I take the bit of bread and the mini cup of wine and walk back to my seat. The music plays softly and the sanctuary is strangely quiet. I feel the weight of the moment and I know better than quickly putting it all in my mouth and swallowing. I sit and look around. The young lady in front of me, she goes to her knees, holding that bit of bread and mini cup of wine in her hand. The old man across sits, eyes closed, hands open, bit of bread and mini cup nestled in there. And the mother back there, she sobs quietly.

And I sense the awe of His Presence in the midst.

I gently put the bit of bread in my mouth and begin to chew. I feel my teeth tearing the bread apart. And with each strike of my teeth against the soft texture of bread, I see Him hanging here. And with each strike of my teeth against the soft texture of bread, I see His joy in me taking Him in. His broken body for my freedom.

The bread is crushed under my teeth in hundreds of tiny little parts. I crushed it. I crushed it.

My sin crushed Him.

The bread is soft and liquid, mixed with my saliva, and I swallow, making it a part of me. Making Him a part of me.

And I see His joy in me taking Him in.

My sin crushed Him, but He took it on purpose. And I sense His joy in me receiving Him.

I welcome the nourishment that He is to me, the life that He is to me.

A death gladly given for a life. It is a good Friday indeed.

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