Bread and Wine

We sit in cloth covered pews, hands clasped in prayer, as light, wonderful light, streams through stained glass windows.

Hand to hand, stainless steel trays our passed holding the fruit of the vine and flat bread.

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We take the bread, give thanks, and eat. We eat the bread, his body, love and life everlasting, broken, bruised and bleeding for us. We eat the bread, remember the stripes, the nail scarred hands, his death mounted on a tree. We do it in remembrance of him, of his sacrifice.

We take the juice of grapes and drink. We remember his bloodshed, the blood of Jesus, flowing from our sins and transgressions, not his own, never his own. Our guilt, thick and hot, covered the ground of Golgotha. We raise our cups and drink in remembrance of him, the New Testament in his blood.

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This Thursday, before this Good Friday, and every day after, every day, remember his broken body, remember his blood, the blood of Jesus. Because his blood washed away your sin. Because his blood can make you whole again. Because his blood is hope and peace, and the only way home. The only way…

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