The Meeting of Abraham and Melchizedek by Peter Paul Rubens (1626-1630)

One of the most meaningful gestures I have ever witnessed happened on a scenic overlook of the Old City of Jerusalem. Our Israeli tour guide stood in front of our tour group, a loaf of bread in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other, saying these unforgettable words. “I want to welcome you with bread and wine just as Melchizedek welcomed my ancestor Abraham.” She then broke the bread and shared it with all of us. It was a powerful demonstration of gracious spirit rooted in her people’s ancient tradition of hospitality. I could not help but recall the 1993 mini-series adaptation of the life of the biblical Abraham, starring Richard Harris as Abraham and Barbara Hershey as Sarah. In a dream-like scene, the mysterious Melchizedek walks out of the desert and offers gifts of bread and wine to Abraham. This meeting does not go unnoticed by Sarah. She looks deep into Abraham’s beaming face and bubbles out, “You found someone who understands you.” The elation in his tearing eyes say it all, “Yes!”

For us Christians, bread evokes several religious images. From my Sunday School days, I recall the stories of Moses and the strange manna raining down from Heaven. On a much smaller scale, but no less miraculous, the prophet Elijah made certain the widow of Zarephath and her son were well-fed. Jesus, referring to himself as the “Bread of Heaven,” broke bread with five thousand hungry people. He even managed to provide a side-order of fish as a symbol of spiritual fecundity. His followers quickly picked up that the Greek word for fish, ichthus, created a handy acronym for “Jesus Christ Son of God Savior.” In what is truly Jesus’ most memorable teaching on love, he used bread to symbolize the essence of his sacrifice. Though it may be argued that the meaning was later redacted back into the Gospel narrative, it is difficult to ignore the post-resurrection reaction of the two disciples on the road to Emmaus:

“And it came to pass, as he sat at meat with them, he took bread, and blessed it, and brake, and gave to them. And their eyes were opened, and they knew him; and he vanished out of their sight. And they said one to another, Did not our heart burn within us, while he talked with us by the way, and while he opened to us the scriptures?” (Luke 24:30-32 KJV).

Not all Christians agree on the meaning of Gospel narratives surrounding the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus. However, one interpretation of the sacred nature of bread is as an analogy of the church as the body of Christ. The opening line of the sacramental hymn “One Bread, One Body” by Jesuit Father John B. Foley (1978) expresses this idea beautifully:

One bread, one body.
One Lord of all,
one cup of blessing which we bless.
And we, though many,
throughout the earth,
we are one body in this one Lord.

This hope for unity was one of the themes of Vatican II in “The Dogmatic Constitution of the Church,” also known as Lumen Gentium. It is truly a remarkable document that outlines in meticulous detail an ecclesiology that is at once biblical and steeped in Roman Catholic tradition. The statement on the Eucharist is an elegant proclamation of how it is a “concrete” manifestation of the unity of the Church. “Strengthened in Holy Communion by the Body of Christ, they then manifest in a concrete way that unity of the people of God which is suitably signified and wondrously brought about by this most august sacrament.”

Protestant and Catholic clerics may wince at the thought of sharing communion with each other. Each Christian sect has its own ecclesiology that attempts to define its respective tradition as the “true Church” or as the preferred version of the same. In traditions where the sacrament of Holy Communion is the gateway to full membership, guests are frequently reminded that the gate swings outward as well. How, then, is it that our most sacred symbol of unity is also the most visible barrier to our closest neighbors?

It makes me wonder whether the Church needs to be reminded that Jesus chose as his symbol simple bread, something common to people of every rank. The elevation of the host in the Mass is a touching sacred ritual. However, the meaning is magnified when it touches back down to earth as a broken loaf of ground grain, a pinch of salt, and trace water. St. Paul talks about how Jesus condescended to enter the story of humanity. “But made himself of no reputation, and took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men” (Philippians 2:7 KJV).

At the famous Last Supper, Jesus would have used a loaf of pure unleavened bread, matzah, to express his belief in the universality of God’s love for all humanity and his own self-understanding as an ordinary man who was about to be broken. If there was any exclusivity to his offering of self, it was temporal. After his bodily sacrifice was consummated and the tomb he lay in was emptied, the Gospel was proclaimed from Jerusalem to the uttermost parts of the Earth. Somehow along the way, the message turned in on itself and cut itself off the ancient roots from which it had sprung. If there is any hope for the renewal of the universal spirit, I believe it must start with the same attitude Father Abraham had before Melchizedek ever stepped over the dunes to meet him. If we are patient and humble, perhaps we can begin to break bread with each other again.

 

The opinions expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not reflect the view(s) of The United Methodist Church or any other employer or institution.