The stranger breaks bread

After Luke 24:13-35 

He sits with us, to eat;

we recline at table,

the bread and wine

set before us. We talk,

and then we see him,

the stranger, the guest,

perform the duties

of host, taking the bread

and breaking it for us.

The scales fall from

our eyes, and we see.

This was no stranger,

no odd fellow we’d

met on the road and 

invited to eat with us.

This was the one

who broke the bread

for us mere days

before, the one who

died.

 

Photograph by Danny Lines via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Sunday Readings

 

On Paintings by Hunt and Millais: Two Ekphrastic Poems – James Tweedie at Society of Classical Poets. 

 

The Table of the Lord – Nathan Eshelman at Gentle Reformation. 

 

Why So Many Rural Churches? – Charles Cotherman at Plough Quarterly.

 

Three Years Later: What I Miss Most – Tim Challies.

I was on the road

After Luke 24:13-35 

I was on the road,

walking, when they

caught up with me,

walking as well

to Emmaus. They

talked excitedly

among themselves, 

and I asked them

what had been

happening. They

were shocked that

anyone wouldn’t

know, because it 

was the only thing

to talk about in

Jerusalem. The road

was dusty; small 

clouds of dirt

followed our feet

and the feet of others,

as I listened to them

tell me of the life 

and death and life

of the one they

loved, the one who

first loved them.

And I smiled.

 

Photograph by Alberto Barbarisi via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Friday Readings

 

Out of the Ash – poem by William Everson at Kingdom Poets (D.S. Martin).

 

A Last Beatitude – poem by Malcolm Guite.

 

Child’s Laughter – poem by Jane Schulert at Society of Classical Poets.

 

How to Make a Poetry Mandala – Tweetspeak Poetry.

 

The Untold Stories of Gazans – Joseph Braude at The Free Press. 

The stranger on the road

After Luke 24:13-35 

They walked along the road,

talking of all that had passed,

when a stranger came along,

asking them of what they

talked. Amazed that anyone

wouldn’t have heard, they

told him of the arrest, 

the trial, the beatings,

the execution, the burial,

the body’s disappearance,

the report that the executed

man lived. Walking alongside

them, he listened, offering no

comment. He agreed to join

them at table and eat, and as

they sat, he broke bread, not

unlike the last time he’d

broken bread with them,

and suddenly they know. 

Their eyes opened,

and they knew.

 

Photograph by Perry C via Unsplash. Used with permission.

Some Sunday Readings

 

Suffering and Solace: Edgar Allan Poe’s Catholic Imagination – LuElla D’Amico at Church Life Journal.

 

Goodnight Crow – poem by Megan Willome at Everyday Poems.

 

The Definitive Guide to Christian Denominations – Steven Wedgeworth at Logos.

 

The Ten Most Beautiful Symphonies – Stephen Klugewicz at The Imaginative Conservative.

 

I See the Hostages in My Children’s Faces – Nani Beraha at The Free Press.

Do you still not get it?

After Luke 24:13-27

How many times did we

talk about this? How many

times did you read this? How

many times did you see 

the reality of the word

in the healings, the teachings,

the sermons, the examples,

the stories, the confrontations, 

the personal experiences,

including your own?

Remember the prophets and

what they said? Don’t you see

that the death wasn’t an option

but a necessity, a plan? Don’t

you know that death, this death,

defeated death? The angel said it:

He is not here.

People, this goes back to Moses,

to the beginning, to the hovering

over the deep. It’s all there;

it’s always been there.

Photograph by @JusFilm via Unsplash. Used with permission.

It's all the talk

After Luke 24:13-27

On the road, they talk

of what’s happened,

trying to make sense

of the arrest, the trial,

the death, the burial,

the tomb, the stone

rolled away, the angel

who says he’s gone.

They roll these things

back and forth, struck

talkative with amazement,

sharing their perplexity,

trying to grasp,

trying to understand,

the meaning and so

discern the future.

A man draws near,

interested in their words.

Almost happily, they 

repeat their conversation,

still reaching for what

it all means, sounding

new to themselves,

because it is, even

the hundredth repetition.

Photograph by Jon Tyson via Unsplash. Used with permission.

The week after

The week after

begins with absence,

a lightning flash of empty;

intended prayer becomes

fear

wonder

they hear, and they run

to the stone,

broken

gone

The dust of the road

kicked up by the missing

this road to Emmaus

prefigures the road

to Damascus prefigures

the road to Rome

the absence

is transmuted

into presence

into life

into eternity

Painting: Appearance on the Road to Emmaus – oil on canvas by Carolyn Thomas Jones. Private collection, Birmingham, Alabama.