But does this meal, the Lord’s Supper, have any real power for us personally? Is this "one of the things we do at church," or is something more happening here? Most of us have not properly valued the Lord’s Supper. As I was growing up, the Supper was "tacked on" at the end of the service, and many people got up and left before it started. In many Baptist churches, a theological statement is being made when we put the Communion table "down there" and the pulpit "up here." Do we have a lower view of Communion?

It should not be that way. We are people of the Book and the Table. Part of the power of the Lord’s Supper is that it is the only ritual we do in church that involves ALL of our senses. When I’m talking here, we’re using only two senses—hearing and seeing. But at the Table, we see the bread and wine. We touch them. We smell them as they come to our mouth. We hear the words of Jesus: "Take and eat." We taste—and savor and remember. All of our senses!

On the road from Jerusalem to Emmaus, two disciples are plodding along. Their senses are dull. They are slump-shouldered as they walk; they’re talking about what has happened these last few days in Jerusalem—the crucifixion of Jesus and his "reported" resurrection, which of course, they don’t believe, since the reporters are women. The word of women in that day was thought unreliable.

As the two men are discussing, a stranger walks up and joins them. We know that this stranger is Jesus, but the two men don’t know that. For some reason, their eyes don’t recognize him. Soon Jesus gets involved in the conversation and asks: "What are you so concerned about? Why do you look so depressed?" Cleopas answers him, "Are you the only person in Jerusalem who doesn’t know what has happened these last few days?"

The amazing thing about this story is relationship. Jesus engages the two disciples in a conversation that results in understanding. What do these last three days mean—Jesus death and resurrection? What is God’s purpose here? The disciples are full of pain and grief, so their vision is clouded. Their senses are dulled. They are unable to see clearly. They needed someone from outside to help.

The stranger talks, and they listen. Relationship is built; trust happens. When they reach the village of Emmaus, they invite the stranger to stay overnight. Jesus reclines as guest at table, and then their roles shift. Jesus the guest becomes Jesus the host. He takes the bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it. In that moment their eyes are opened, and they recognize him. Then Jesus vanishes.

The two disciples are stunned, excited, energized. All theology is reflection on experience; so they think back over their experience, and they realize that something Big was happening to them back on the road as they listened. Now they can’t move fast enough to get back to Jerusalem to tell the others. "He is risen. We knew him in the breaking of the bread."

There are so many possible meanings to the story. It’s all tragedy—until the bread is broken. When bread is broken, Jesus is revealed us. He is present. How is he present? When he vanishes from the Emmaus table, we learn how and where he will be present with US from now on—in the ritual of the Lord’s Supper.

Here, at this table, if our hearts are open, our eyes will see. And we will touch, smell, taste, and hear. We sense Jesus with us. The bread revives our faith. It has a mysterious power. Even at the times when our faith is low, when we are down in the dumps, defeated or angry, we come to this table. We may slump to the table, dragging our shattered dreams and dead hopes. And if our eyes are open, Emmaus happens again.

By coming to the table, we confess that Jesus happens to us again and again. We may not have a personal relationship with him the same way that James and John, Peter, and Mary and the other disciples had. The Emmaus story is telling us that Jesus is now present with us in a different way. He is no longer limited to historical existence. He is present, here and now, in a new way—in a common meal, an Emmaus meal, which has clear signs of being the Lord’s Supper. This meal then becomes elevated—lifted up—to become the principal occasion where the resurrected Jesus comes to us.

This means then that this sanctuary becomes Emmaus House, and we gather here as friends. This table is the place where lost hopes can be revived. Here we come to our senses. Here we are changed. Here we know that in the final analysis, faith is not intellectual understanding. It is not correct information. Not knowledge of the Scriptures. Not anything we earn. Faith is the gift of the Table.

If we’re open, we are changed at the table—again and again. Here Jesus is host. He blesses the bread of peace; he breaks it and gives it. The verbs are not accidental. Likewise, we are blessed and broken and given to the world as Christ’s body, his hands and feet.

But none of this happens unless our taste buds are ready—unless our eyes are open. At this table we reach out our hands with our Emmaus Road questions:

Does God really care for me?

Is there hope beyond evil and death?

Is Jesus with us? Do we sense his presence?

Can we pray—here—"Be known to us in breaking of the bread"?

If we can answer YES to the questions, we know Jesus at this Table, and we find new hope, courage, and energy to continue Jesus’ work in the world.

So may it be. Amen.