 I saw a statue of bagels in the middle of Greenwich Village, with a flower growing in the center. And I wondered if when Jesus said, this is my body, if maybe he was holding a bagel. This is my body, the burnt and discarded scraps of your consumption, a body consumed and forgotten in the haste of the day. The resurrection comes like a flower from the compost, but the body remains, piled high as a testament to the waste of lives consumed by the greed of men.