“He was made known to them
in the breaking of bread.”
Not when he appeared beside them,
walking along the road;
not when he interpreted to them
what referred to him
in all the Scriptures;
not when he accepted
their invitation to stay with them,
since it was nearly evening
and the day was almost over;
not even when he sat down
with them at table.
But only when he took bread
and blessed
and broke
and gave.
in the breaking of bread.”
Not when he appeared beside them,
walking along the road;
not when he interpreted to them
what referred to him
in all the Scriptures;
not when he accepted
their invitation to stay with them,
since it was nearly evening
and the day was almost over;
not even when he sat down
with them at table.
But only when he took bread
and blessed
and broke
and gave.
Not just bread,
but broken bread.
Not the artfully shaped loaf
fresh from the oven;
not the neatly sliced Wonder Bread
in its plastic sleeve;
not even the perfect round host,
right-sized for individual consumption;
but bread broken and torn,
passed from human hand to human hand.
Why the breaking of bread?
Why this act to open their eyes
to his risen presence?
Why this act to open our eyes
to his presence among us today?
We know him in the breaking of bread
because to know Jesus Christ
is to know him crucified and risen,
which is to know him as the one
broken by human hands,
the one whom we killed,
“using lawless men to crucify him.”
It is to know him as the one
whom his Father would not
abandon to the nether world
nor let his flesh see corruption.
It is to know him as
the spotless unblemished lamb,
known and loved by his Father
before the foundation of the world
but revealed to us in these last days.
We know him in broken bread
because we know him
as the reconciling sacrifice
that rescues us from futility
and makes our peace with God;
we know him as the one who seeks out
those who would flee his presence;
we know him as the one
who lets his life be broken
so that each of us might have a share in it.
We know him in the breaking of bread
because we cannot know him
in our isolation
but only in our gathering.
Christ cannot be known in my bread,
but only in our bread—
we pray, “give us this day our daily bread”—
and in order to become our bread
Christ must be broken and shared.
As St. Paul writes, “The bread that we break,
is it not a participation in the body of Christ?
Because the loaf of bread is one, we, though many,
are one body, for we all partake of the one loaf”
(1 Corinthians 10:16-17 ).
As St. Thomas Aquinas teaches,
“The unity of the mystical body
is the fruit of the true body received”
As St. Thomas Aquinas teaches,
“The unity of the mystical body
is the fruit of the true body received”
(Summa theologiae III q. 82 a. 9 ad 2).
Our unity in Christ involves the breaking of his body.
This truth is perhaps obscured by the custom
of using individual host for communion,
but even so, at every Mass,
the priest ritually breaks the bread
as we sing to Christ the Lamb who was slain,
begging him for mercy and for peace.
For it is only by the gift of his mercy and peace
that we are united to Christ the head;
it is only by his mercy and peace
that we who are many can become one body
by sharing in the bread that has been broken.
This truth is perhaps obscured by the custom
of using individual host for communion,
but even so, at every Mass,
the priest ritually breaks the bread
as we sing to Christ the Lamb who was slain,
begging him for mercy and for peace.
For it is only by the gift of his mercy and peace
that we are united to Christ the head;
it is only by his mercy and peace
that we who are many can become one body
by sharing in the bread that has been broken.
He is made known to us in the breaking of bread
because our unity in Christ is a costly unity,
a unity of sacrifice and sharing.
It is costly because it is our unity
within the body of the one who,
though risen,
still bears the marks of his breaking,
the one who makes his flesh the bread of heaven
by consecrating it on the cross to God.
It is costly because if I am to eat
the bread of heaven,
I must give up my bread for our bread,
and in so doing I may find myself
in communion with those
whom I don’t very much like,
but whom I am called to love
as Christ himself.
because our unity in Christ is a costly unity,
a unity of sacrifice and sharing.
It is costly because it is our unity
within the body of the one who,
though risen,
still bears the marks of his breaking,
the one who makes his flesh the bread of heaven
by consecrating it on the cross to God.
It is costly because if I am to eat
the bread of heaven,
I must give up my bread for our bread,
and in so doing I may find myself
in communion with those
whom I don’t very much like,
but whom I am called to love
as Christ himself.
Sacrifice and sharing,
consecration and communion:
these pretty much sum up what happens
each time we break bread,
each time we celebrate the Eucharist.
And they pretty much sum up the Christian life.
The broken bread Christ gives to us
draws us into his sacrificial love
by drawing us into the life of his body.
In every Eucharist we celebrate
we can see this happen,
for in the breaking of bread
the veil is pierced
between this world and God’s eternity,
and our eyes are opened.
And like those disciples at Emmaus
we return to the road,
carrying with us the news of resurrection,
fragments of the bread of heaven
scattered in the world
in the time of our sojourning,
but yet united to him and each other
in faith, hope, and love.
Lamb of God,
whose breaking makes us whole,
grant us mercy,
grant us peace.
for in the breaking of bread
the veil is pierced
between this world and God’s eternity,
and our eyes are opened.
And like those disciples at Emmaus
we return to the road,
carrying with us the news of resurrection,
fragments of the bread of heaven
scattered in the world
in the time of our sojourning,
but yet united to him and each other
in faith, hope, and love.
Lamb of God,
whose breaking makes us whole,
grant us mercy,
grant us peace.
