The Preacher stands behind the table of remembrance, ready to chat one-sided about the broken body, broken bread. About the blood shed for me and for us. He’s hardly spoken of anything, and already I’m swatting away tears. I take a deep breath to gather wits and …. I don’t know … maybe I should take on outta here.
I’m sitting too close, staring at my own reflection in the communion tray.
And I don’t like what I see …
child of God, bogged down in rut.
Child of God who, for one long week, attended Enemy’s voice, joined in the remembrance of previous offenses, willingly posed as a target for darts of accusation and allowed peace snatching; joy stealing.
I picture Him ~the King~ sitting there, behind His table asking why He died if I was going to allow such thievery.
But I don’t have an answer.
At least not a good one. Because I don’t know why. I don’t know why I tolerate Enemy’s sabotage while Shield and Sword sit idle on corner desk, ready and willing to assist in the battle - untouched.
The darts … they pierce and burn and wound and weaken for his next dart and this game the Enemy plays – it always blurs sacred pages, tempts me to despair, tells me of the guilt within. Why do I not look upward … see Him there … see the end to all my sin?
The song we sang in the morning – didn’t it say something about the breaking of the bread, too? Beside the sea? Something about bondage ceasing, fetters falling, finding peace …
As Thou didst break the loaves
Beside the sea;
Beyond the sacred page
I seek Thee, Lord;
My spirit pants for Thee,
O living Word.
I seek Thee, Lord …
Seek Thee. Pant for Thee …
Do I really?
Bless Thou the truth, dear Lord,
To me, to me,
Then shall all bondage cease,
All fetters fall;
And I shall find my peace,
My all in all.
The truth …
know it, and you’ll be free.
We pass broken bread, and I ask Him to bless the truth. Bless it to me, Lord. Bless the truth of no condemnation to those who place trust in You.
Thou art the bread of life,
O, Lord, to me,
Thy holy Word the truth
That saveth me;
Give me to eat and live
With Thee above;
Teach me to love Thy truth, For Thou art love.
Holy Word is truth and truth is Holy Word and why haven’t I sought it like life depended on it?
Because doesn’t it? Depend on it?
I coddle the cup, remember blood spilt, confess willingness to be robbed, for not engaging in battle fully geared. And He reveals the secret. The why. How Enemy’s darts poison the bloodstream ….
spirit does not love enough …
does not pant enough …
not for Him, not for His Word … not enough.
I contemplate passing the cups to my neighbor. Is my heart clean enough to remember? I feel unworthy ~ am unworthy. But isn’t this who bread and cup is for? Sinners unworthy … cleansed and forgiven?
I picture Him again, behind the table. He sees me as I am, and still ~ He invites ~ raises cup. And we drink together, in remembrance of truth and forgiveness. Of Him and only Him.
And in the remembrance …
Enemy flees, fetters cave, bindings cease …
and I find my all in all.