Take Me Back to the Cross

TAKE ME BACK TO THE CROSS, to Jesus’ blood shed at Calvary. Sing of His sacrifice, of His precious body broken and poured out. Remind me of the words He spoke on that night, how He looked the man in the eye who would betray Him and bid him go do it anyway.

I’m all for fist-pumping songs of Jesus’ Resurrection and the celebration of His victory. Jesus’ death is completed by His being raised back to life as Lord of Lords and King of Kings. But there, with the cup in my hand, the wafer squeezed between my fingers, what I want to think of is what He bid me to remember.

Take eat, He said, do this in remembrance of me.

He is why we come together for this dedication, and what He did to purchase our salvation the foundation of these quiet moments. We must teach the younger generation the importance of it, how to worship Him without all the stage bling. Let’s sing the songs our grandparents did, a gentle chorus of “O the blood of Jesus,” “Rock of Ages,” or “Just as I am.” With our heads bent in reverence, let’s think of the willing gift He gave. Let’s remember the forty lashes and read through Isaiah 53.

“But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned every one to his own way; and the LORD hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.” (Isaiah 53:5-6)

That defines Holy Communion. We remember the Lord’s death until He comes, and only then, only after remembering, do we shout His victory. First, He died. First, the nails pierced His hands and feet. First, He gave up His life. He could not rise from the grave until He’d first lain in it.

And so I pay homage, with this cup and piece of bread, to His tremendous pain and suffering. With them, I remember Jesus, without any of me in the image, but instead, all of Him.

Photo by Geda Žyvatkauskaitė on Unsplash

Suzanne D. Williams, Author