He cleared his throat and continued. “I tried to lose myself in my work, but that was to no avail. Even the smallest of hammers would fall from my trembling fingers. On the first night after we heard the news, I slept on the floor of the shop, not wishing to inflict my sorry condition on my wife, who was distraught enough between tending to our son and mourning her brother-in-law. The following day was no better. I tried to eat but it was hopeless. That night, once again, I slept in the shop until I was awakened by a voice calling my name. I knew that voice! Was I dreaming? Again it called to me. Now I was stricken for fear. I rose and stumbled about in the dark until I found a small oil lamp and lit it. Jesus was standing just inside the door. My brother! He was wearing nothing except a long shirt of bleached wool, and when he raised his hands to calm my terror I could see the ugly wounds on both his wrists. He came toward me, slowly, and I also saw the wounds on his feet. Then he stopped before I could reach out and embrace him and he said, ‘Bring a table and bread.’ ”

“What did you do?”

“I ran to the house for a loaf of bread. When I returned he was still standing in the same place. I moved a small worktable from one corner to the center of the room and placed the bread on it. Jesus took the bread and blessed it. Then he broke it in two and handed me half, saying, ‘My brother, eat your bread, for the Son of man is risen from among them that sleep.’ Before I took my first bite I rose from the table and went to a nearby shelf on which I always kept a bottle of wine. When I turned … he was gone! Only the two pieces of bread remained as proof that he had been with me. But they were enough, for I knew I had seen and spoken with Jesus, who they had said was dead. So you see, Matthias, I need no further proof that his body was not stolen, nor am I in the Temple each day, exposing myself to ridicule and persecution, on faith alone. Jesus supplied me with all the proof I needed. Look! Look!”

He reached into the carpenter’s apron he had been wearing when arrested. From it he removed two objects wrapped in soft linen and placed them both in my lap.

“Open them!” he commanded.

I unraveled both cloths. In my hands were two rock-hard blackened pieces of what had once been halves of a small bread loaf, invaluable relics testifying to a biblical source that had always mystified and challenged me.