The Lord’s Supper is a gift to you. The Lord’s Supper is a holy invitation. A sacred sacrament bidding you to leave the chores of life and enter his splendor. He meets you at the table.
One bite of the elderberries my mother served the last time I was home took me back to the old farmhouse my grandmother lived. The one within walking distance of my grandfather's coal mines -- where we walked at lunch time to share the black licorice Granddad always had in his old tin lunch pail. Where hand-crocheted doilies graced the back and arms of the living room couch and chairs. Where dangling prisms hung from the matching lamps in the guest room. Where we ate stewed elderberries in a pink-handled bowl.
My mother didn't have the pink bowls, yet with each bite I could envision my beautiful Grandma Cessna and remember.
RB was writing a paper this week. Forty pages on the Lord's Supper. It was huge and took most of the hours of two days. He set up a table in the living room, spread out his books and papers...they spilled over to the cherry coffee table. We closed the French doors and let him work, poking our heads in every couple hours to see if he needed food or coffee.
I did a bit of research, comparing how we commemorate the last supper of our Lord before His crucifixion. Common cup, individual cup, or in these throw-away days, disposable cups with the bread attached to the top. Unleavened bread, small crackers, or a common loaf of bread. Once a month, a quarter, or as in the church I attend, the opportunity to partake individually each week and on the first Sunday of the month as a body.
However we observe, we all have one objective -- it's in remembrance of the One who died for us. This Christ who came to earth as a baby. The One who lived among us, preaching, working miracles and then giving His life for all mankind.
It's a time of remembrance of the time Jesus' blood was spilled so that we can cup our hands and receive grace, blood drop by blood drop. We can remember the body that was broken. We can peer through the darkness, feel the earth quake and hear the swish of the temple curtain tearing in two.
It is through this remembrance that the light from the resurrection begins to shine. Yes, we remember the broken body, the spilled blood. It is dipping our sins in the fountain of blood that we are forgiven. But without the resurrection Jesus was just a man whose blood had no meaning. It is in the death, burial and resurrection that we receive not only salvation, but the hope of our own resurrection.
My heart is bowed in worship to my Heavenly Father who gave, my Savior who saves, and the Holy Spirit who lives in me, making it possible to live each day with faith, grace and joy. And through the supper of our Lord I am reminded of what makes my worship possible.
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4 comments:
Amen sweet friend.
I was helping at one of the communion stations last week ... I had the bread and said, "Remembering Christ's body broken for you." (Dave had the wine.)
I was wanting to make it personal, look each person in the eye, say it slowly and with meaning say, "FOR YOU."
I started to get emotional thinking of each person (though I only knew a few of them personally). I had to distract myself a little ... so I could continue on.
Remembering Christ's Body ... broken for YOU.
Fondly,
Glenda
This was lovely... so worshipful!
I especially loved the last paragraph and appreciate your sharing this post.
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