They met Jesus after the resurrection.
Apostles, disciples, searchers, family and friends,
men and women who had known him,
close followers or some from a distance.
They had felt let down and disappointed.
They found their hearts were lifted after a short time
and faith came back, was recovered and life
would never be the same again.

He found them on the road, found them in locked up rooms, found them in the garden, at the lakeside,
as always, he found them before they found him.
They saw him just for a while.
They heard him, just for a while.
Always, he vanished from their sight.

And the bread remained.
And the echo of his words.
The bread remains today, food for the journey,
sacrament of salvation,
broken and blessed for the whole world.
Our joy, our call to lift the world to our God.
One by one, two by two, they came back to the only
place he now belonged, the garden tomb.
Or so they thought.
The tomb sealed, the spices gone dry,
the linen cloths in their place.
But they could still smell the perfume
and could see the cloths,
Hour by hour that day they would not find him,
But he would find them.
They were hardly searching for him,
except the women, but he found them.
On the Emmaus road, in a room in a garden,
just in the ordinary. That’s where he belongs.
And we too.