Walking home, its been a long week. You talk about everything that’s happened, its the only thing you can do, how else can you even try to understand it all? Even so, nothing makes sense any more. All the things you’ve believed in, given your time for, fought for, for the last three years. Gone, just like that. Nothing for it now but to go back to life as it was before, try to rebuild the life you had before he came along. Before you heard him speak those words.
Such amazing words, such wonderful things he said. You had to listen, you couldn’t help yourself, he had a way with people. And when he said he was from God, and had come to save his people, you believed him. Why wouldn’t you? The miracles he performed, the conviction with which he spoke in the temple. He had to be something special. Well perhaps you were wrong, along with the rest.
Walking home all these things run through your mind, again, for the hundredth time. And then this stranger appears as if from nowhere, seems to be the only person for miles who doesn’t know about these events. How could you not have heard?
There’s something comforting about his words though. He seems to know what he’s talking about, as he responds to your worries with words from the prophets. You’re still not sure, but something about the way he speaks soothes your mind a little. And when he tries to walk on from your home, you beg him to stay and eat.
You sit down at your table, and this man, this stranger who you barely know, takes up the bread. Ordinarily you’d feel a bit put out, after all, it’s the role of the man of the house, not the invited guest, to give thanks for the food. But before you can think, before you speak, you see the way he holds it, and you begin to see something that wasn’t there before. When he lifts it up and gives thanks to God, you know. He breaks it and gives it to you, and before you can respond, before you can take it, he’s gone.