Later, remembrances that night and the Last Supper with the Lord must have come in flashes.
Flash! The dusty scent of warm bread filling the air . . . .
Flash! Jesus’ head bowed over the cup, his lips moving in reverent prayer . . . .
Flash! The flicker of candlelight, the bittersweet tang of the wine, the nervous glances as the disciples strained to understand what was going on . . . .
Flash! Judas running from the room . . . .
Flash! Jesus looking on each of them individually . . . .
It was, no doubt, a collage of images. But later, after his death, it became clear.
Imagine them hiding away in fear of the authorities, hiding in that same upper room. They’re filled with sorrow. Their spirits are numb. They are cold with fear. One of them reaches into a basket and pulls out a few pieces of flat bread. He pulls off more pieces and passes it to the other disciples. One by one, they take a portion of the bread. Another disciple pulls out a wineskin of wine . . . .
When did it happen? When did they start to remember? As they passed the wine around, did one of them suddenly catch his breath? Did his tears begin to flow? Did another repeat in a whisper, “Take and eat . . . . Drink this . . . .”?
What kind of man was this? What kind of love was this? Who would offer himself as a living sacrifice? Oh, how sacred is the memory to that supper, that Last Supper. Today bread and the wine have become only symbols. It is the love of the Christ that makes the sacrament complete. It’s the unselfish, humble, agape love that turns ordinary bread and commonplace wine into a holy sacrament.
It’s Thursday, Maundy Thursday . . . .
Flash!! This bread. This wine. These are for you!
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