The Next Supper

When we talk about the Table, we talk about the Last Supper - that Passover feast when Jesus broke bread with His disciples in the Upper Room. When Peter complained about having his feet washed. When it got into Judas's heart to betray the Lord. When Jesus said, "Do this...in remembrance of Me." 

But sometimes, I think about the next supper. 

I think about the next day, the day when Jesus was crucified. It was the day before the Sabbath, which would have started at sundown that night. It was the day in which the people were preparing not only their last fresh meal, but a meal that would keep and be a little stale for the Sabbath. Cooking, depending on what part of it you were doing, would be considered "work." So many of the things had to be made ahead. 

There were persons who were threshing wheat while nails were being driven into Jesus's hands and feet. Persons who were kneading dough when a spear was being plunged into His side. Persons who were pouring wine while a rag was being soaked in bitter gall. 

Was it hanging heavy over them?

What about when they sat down to dinner that night, their Rabbi in a borrowed tomb, all the life drained from His body, and they broke the bread? I picture this moment, this catch in their hearts the way Peter's heart must have caught when he heard the rooster crow just a few hours earlier. 

Do this.... 

Lord, I can't. You lay dead in a borrowed tomb, and how? How can I break bread? How can I do this when it reminds me of You, reminds me of this Table we shared just last night?

How can I break bread on the Sabbath, on the day of rest, when everything inside of me is in turmoil? When I'm torn up inside-out? When my guts are wrenched within me?

I break bread, and...I remember. Whether I want to or not, I remember. Whether I intend to or not, I remember. That's what You said, Lord - You said, "Remember."

And today, I don't want to. I don't know how I can. I don't know what it means to remember when everything I think I know has changed in a single day, in a single breath. In Your last breath. 

The Last Supper? 

No. The challenge is the Next Supper. The one I have to eat while my Lord is crucified. When it's not His hand that gives me the bread, but my own. When it's not His voice I hear, but the heavy silence. 

When I remember...because I can't forget.