“We begin the day with bread; we end it with wine. We can bake bread in a few hours; wine takes years of cultivation, preparation, aging. Personal profit is good, but we don’t thrive if we eat and drink alone. Everything we make is a loaf, formed to be broken, distributed, shared….” – PETER LEITHART
His broken body lit my faith’s fuse,
a paper-thin faith he won’t refuse;
he seeks repair, he hates to scold,
our prayers punctuated, in type bold.
Swallowed slow the broken bread –
whispered low, priest’s blessing said;
small the portion, still hard to swallow:
eat, he said, suffering sure to follow.
Silver chalice lifted, hesitant my lips,
server slants it slightly for me to sip;
holy his hands, brutally crux-nailed,
wine-warmed sinner freed, not bailed.
Biblical blood holds healing power,
don’t be coward, no need to cower,
our slate wiped clean, not slave to sin:
welcome family feast – see saviour’s grin!
What you must solemnly realise is that every time you eat this bread
and every time you drink this cup, you reenact in your words and actions
the death of the Master – 1 Corinthians 11: 26