Lent Devotional | Good Friday

One garment. One loaf. One goblet.

We are the hungry poor. And we’re feasting, together, witnessing God together, in torn leotards and plastic chairs.

We still drink juice. But we do it differently, now. We rise, row by row, and make our way to the front where the elders stand holding a loaf and a single goblet of Welch’s grape juice. Together we pull off some flaky bread, and I wonder if I’m taking too much – how much of Jesus’ body am I supposed to take? How much do I leave? I don’t want to be like those in the Corinthian churches, keeping the food to myself, yet I want to truly taste Him – and then we dip the bread in the juice, and it stains purple, even as we bring Jesus to our lips, His body, His blood, one loaf, one cup. Sometimes our fingers stain purple, too. It feels more eternal that way, more lasting.

We make our way back to the plastic chairs, Mum humming a tune, me thinking about Christ’s seamless garment, how even as the soldiers grabbed it, tore at Jesus’ tunic, it wouldn’t rip. How Satan grabs at the church, pulling and stretching it, but in the end, we remain one garment. One loaf. One goblet. Consumed, poured out for many, yet never used up.

We sit. Mum plays with her purse and I ponder Jesus thirsting. “I thirst,” He said in His final moments, in the fullness of His humanity, with the sole purpose of fulfilling Scripture. Perhaps because He didn’t want His final words to be missed. He wet His throat so all the powers and principalities could hear Him declare – “It is finished.” Even as He died.

He thirsted that we might never thirst again…

I think of the cup filled with tears, filled with sorrow. I think of Jesus begging His Father to take it, “yet not My will but Yours be done,” and then, of the water which will flow in the last days from the temple in Jerusalem. Zechariah says the water will be living, like the water flowing from the temple in Ezekiel, making everything new again. Trees springing up on both sides of the river to heal and to feed the nations. Much like the Garden of Eden.

Oh, that we might hunger. That we might thirst.

For this broken bread and poured-out wine.

(Taken from Emily’s new memoir, God Who Became Bread)

Emily Wierenga

Author, God who Became Bread
President | The Lulu Tree Foundation

Prayer

Dear Father – thank you for pouring out your life that we might never thirst again. Thank you for becoming broken bread, that we might never hunger again. Forgive me for turning, ever-turning, to the shadow of a thing: for you are the real. You are everything good and lasting. Fill me, Lord, overflow me, Lord, so I might feed your world. For your glory and in Your Name, I pray, Amen.

Application

Dear friend – what are you turning to, today? Is it food, drink, or social media? Whatever it is, Jesus is more. Do you long for more? Are you willing to lay down the things that never satisfy, to fill up on the One who does? Where you are empty, He is enough. Come, let Him give you rest. Lay down your pain, pick up His peace. He never runs dry.