If we find our story in the stories of scripture,
in the stories of Jesus,
in the stories of the first Christians
called people of the way,

and if we hear of the time two disciples of Jesus
on their way to Emmaus
run into perhaps the only person within twenty-five miles
who has not heard about the events of the rabbi’s arrest,
torture, and execution,

and if then this stranger
(who seems familiar but about whom
there is something they cannot seem to touch)
proceeds to break open the scriptures for them
as they walk down the long dirt road, and then,

because they are so taken by this man
and enthralled with his wisdom
and have reached their destination,
they invite him to stay for supper
so they can share him with their friends,

and if during the supper
in the breaking of the bread
they suddenly see,
suddenly recognize
that this man is Jesus risen,

might this not have something to say to us?

Maybe that we should be breaking bread more often together, especially with those whom we do not know?

And if then, in this middle-less moment
of their collective gasp,
before the dropped wooden bowl
even hits the table and then the floor,
he is gone, vanishing in the thin air
that has not been sucked into the lungs of all present,

might this not have something to say to us?

That we are proxies of Christ’s presence.
Maybe that the bread — soon to be called the body of Christ
by all who hunger, the same term that Saul of Tarsus,
soon to be called Paul of Jesus, would use to refer to
the people on the way —

that perhaps this bread Jesus took and identified with
his own body, we are meant to identify with ours as well,
then identify our bodies with our lives
received and blessed,

and then dare embodied living,
dare to be bread,
dare to break and give our lives away to anyone
who is starving to be
seen,
heard,
valued,
or accepted, to anyone
who is hungering for
friendship,
kinship,
or community, to anyone
who is hungering for
what is just,
authentic,
liberating,
or life-giving, to anyone
who is starving
for deep peace,
healing,
or refuge, to anyone
who is hungering for
an end to irreverence,
indifference,
or intolerance, to anyone
who is hungering for
an end to cynicism,
callousness,
or cruelty, to anyone
who is starving for wonder,
hope,
beauty,
or joy, to anyone
who longs to taste
whatever is lovely,
whatever is worthy of praise,
whatever leaves the aftertaste of God.

~Dan

Artwork: The Way to Emmaus and Last Supper by Sadao Watanabe