'And it came to pass, as He sat at meat with them, He
took bread, and blessed it, and brake, and gave to
them. 31. And their eyes were opened, and they knew Him;
and He vanished out of their sight.'--LUKE xxiv. 30, 31.
Perhaps the most striking characteristic of the Gospel accounts of
our Lord's intercourse with His disciples, in the interval between
the Resurrection and His Ascension, is the singular union of mystery
and simplicity which they present. There is a certain air of
remoteness and depth over all the intercourse, as if it meant more,
and was intended to teach more, than appears on the surface, as I
believe it was intended. And yet, at the same time, there is, along
with that, in most singular combination, the very utmost simplicity,
amounting almost sometimes to baseness and rudeness, as for
instance, here. Some poor house of entertainment, possibly, at any
rate, some poor man's house, in a little country village; the
company these two talkative, and yet despondent disciples; the fare
and the means of manifestation a bit of barley-bread; and out of
these materials are woven lessons that will live in the Church in
all ages. 'He took bread and blessed it, and brake.' These are the
words, almost verbatim, of the institution of the Lord's Supper.
They are the words, almost verbatim, with which more than one of the
Evangelists describes the miraculous feeding of the four and the
five thousand; and it was the old familiar act, expressed by the
Evangelist by the old familiar words, that opened the disciples'
eyes, and they knew Him. How simply the process of discovery is
told! It was quite natural that a casual stranger upon the road
should not say who He was; it was quite as natural that when He
entered into the closer relationship of sitting with the disciples
at the table, and sharing their hospitality, they should expect, as
indeed they did expect, that as they had been frank with Him, He
would be frank with them, and they would find out now who this
unknown teacher and apparent Rabbi was. And so, as it would seem, in
silence, or at least with nothing of any moment, the meal went on,
but all at once, at some point in the meal, the guest assumes the
position of the master of the house, takes upon Himself the function
and office of host, interrupts the progress of the meal by the
solemn prayer of blessing; and whilst the singularity of the action
drew their attention, perhaps some little peculiarity in His way of
doing it, or something else, opened the door for a whole stream of
associations and half-dormant remembrances to rush in, and they
remembered what they had heard of the last supper,--for these two
were not at it,--and they remembered what they had seen,--miraculous
feedings; and they remembered no doubt how He had always done with
them in the happy old days when He communed with them. At all
events, by the natural action of breaking the bread and sharing
it amongst them, the subjective hindrances which had stood in the
way of their recognising Him dropped away like scales from their
eyes, and they beheld Him, and then, without a word, He vanished out
of their sight, and the wearied, hungry men girded up their loins
and rushed back to Jerusalem to tell the brethren the story.
Now, I think that, taking the event as it stands before us, and
especially marking the obviously intended parallelism in expression,
and I hare no doubt in action, between former miracles, the
institution of the Lord's Supper, and this neither sacramental nor
religious meal in the little village--I think we may get some
lessons worth pondering.