seeing the reality of Love, the possibility of Love, has been kept from their eyes?

 Richard Rohr has explained these disciples as seeing with a “first gaze.” “First gaze” is when we see and process the world and its happenings through Dualities: success or failure, hope or despair, life or death.  But, when our hearts are cut open, when our spirits and minds have been pierced by love, then we can see with what Rohr calls “the second gaze.” This is a way of seeing that can hold dualities simultaneously and also see the liminal spaces in between, the gray areas if you will. At the same time, we can hold loss and presence, suffering and transformation, death and life. Being able to see with the second gaze, beyond the duality, re-shapes our expectations and enlarges our capacity for seeing truth and love.

This Gospel story gives us a beautiful snapshot of Jesus’ model of ministry. In their confusion,  in their grief, as these 2 disciples walk and process: the Christ comes near. Walks alongside; this is a model of accompaniment. And not only is Christ present, but Christ listens. Asks questions which helps in gaining clarity and making connections with these two unseeing ones. So that when Jesus begins to share his understanding of things with them, they have the capacity to hear and learn and let go of misunderstandings in order to hold their narrative, their worldview,  in a whole new way. 

And after their understanding had been re-aligned by the Christ,  the thing that finally opened their eyes was Action. They woke up to Jesus’ presence through action—a repeated action they had recently experienced at the Last supper. It was like: ‘Yes! Yes! This is what the Christ does, I recognize this’.  The Christ takes their life and offers it to God for blessing. The Christ breaks their life open so that it can be shared with all. The Christ offers what is nourishing, what feeds us, asks for it to be blessed and shared, so that all at the table and nearby can be fed and strengthened, made whole and well. This is what the Christ does. They recognized the voice of Jesus in the blessing. They recognized the hands of Christ in the nourishment given. 

Here’s another possible layer of why their eyes had been kept from recognizing the Christ. It would seem, at least according to this Lukan story, that death and resurrection has changed Jesus. I guess breaking open hell in order to pull the dead from their graves will do that to a person. Because another human truth is: our suffering, our most trying experiences—even though they are difficult, painful, overwhelming—they also are agents of resurrection, reformation and renewal. They change us. We are transfigured by them. Like Jesus. We come out the other side but no longer everything that we once were. And when Love is laid on those crosses that break us open, we are changed for the Good. For the better. Made more whole. Less unwell. Resurrection, after all, is more than resuscitation. Resurrection is waking up to a new and different life. Like the disciples, and this young maid in the painting, the situations of our life may have stayed the same, but how we see life, what we expect from life, how we hold the realities of life—-forever changed once we experience resurrection. 

It’s one of the reasons I am a Christian. Having a relationship with the Christ opens a portal for me, helps my way of seeing to widen, be more open. Allowing me to cultivate that “2nd gaze” Rohr speaks of. And Beloved, we so need that “2nd gaze,” always but especially right now. The world is full of despair because so many of us live with the expectations of dualities.  Peter speaks of a “corrupt generation.” That Greek word translated as “corrupt” also means “crooked” and is connected to wickedness. The crookedness that is straying from Love’s way and instead walking ego-centric ways that serve only some and not all. This crookedness, this corruption that shows up as casting oneself as the savior to justify war or telling the Pope he should check his theology or demanding that God is only on the side of one nation instead of the truth that God so loves the world. And Beloved, when situations in life cause us to despair, just like it is doing right  now on so many levels to so many of us, well then, that 2nd gaze can give us the capacity to believe, and give us the strength to expect, what Mrs. Who says in the book A Wrinkle in Time: “Nothing is hopeless; we must hope for everything.” Still. Now. Especially now. We must hope for everything.