Breaking Bread

As I look on Your table, I'm offended at what I see.
Sinners - the worst of the worst - the unholiest of all, rubbing shoulders with You - the very embodiment of righteousness. They laugh with You and share bread with You- question You and have their curiosities answered.
And still here am I, far away, outside, looking in on the merriment. I want to come in.
And suddenly, as I look at You, the only familiar face in the crowd, I see another that I know. The curves of her face and the tears in her eyes are so familiar as I see You pull up a chair for her at Your side.
You put Your arm - Your strong and now scarred hand - around her shoulders, and she sits.
I feel the relief and hear her sigh of contentment...and I recognize her face, at last, as my own. I, the worst of the worst, the unholiest of all, allowed to rub shoulders and even eat with You.

I wrote that Sunday during church. The sermon was on Jesus' revolutionary love for us, and how His radical love for those we see as being undeserving of His attention offends us and mixes up everything we know and believe. I wanted so badly to get it - I really wanted to understand the magnitude of what John (our pastor) was saying. As I was taking communion, it hit me. The people we see as being unworthy of His affection are no worse than I am, and but for the mercy of God I would be exactly where they are. God does not discriminate, and my sins are just as bad as theirs. The only difference is that I've been washed clean and I've let truth change me. At one point, someone could have been offended that Jesus would love someone like me. That's possible, and it's humbling to remember something like that as I accept the invitation to come to the table and break bread with Him. As soon as I got back to my seat I started writing furiously, trying to capture what He had let me see.