April 19, 2026

A few weeks ago, when Mtr Bobbi and I were talking about the liturgies of Holy Week, she asked me about the words of invitation. In case you’re wondering, they’re found on pp. 364-5 of the BCP and read: “The gifts of God for the people of God”, then there’s a rubric that says “the celebrant may add”—“Take them in remembrance that Christ died for you, and feed on him in your hearts by faith, with thanksgiving.” I told Bobbi that I always add those words but that she needn’t; I have no idea whether any of you notice this or even care. But there’s a history here having to do with history, and liturgy, and my own journey.

         I was a historian of the Protestant and Catholic Reformations and in my studies I read a great deal about the Eucharistic controversies of the early years of the reformation, debates about the real presence of Christ in the sacrament. The conflicts were heated and not particularly edifying. On one side was Martin Luther who wrote a treatise entitled “That these words ‘This is my body’ still stand against the fanatics.” On the other was Huldreych Zwingli who argued, among other things, that when Jesus said “This is my body” he was pointing not at the bread but at his own body.

         This debate came to a head at the Marburg Colloquy in 1529 which attempted to find common ground among the Protestants so that they could present a united front against the Roman Catholics. The story goes that at one point, Luther lifted the tablecloth where he had written in chalk “Das ist mein Leib” “This is my body” and stomped out of the room, cementing divisions that have lasted down to the present day.

         Twenty years later, when Cranmer was creating the Book of Common Prayer, those differences persisted and in two editions of the prayer book, he used both of those sentences, but separately. In the 1559 BCP, which was an attempt to moderate between the more reformed and more catholic interpretations; both sentences were used in the words of invitation. Why does this matter, and why does it matter to me?

         Well, when I came into the Episcopal Church, I knew all of that background, and as I often explained to my students over the years, that formulation offers a full range of possible interpretations of what happens in the Eucharist: memorial: “Take them in remembrance” real presence “feed on him;” “in your hearts” spiritual eating. And for me, coming into the Episcopal Church with all of my knowledge of the history behind it, allowed me to receive faithfully. Over time, 40 years now, almost 20 as a priest, those words matter less to me; and I have found that my experience of Christ’s presence in the eucharist has deepened immensely, but still it’s a fundamental part of my spiritual journey.

         When thinking about what happens in the Eucharist, one of the gospel stories that has had the greatest impact on me is the one we heard today, the encounter of the disciples with the Risen Christ on the road to Emmaus. 

         It’s a lovely story, and unlike the other stories about the appearances of the Risen Christ, there’s no sense of urgency or excitement in it until the very end. Luke takes his time telling it; it’s almost is if we are walking with him on the road to Emmaus and he is drawing out the story telling it in such a way to keep our attention or perhaps distract us.

         We can sense the emotions of the two disciples as they walk; their disappointment “We thought he was the one who would redeem Israel”—their incredulity: “What are you the only stranger in Jerusalem who didn’t hear about what was happening?” their confusion or disbelief as they retold what happened to the women at the empty tomb. 

Two disciples, one named Cleopas, the other unnamed, but many contemporary scholars suggest that the second disciple might be a woman, perhaps even the wife of the other disciple. We can imagine them on their walk, reflecting on all that had happened, perhaps making plans for the future or at least asking each other what they should do now, when a stranger overtakes them and engages them in conversation.

         As the journey and conversation continue, the disciples are nearing their destination and evening begins to fall. The stranger seems to want to continue his journey but they prevail upon him to stay with them; offering hospitality to the stranger, a meal and perhaps bed. 

         The scene shifts to the table and the roles shift as well; the guest becomes host, he takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to the disciples. As the bread is broken, the disciples recognize the risen Christ. 

         There’s no mention that the disciples consume the bread, there’s no mention of wine, but clearly this is an allusion to the Eucharist. It’s also an allusion to an early miracle of Jesus recorded in all four gospels—the feeding of the five thousand. Because there too, Luke uses the exact same language, in the exact same sequence: He took bread, blessed and broke it, and gave it. It’s also the same language, the same sequence used by Luke to describe Jesus’ actions at the Last Supper.

         The resurrection of Christ may seem like a remote event. His appearance to his disciples might seem to us like a one-off, an event that we can’t experience; that we can only read about. But I think this story brings it home to us and makes it accessible to us. For those two disciples who encountered Jesus on the road to Emmaus, invited him into their home and offered him a meal, encountered him in the breaking of the bread. Gathered around that table, after a long conversation together, they saw the Risen Christ.

         That same experience opens itself to us when we share in Christ’s body and blood at the Eucharistic feast. Gathered around the table, in the breaking of the bread, the risen Christ comes to us, in bread and wine, and in the body gathered. For in a real sense, we the people of God, gathered together in worship and fellowship are the body of Christ, just as the bread and wine are his body and blood.

         But that experience isn’t the end of things. Just as the disciples who walked with Jesus on the road to Emmaus engaged in conversation on scripture with Jesus before sharing with him at the table, so to are we all nourished by word as well as by sacrament; we are challenged to grow more deeply in study and scripture, learning from the one who walks beside us. Only then can we say, “Were not our hearts burning within us, while he was talking with us?”

         But even that is not the end of the story, for like all the disciples who encountered the risen Christ, we too must share the good news with others, let them know how he is made known to us in the breaking of the bread.