Wine- Partaking in the Cup.
To partake in the sacrifice of my Savior, I got up.
Grabbed my cracker and juice in the little cup and sat down . . . Thinking of the thought I had a few months ago, about whether to chew the bread, or let it sit in my mouth until it becomes sweet, or to chew it so much I could no longer feel the consistency so as to get the most out of the bread. . . When I sat, tilting my Welch’s a little to the side, a bit of wine ran down my hand . . . and I stopped. In that split second, I thought wipe that off quickly, get it away, you are dirty and this is a bit too much, and I remembered in that moment how quickly I flinch in the pain of Christ, run from the suffering and turn from the sacrifice, in that moment I remembered how I have turned. This time I let it sit, imagining it were blood, embracing in a miniscule part the sacrifice by letting the juice dry on my hand… I became deeply convicted… no blood has touched my hand for Christ, no temptation not common to man, my savior calls me to pick up my cross and follow him and this is the best I can do? I become a bit pissed about my frustration from not being able to look at a hot chick or giving up rated R movies, a moment of fleeting happiness for the joy and relationship with my savior. No blood has passed my hand on behalf of Christ, no evil too deep or power too strong, but my own will… could I bleed?
I felt Him saying, “Where is the blood, bro, where is your scar?”
Humbled and a bit shamed by the walk I have pursued I partake in the blood of Christ, to share in some small way the glory of sharing in his sufferings. Again, brought to the war, welcome to the battle, my friend.
“Father, the blood is in my walk, can’t you see my limp? Sunk deep in my heart, you are the only one who can make this heart of stone like clay again. You only can move me to this point. Your grace is sufficient, your sacrifice enough.”