|
The year was 1968 and my husband, Lindon, and I had been married for a few short weeks. We were living in a borrowed home on the grounds of my husband’s seminary while he finished his final training. We had a few sticks of furniture, a mattress on the floor, and a tiny Baby Belling (a kind of electric oven the size of a small microwave).
For reasons I cannot now remember, we were asked to host a Belgian monk who had come to speak to the seminarians. He was a humble, holy man and our first guest. Needless to say, we were limited in what we might offer and decided, to offset the spartan circumstances, to provide the top tier of our wedding cake as the accompaniment to a cup of tea. In those days many couples kept this to use at the baptismal celebration for their first child, but that did not seem important to us, and it was the best food item we possessed. We produced the aforesaid cake and a sharp knife.
Neither of us could have anticipated the reaction of our guest. He practically wept for joy when he realized it was our wedding cake, telling us what an honor it was to have shared it with him. Humbled by his response, we discovered ourselves to be in that holy space where there is no more time or place, only love. We were at Emmaus and Jesus sat at our table to bless us.
Of all the many welcome guests we entertained over the fifty-four years of our marriage we never forgot “our monk” nor the glimpse of heaven he brought to our home.
Lord Jesus Christ, who makes all welcome at the table and is known in the breaking of the bread, make our hearts ready to receive you that we may become one with the love that died for us and rose again. Amen.
| 
