One by one they shuffled past my chapel seat. These friends were the best of the best and though they appeared in plain clothes, I pictured them dressed in robes of white righteousness: prayer warriors, peer leaders, Christ-proclaimers. One by one they partook.
The server quietly affirmed, “Christ’s body, broken for you.”
Then I noticed one out of place; Jack was among them. That scoundrel was making fun of chapel just yesterday. And now here he was singing with his hands in the air, tears rolling down his face, knees on the ground. He joined the line of those walking towards the communion table. What a hypocrite. Then I noticed others. Sarah rudely slandered me in front of some of my best friends last week, threatening my integrity for no good reason.
“The blood of Christ shed for you.”
Now here she was among the righteous, eating unworthily! A chill went down my spine as I looked down at my leprous hands. I realized immediately my wicked condescension. I fell into my chair, knees weak from my condition. Such daily arrogance had just culminated into judgment before the broken body of my Savior. Had I so quickly forgotten the grace of the one who redeemed me in the midst of my sin? Had I lost sight of the mercy of Him who was even now picking up my helpless, defiled body to carry me to the table where I did not belong?
“The body of Christ, broken for you.”
I barely needed his whisper in my ear: “I did not save you, Levi, that you might deserve freedom and be therefore saved from hell. I did not save Jack nor Sarah that they might be rewarded for their works with life forever in heaven. I have purchased you, Levi, with my blood that my grace, my mercy, my name might be glorified. For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.”
“The blood of Christ, shed for you.”
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