The table insists. Here lies a subtle yet remarkable slight of hand- the table reminds us that God disappears and points to that which remains. “A god disappears: divinity remains” said Tillich. This is the risk that cannot be removed from faith, for faith is an altogether risky business. The gods disappear- we call these idols. Even God disappears; we call this an idol too. It is the God above God, the God beyond theism or atheism who we seek, there in the divine return, always already returning. We live and pray in faith that we may be rid of God. But what is it that remains?
The remains of the eucharistic moment is the absence of God filled by the presence of strangers- for we all, like Christ on the road to Emmaus are strangers. For the face that shines most brightly with divine luminescence is the face of the one who is most least like you- I was a stranger and you…. the least of these …. me, me, me. For the transformation that takes place in the metaousia at the eucharistic table is the change that takes place in the participant not in that which the participant eats. This transformation, so mystical, so divine, so sacred that it cannot be contained by ‘transcendence’ reappears in immanence, is the turning of the participant away from the table towards the suspended realities of Monday morning. The table insists on participation in a eucharist life of love and grace, not just at the table but away from the table. A eucharistic life of inscribing on the so-called secular and profane the marks of everyday epiphanies. Making razor thin cuts of jubilant divine indiscriminacy across the thin veneer of reality, exposing the depths of the unconditioned that lurks beneath, that “the truth which does not disappoint” which “dwells below the surfaces of the depth(s)” might burst through. At the table God disappears what reappears should be the eucharistic life of bodies broken and cups poured out.