Breaking Bread

And the Word became flesh and moved into the neighbourhood. And the Word brought bread (borrowed from another!) - five loaves, seven loaves, distributed to thousands, never running out. And the Word brought bread, himself the bread, promising that hunger would be no more and that however much bread you ate you wouldn't need to worry about being thirsty from the clartyness of the bread (or something like that) because the bread the Word is, it's the bread of life. 

And the Word sat at a table surrounded by his friends and followers, and he took the bread that sat in front of him, and he broke it, saying 'this is my body broken for you', and after supper he took the cup - the wine in the cup symbolising the blood that would be shed as the bread of life was broken, not broken to be scattered and signify an ending, but broken, to bring healing and restore all that was broken before. 

When the Word became flesh and moved into the neighbourhood, he dwelled amongst people who were struggling to find light. He dwelled in the places where hunger was evident and needs were unmet. He dwelled in a world that needed far more than it received, and in his dwelling, he was able to show and bring life. 

As we're called to gather at the table to share a meal, as we break bread and wine as part of that meal, we find the presence of the Word amongst us. We find in the stories that we tell and the life that we share, that the bread of life is amongst us - he dwells, he feeds, he satisfies, he brings life. 

On Maundy Thursday this story becomes so poignantly our story as we gather in community and share food. Every time we gather as equals, not just on this day, but as companions around the table, this story, we hold onto as ours. The story of Maundy Thursday calls us to a community where brokenness is evident but the smell and sounds of restoration are in the air. Each person at the table brings their own story - from the one who is doubting, to the one who is lost, to the one who is ready to sell everything for the shine of silver coins, to the one who will deny any of it ever happened, to the one who kneels on the floor and washes the feet. 

This Maundy Thursday story belongs to all those who rarely find a place at the table (and those who are often there too), for the table where the Bread of Life dwells has room for all who choose to make the story their own. It is a place where the homeless find a home, where the hungry are satisfied, where the unloved find abundant love, where the lonely are welcomed into community and where the broken scattered pieces of the shattered parts of life find a place to be brought together and made more beautiful than they ever have been before. It is a place where the story of how life in all its fulness is made possible is laid down in the symbols of the broken bread and wine and it reminds us that however lonely we feel we have a place to belong. 

In this dwelling at the table, this room in the neighbourhood, where the Bread of Life both presides and kneels before us, we hear a call to bring something of what he brings. In uniting our own stories with this story at the table we hear a call be a community that commits to gathering around a table that offers the welcome that the Maundy Thursday table brings. In our offering we are called to serve; in our blessings we are called to give; in our wholeness we are called to break; in the darkness, we are called to bring light; in our neighbourhood, we are called to dwell.