There is something about that moment—not every time, but often—when I take the bread and taste it, or pour those few drops of juice into my mouth and with a deep breath I remember. I remember the sacrifice Jesus made for me, and the gift that the sacrament is to me.
The story from Luke’s gospel is from “Easter afternoon;” Cleopas and his friend are walking home to Emmaus when Jesus, whom they cannot recognize, wanders up and walks with them. Arriving at their home, the culture of hospitality demanded that they invite Him to stay and when He did, and they then extended to Him the courtesy of breaking the bread, they recognized this Stranger as the Messiah.
My father never told me the story, but he told it to his own father, who later told it to me. Dad was a POW of the Germans in WWII, and one of his fellow prisoners was a Baptist chaplain. One day the chaplain had taken some of his Red Cross grape jelly, mixed it with water, and offered an impromptu communion service for the prisoners. Dad said that it was one of the most moving experiences of his life, and he held on to that until he was liberated. He knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that even in the midst of tough times, Jesus was with him.
The next time we break bread, may you recognize Jesus as present in your life, bringing hope and help!