The bread, the wine.
The bread lies in a basket, broken, torn apart, in pieces. I remember the Man who broke the bread. He said thanks, submitted his heart in gratitude in anticipation of His body being broken, torn apart on the cross. He gave thanks. How do I understand this Man?
I take of the bread, the broken body of Christ and I remember His death and the reason He died.
He was wounded for my transgressions; he was crushed for my iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought me peace, and with his stripes I am healed. (Isaiah 53:5)
I am taking the bread that is purely a gift. What kind of love is this that a Man, my God, would say "Thank you for what is set before me. Thank you that I can suffer and have my body broken and beaten because she is my joy, she is my hope (Heb 12:2), she is worth dying for and I thank you Father that I can pay the price for her sins because I love her and I want her to be with me for ever, to be my Bride." He says that for me, He says that for you.
The bread feels dry in my mouth, hard to swallow like the truth that comes with it. How hard it is to swallow the gift that Jesus freely gave, the love that is ours at such a cost to himself. I get the bread down, I feel it all the way. It's humbling, this love. I don't want to have to acknowledge the depth of my depravity, that my sins alone were enough for Jesus to die on the cross. My face set against the Father from birth, my heart sin-stained. I could never bridge that gap between me and the Beautiful One. It is too far. My wanderings have gone too long and I've dug the hole too deep. I say thanks in unison with Christ and receive the undeserved gift.
I take the cup filled with the juice squeezed from the crushed fruit of the vine, from that love-vine that I cling to. I take it to my lips and it tastes so sweet. How can something that cost Him so much taste so good? Wouldn't it be easier to accept if I had to pay penance every time I remembered His death? Wouldn't it be more fitting to have to drink of the sour instead of the divine? I am drinking Holy Life. What kind of an exchange is this? He dies for me and gives me a reminder that is beautiful, elixir to my lips. Oh my God, you have no resentment in your heart, no accusation toward your people. You love and you give and you do it all with joy even when it costs you more than I can imagine.
So I take of the bread and the wine, the body and the blood, saying thanks in unison with Christ because I, too, set my hope on the joy that is before me. I think of the day when He will return and we will eat at the wedding banquet (Rev. 19:9) with the One we love and be His forever.
I take of the bread, the broken body of Christ and I remember His death and the reason He died.
He was wounded for my transgressions; he was crushed for my iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought me peace, and with his stripes I am healed. (Isaiah 53:5)
I am taking the bread that is purely a gift. What kind of love is this that a Man, my God, would say "Thank you for what is set before me. Thank you that I can suffer and have my body broken and beaten because she is my joy, she is my hope (Heb 12:2), she is worth dying for and I thank you Father that I can pay the price for her sins because I love her and I want her to be with me for ever, to be my Bride." He says that for me, He says that for you.
The bread feels dry in my mouth, hard to swallow like the truth that comes with it. How hard it is to swallow the gift that Jesus freely gave, the love that is ours at such a cost to himself. I get the bread down, I feel it all the way. It's humbling, this love. I don't want to have to acknowledge the depth of my depravity, that my sins alone were enough for Jesus to die on the cross. My face set against the Father from birth, my heart sin-stained. I could never bridge that gap between me and the Beautiful One. It is too far. My wanderings have gone too long and I've dug the hole too deep. I say thanks in unison with Christ and receive the undeserved gift.
I take the cup filled with the juice squeezed from the crushed fruit of the vine, from that love-vine that I cling to. I take it to my lips and it tastes so sweet. How can something that cost Him so much taste so good? Wouldn't it be easier to accept if I had to pay penance every time I remembered His death? Wouldn't it be more fitting to have to drink of the sour instead of the divine? I am drinking Holy Life. What kind of an exchange is this? He dies for me and gives me a reminder that is beautiful, elixir to my lips. Oh my God, you have no resentment in your heart, no accusation toward your people. You love and you give and you do it all with joy even when it costs you more than I can imagine.
So I take of the bread and the wine, the body and the blood, saying thanks in unison with Christ because I, too, set my hope on the joy that is before me. I think of the day when He will return and we will eat at the wedding banquet (Rev. 19:9) with the One we love and be His forever.
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