I said I wouldn’t do it,
so how does it happen
on a Sunday we took
communion that I find
myself staring at a
glowing, naked image?
And I do not clothe her,
thinking, “You do it to me,”
But That’s not true. I do
It. I’m not saying this
to be funny. I already
made a mockery.
How? The Spirit feeds its temple
on the body of Christ from heaven,
uniting me to him—that body. So
what do I do with this body, the
bread still here? The Spirit still…
grieving. How? Isn’t the supper
meant to nourish the new life
and not the old, dead sinner?
But it does feed me and seal
to my heart the promises of
God’s gracious covenant. It
persuades me that God will
always love me. Drunk with
assurance, I am so quick to
forget what we do in
remembrance. Just like
Peter. He was so confident,
then he tried his hardest
to prove he didn’t know Jesus.
I’m in the same place as Peter,
but spare me the cock jokes.
The last time, that first
time, they drank from
the cup and Jesus said,
“You will all fall away tonight.”
Surely I won’t. Pray for me,
Jesus, that my faith won’t fail …
Photo by Thomas Dewey on Unsplash
