Every time we break bread together in the homes of other believers, I remember the time I broke bread with Jesus on the evening of his resurrection. Cleopas and I were headed to Emmaus. Truth be told, we were really headed anywhere but Jerusalem.
We had watched his crucifixion from a distance, convinced the heavens would open up and a legion of angels would rescue Jesus. Perhaps at that point, the Messiah would take his rightful place as the King of Israel. We could join forces and overthrow the Roman government once and for all. Thy Kingdom come, as he had taught us to pray.
Things didn’t go that way-not at all. Seeing our Lord dead on that cross, watching Joseph of Arimathea carry his body off to a tomb, hearing about the women who brought spices to anoint his dead body-only to find the body had gone missing-it was all too much. We took off for Emmaus, seeking some distance from the holy city and, if at all possible, a sense of clarity about what we were supposed to do next.
When the man approached us, we weren’t really in the mood for a conversation with a stranger. How could he not know what had happened? How could we put words to all that had taken place? We gave him a brief summary of what we had seen.
His response took us by surprise, touching our hearts. This man knew Scripture intimately. He talked to us of Moses and the Prophets. It was as if he knew them personally. How could that be?
As we approached the village, we extended an invitation for him to join us. This didn’t make much sense, even to us, but we were drawn to this man. Not just his words, but his presence.
At the evening meal, the stranger picked up a loaf of bread from the table... to continue reading, click here to read my piece at unveiledandrevealed.com.