i. we tend to forget him. the woodworker from Nazareth, who fashioned chairs and tables with his hands. he carried planks of wood and nailed them together. with a gentle touch, Jesus made tables. ii. Jesus’ exhale: the same breath that gave trees their life, that gathered rainfall into oceans and rivers, that filled our lungs to awaken us— it was the same breath that dusted the table, that greeted his customers, and laughed with his Mother, while they shared stories around the dinner table.
iii. the table he made, it was handmade. and on its surface lay a garden a garden that grew with food for the hungry, and drink for the thirsty. just as God planted a tree in the middle of Eden, Jesus set the table. Jesus set the table with bread locally baked and wine from the backyard grapevine. its surface was the land and its legs were the seas because the table Jesus made became new creation. iv. still today, Jesus continues to prepare tables. he stretches his arms out as wide as the horizon with breadcrumbs dripping from his fingertips. he beckons for us to come and approach, whispering, breathing, “closer.” v. so, I feed. we are all feeding as the dinner table transfigures into Eden, as our bodies become trees waving in the cool of the day our roots entangling with Christ, our Tree of Life. vi. eating, feeding, thirsting, I am reminded that the world does not revolve around me or my tribe or my culture or my language or my people. these breadcrumbs remind me that Christ is our axis as he weaves our bodies to his own and breaks them for our sake. but it doesn’t end with the breaking because the woodworker from Nazareth picks up the broken pieces and transfigures them. he transfigures them and offers them back to us, saying, “This is my body broken for you. Do this in remembrance of me.”