The apostles put on their cloaks and ask:
-Where are we going, Lord?
Their way of speaking now is not as familiar as it was before the Passion. My impression, if this can be said, is that they speak with their souls on bended knee,
is that they speak with a kneeling soul. More than the posture of their body - always slightly bowed in reverence before the Risen One - more than their reserve about touching Him, more than their tremulous joy when He touches, caresses or kisses them, or when He speaks to them in particular, more than all of this, what expresses that it is his spirit - more than his humanity - which cannot be as it was in his relations with the Master and which informs with its new feeling all the acts of the person, what expresses this is his whole aspect, it is a "something" which cannot be described and which, nevertheless, is perfectly manifest.
Before it was "the Master". The Master whom his faith believed to be God, but his senses considered... a man. Now it is "the Lord. He is God. There is no longer any need to make acts of faith to believe Him. The evidence has abolished this necessity. He is God. He is the Lord, to whom the Lord has said: "Sit at my right hand" and has proclaimed it with the word and with the miracle of the Resurrection. God as the Father. And he is the God whom they have abandoned out of fear, after having received so much from him.....
They always look at Him with that gaze of reverential veneration with which a true believer looks at the radiant Host in the monstrance, or at the Body of Christ raised by the priest in the daily Sacrifice. In their gaze, which wants to see the beloved figure, even more beautiful than before, there is also the expression of those who do not dare to see, who do not dare to stop their gaze.... Love urges them to stop at their Beloved. Fear immediately makes them lower their eyelids and their heads, as if an intense brightness had obscured their sight.
Indeed, even if Jesus, the Risen Jesus, is really Him, He is no longer... He is no longer Him. If one observes Him well, He is different. The features of his face, the color of his eyes and hair, his stature, his hands, his feet... are the same, and yet he is different. His voice is the same, and his gestures are the same... but he is different. It is a real body, so much so that it now intercepts the light of the setting sun that enters, with its last ray, into the room through the open window; it casts behind it the shadow of its tall body. And yet, in spite of everything, he is different. It has not become reserved, distant, and yet it is different.
A new, continuous majesty is present where the humble, modest aspect -sometimes so modest that it could seem dejected- of the tireless Master reigned so much. Gone is the emaciation of the last period, erased is that aspect of physical and moral weariness that aged him, lost is that afflicted, pleading look that demanded without speaking: "Why do you reject me? Welcome me...", the Risen Christ seems even taller and stronger, free of all weight, confident, victorious, majestic, divine. Not even when he was powerful in moments of mighty miracles, or majestic in the outstanding moments of his magisterium, was he as he is now, already risen and glorified. He does not emanate light. No. He does not emanate light as in the transfiguration and as in the first apparitions after the Resurrection. And, in any case, it seems luminous. It is truly the Body of God, with the beauty of glorified bodies. And it attracts and intimidates at the same time.
Perhaps it is those wounds, so visible on the hands and feet, that instill this deep respect; I don't know. What I do know is that the apostles manifest themselves in a different way, even though Christ is very sweet with them and tries to create again that atmosphere of other times. So insistent and talkative before, now they speak little. And, if He does not respond, they do not insist. If He smiles at all or at one of them, they change color and do not dare to respond to His smile with a smile. If, as He does now, He reaches out to take His white robe - since He has risen, He always wears a splendorous white robe, brighter than if it were of the whitest white - none of them comes forward, as they did before, vying for the joy and honor of helping Him. It seems as if they were afraid to touch His garments and His Body. And He must say, as He does now:
-Come, John. Help your Master. These wounds are real wounds...: the wounded hands are not as nimble as before....
John obeys and helps Jesus to put on the wide cloak; and he does it with such attentive and concentrated movements that he seems to be dressing a Pontiff, taking care not to touch the Hands on which the stigmata are rubbing. But, in spite of the care he takes, he strikes Jesus' left hand and cries out as if he were the one struck, and fixes his eyes on the back of that Hand, fearing to see blood dripping again. That atrocious wound is so vivid!
Jesus puts his right hand on his head and says:
-You had more courage when you received me separated from the Cross. And then I was still dripping blood; so much that even my hair was dyed red. New dew of the night on the new lover. You picked me up like a cluster torn from the vine.... Why do you weep? I gave you my Martyr's dew. You, on my Head, spread your dew of pity. But then you could cry... Not now. And you, why do you weep, Simon Peter? You have not shaken my Hand. You did not see me dead...
-Oh, my God! That's why I'm crying! For my sin.
-I have forgiven you, Simon of Jonas.
-But I don't forgive myself. No. Nothing will end my weeping. Not even your forgiveness.
-But my glory, yes. -(...)