Body and Blood
I stand in a line of churchgoers, each of us waiting for our turn to take communion. I wonder absently if it's still called communion on Maundy Thursday. The ritual is the same, but it feels different somehow.
A young teenager holds a burnished sliver platter. Two pieces of matzoh lie wrapped in paper napkins. A second man clasps the cup with two hands.
The worship center is barely lit and quiet. Except for the sharp, methodical crack of the bread and the soft voice of the usher.
Snap! "His body... broken for you."
Snap! "His body... broken for you."
Snap! "His body... broken for you."
I don't know what it is, what's different this time. Perhaps, it's that it's Holy Week. Maybe it's because it's the first Maundy Thursday service I've ever been too.
But each snap of the matzoh startles me, nearly making me flinch. The tearing of individual baked grains, as they split apart and crumble, seems unnaturally loud, like a book clattering off the top shelf in a library or the slap of a hand on skin.
And then I remember.
It is a body. It is flesh. Jesus's body, Jesus' flesh that cracks and breaks and rips over and over again. Then plunged into dripping, wet blood.
My turn now. I walk to the platter and look down at the matzoh. The taking is, in a word, awkward. I can't just daintily slip a tiny wafer into my hand and feel it dissolve into crystals on my tongue.
No. I must grasp the matzoh. I fumble with it once, rushing so I don't hold up the line. Then I grasp it again, with my hand and my mind, and slowly, deliberately crush the cracker between two fingers.
Snap! The crumbs fall softly across my fingertips onto the plate, leaving a tiny piece of matzoh in my hand.
His body broken for me.
His body broken by me.
I dip the matzoh into the cup and taste the tang of grape on my tongue. Blood. I chew, teeth crunching, saliva disintegrating, throat swallowing.
In a rush the symbolism disparates, and stark, unavoidable reality surges through those words that have become so trite to my Christian ears.
Body and blood.
But... that's... ridiculous. Disgusting. Cannibals, all of us Christians! I can't ignore the thought. No wonder people thought the Christ-followers were crazy! Are we eating Jesus?
Why did Jesus ordain this? Why did He hijack this Jewish Passover with Himself, and then tell His followers to keep doing so?
Suddenly, I remember a sermon I watched on YouTube months ago, given by a Catholic priest. He claimed that the Eucharist is Jesus' physical expression of love. Like a mother enfolding her child in strong arms. Like lovers embracing each other under stars.
Yes, Love is word and action and thought and spirit. But Love is equally body and blood. And though Jesus is in Heaven now, through Eucharist, through communion, He is with us, in this very moment! Jesus touching us!
Let me not forget that God shows His Love is all fullness, in every expression! And even before He sacrificed His body on Friday, on Thursday Jesus created a sacrament by which Christians for the rest of time might see and smell and hear and touch and taste that sacrificial love. Eyes, nose, ears, fingers, tongue experiencing God's love.
Over and over and over again.
I understand this time. And I give thanks to God, who broke His body and spilt His blood because of my sin.
Happy Maundy Thursday.
A young teenager holds a burnished sliver platter. Two pieces of matzoh lie wrapped in paper napkins. A second man clasps the cup with two hands.
The worship center is barely lit and quiet. Except for the sharp, methodical crack of the bread and the soft voice of the usher.
Snap! "His body... broken for you."
Snap! "His body... broken for you."
Snap! "His body... broken for you."
I don't know what it is, what's different this time. Perhaps, it's that it's Holy Week. Maybe it's because it's the first Maundy Thursday service I've ever been too.
But each snap of the matzoh startles me, nearly making me flinch. The tearing of individual baked grains, as they split apart and crumble, seems unnaturally loud, like a book clattering off the top shelf in a library or the slap of a hand on skin.
And then I remember.
It is a body. It is flesh. Jesus's body, Jesus' flesh that cracks and breaks and rips over and over again. Then plunged into dripping, wet blood.
My turn now. I walk to the platter and look down at the matzoh. The taking is, in a word, awkward. I can't just daintily slip a tiny wafer into my hand and feel it dissolve into crystals on my tongue.
No. I must grasp the matzoh. I fumble with it once, rushing so I don't hold up the line. Then I grasp it again, with my hand and my mind, and slowly, deliberately crush the cracker between two fingers.
Snap! The crumbs fall softly across my fingertips onto the plate, leaving a tiny piece of matzoh in my hand.
His body broken for me.
His body broken by me.
I dip the matzoh into the cup and taste the tang of grape on my tongue. Blood. I chew, teeth crunching, saliva disintegrating, throat swallowing.
In a rush the symbolism disparates, and stark, unavoidable reality surges through those words that have become so trite to my Christian ears.
Body and blood.
But... that's... ridiculous. Disgusting. Cannibals, all of us Christians! I can't ignore the thought. No wonder people thought the Christ-followers were crazy! Are we eating Jesus?
Why did Jesus ordain this? Why did He hijack this Jewish Passover with Himself, and then tell His followers to keep doing so?
Suddenly, I remember a sermon I watched on YouTube months ago, given by a Catholic priest. He claimed that the Eucharist is Jesus' physical expression of love. Like a mother enfolding her child in strong arms. Like lovers embracing each other under stars.
Yes, Love is word and action and thought and spirit. But Love is equally body and blood. And though Jesus is in Heaven now, through Eucharist, through communion, He is with us, in this very moment! Jesus touching us!
Let me not forget that God shows His Love is all fullness, in every expression! And even before He sacrificed His body on Friday, on Thursday Jesus created a sacrament by which Christians for the rest of time might see and smell and hear and touch and taste that sacrificial love. Eyes, nose, ears, fingers, tongue experiencing God's love.
Over and over and over again.
I understand this time. And I give thanks to God, who broke His body and spilt His blood because of my sin.
Happy Maundy Thursday.
Beautifully Written. A good reminder of how everyone should partake in Communion and make it personal not just a "religious requirement" But how it should relate to all individually.
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