Communion

I’m at the table with my friends.

Sitting there, my mind whirls ahead to

all the things I need to do

I love these people that I’m dining with

but, seriously, hurry it up.

I have a long to-do list.

This is my body, broken like this bread.

Eat it and remember me.

What? Gross!

Oh well, I’m hungry so I’ll eat the chunk

of bread he hands to me.

His eyes look deep into mine—I turn away first.

Dinner’s good; nothing special.

I eat and mentally go back over my list.

Someone brings the jug of wine

And pours it into our waiting cups,

And then he speaks again.

Drink this wine, and when you do, remember

my blood which is poured out—for you

Okay. This is weird. What is he talking about?

Once again our gaze rests on each other

And one again I look down.

He knows something—about me, about the world.

Centuries later, I approach the hands that offer me

the wafer and the wine.

Once again I feel that look of love and belonging

and as tears stream down my face

I eat the bread and drink the wine…

And I remember.