We had hoped
that he would redeem Israel,
make Israel great again, a power among powers.
We had hoped
that he would cleanse us of sin
without changing us too much–
that he would keep out of politics,
hate all the people we do,
and keep us comfortable in our prejudices.
But instead,
he appears to us as a stranger,
slightly shiny around the edges,
but a stranger
making our hearts burn,
setting us aflame
for the love of the world
including all those we render invisible,
powerless,
voiceless,
and excluded from the table.
In the breaking of the bread,
he is at once revealed and vanishes,
lightning crashes at our feet
and rolls away the stone of our hearts.
He vanishes into those he renders visible
by his companionship and kinship,
and bids us welcome all to the table
where he is at once both host and guest.
This is the eternal life he gives:
to be his hands
pierced yet restored
that break bread
and hearts
open
tenderly
on the way to Emmaus
and beyond.
This was first published at Episcopal Journal and Cafe's Speaking to the Soul on April 20, 2023.
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