“Take and drink.”
The bloody mercy is sweet to the taste. Yet on that day, who could have forseen this?
Sinful men with violent hands
Agony of the innocent,
The sweat of a tortured brow,
Body and blood, given for you;
A crimson sign from heaven, declaring mercy,
and peace with God;
A sacrifice of life, that we may have life.
The body and the blood of Jesus:
it has trickled down, down centuries, to these receiving lips.
And it is sweet to the taste.
Yet on that day, who could have forseen the sweetness?
Those who loved him hid,
They could not fathom a suffering God,
Darkness before glory,
Bitterness before sweet.
Take and eat. Take and drink.
Go forth in peace to love and serve.
Take in, and pour out.
But I can’t. It’s too much. I’m not enough.
I fear the suffering to come:
Will there be sweetness mixed in?
I consider past suffering:
deployment, the brain surgery,
soul-crushing grief and fear;
And I recall the sweetness; it is of a flavor I did not recognize before the suffering.
There is a hidden sweetness that is in with and under
a flattening of myself;
The worn knees from praying,
The heart-rending asking
And the being HEARD.
The view, from the journey taken on the edge of eternity
with opened eyes,
stripped of false comforts,
knowing that if one is to survive it will be by the hand of God and no other way;
The needing, desperately,
And marveling at God’s provision.
The way He proves His faithfulness,
And we find
Under the crumbling things of this world,
There is more of Him,
And what else could a soul possibly need?