Risen Christ,
Flame within the journey,
Hidden Guest of every road,
you walk beside us—
unrecognized,
yet nearer than our breath.
In the dust of our days,
in the weight of our sorrow,
in stories half-broken and hope half-buried,
you listen—
as if every word matters,
as if every wound is holy ground.
We are Emmaus people—
carrying fragments:
dreams deferred,
justice delayed,
love crucified by exclusion.
And still—
you draw near.
Soft as twilight,
steady as mercy,
you open the scriptures of our lives—
each line illumined
by your living Word.
And something stirs.
A spark.
A remembering.
A fire catching breath within us.
Stay with us, Risen One,
for evening falls across our world—
where fear dims courage,
where power forgets compassion,
where your Gospel of equality
waits to be embodied again.
Stay with us—
as we gather at open tables,
circles of blessing,
communities of equals—
in living rooms and sanctuaries,
on glowing screens and sacred ground.
Stay with us—
until our hearts burn within us.
In the breaking of the bread,
you are revealed—
not in spectacle,
but in shared presence.
We see you
in the warmth of welcome,
in the grace of inclusion,
in hands extended,
in bread passed,
in love made visible.
Your smile—
a quiet resurrection.
Your voice—
a call to rise.
Your touch—
the healing of the world.
And then—
you vanish.
Not into absence,
but into us.
Risen Christ,
you become the fire we carry,
the courage we speak,
the love we dare to live.
Set us ablaze—
with justice that will not rest,
with compassion that will not turn away,
with hope that will not die.
Send us forth—
Emmaus people,
bread-bearers,
fire-carriers—
to proclaim with our lives:
Love is alive.
Hope is rising.
Christ is here—
on every road,
at every table,
in every heart.

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