I have one more hour of being 15,000 feet in the air. Hues of pink, yellow, and purple illuminate the soft white blanket below this tiny plane. The orange sun is shining through the window across from me and lights my face while casting an annoying glare on my computer. After waiting 5 hours at DFW airport I am finally on a plane back to reality and peace surrounds. I feel peace but I also feel the gnawing of an unforgotten realization. My mind has summoned it and my heart has processed it. For whoever reads this silly little blog here is my realization of the Dissolving Jesus.
It was last Sunday, I was at Real Life Christian Church in Santa Clarita and communion was taking place. My fingers fidgeted with the little plastic cup of juice sealed with a wafer on top. I went through my usual routine of praying and thanking God for the amazing act of justice and love brought forth by the cross. I remembered the body that was broken through those acts and placed the wafer in my mouth. It was thin and barren of flavor. It stuck to my tongue and then to the roof of my mouth. It effortlessly dissolved and was gone. I lifted the cup to my mouth and swallowed the few drops of juice. The sweetness coated my mouth just enough to wash away the flavorless disintegration of the “body.” I sat there done with communion, done with reflection, done with the moment of Jesus.
I was suddenly hit with the gripping reality that for some of us Jesus in our daily life is just like that wafer and juice. Easily distributed, easily consumed, and easily dissolved from our life. At one moment my heart went from an easy tradition to a difficult realization. My heart and mind became allies in painting me a portrait of what communion should be.
For starts it should not be easy. By placing that silly little wafer in our mouth we are recognizing the destruction of God. It was more than a broken body. The broken bread was a broken deity, a broken father, a broken son, a broken community. Relationship over. In this portrait of communion the bread, that thin disintegrating wafer, was taken with trembling hands. It was not easily consumed but slowly placed in my mouth as I recognized the cost of this bread. It was not from a cheap loaf of bread but a heavy burden. It filled my mouth as my heart filled with remorse. It did not dissolve. I had to chew away at the acceptance that Christ broke everything. The muscles of my mouth tired and I remembered the tired body of my dying savior. The chewed bread did not dissolve on my tongue but slid down my dry throat and I recognized the dryness of my soul. That dry agonizing lengthened act of swallowing created a need, a need for his blood. The painting turned to a cup.
Before me was not a half ounce plastic disposable cup of juice. There was a golden goblet, the type seen at a king’s table, the King’s table. Inscribed on the outside was a love note from God to Christ. As I looked inside I saw a love note from Christ to man. The wine filled right up to the top line. The shedding of his blood was not a gift but a love note written between us three. I lifted the goblet to my mouth and drank the wine. I did not take one sip but desperately gulped away. It was not sweet, it stung. It was not thin and sheer flavor, but thick and deep in meaning. As I consumed the liquid I recognized my part of the story of the crucifixion. If Jesus did not continue the love note with me I would not be recognizing the shedding of His blood. His blood was His love for me.
