Luke 22:19-20

Marie Howe’s “The Gate” (in What the Living Do) describes her conversation with her brother, John, just before he died of AIDS at age 28.

This is what you have been waiting for, he used to say to me.
And I’d say, What?
And he’d say, This—holding up my cheese and mustard sandwich.
And I’d say, What?
And he’d say, This, sort of looking around. 

What an instructive paradox that the dying seem to know best what it means to truly live. “What we’ve been waiting for” is nothing more nor less than the moment at hand, and what or whomever fills it with us.

When we find him at the table, Jesus, too, is a dying man who knows what awaits him in the hours ahead. This clarifies the holiness of this moment. This has been his message all along: God’s kingdom is not on some distant horizon, but is here, within and among us. He’s said to them in many different ways, “This is what you’ve been waiting for.”

And they’d say, What?
And he’d say, This—holding up a mustard seed.
And they’d say, What?
And he’d say, This—lifting a child to his lap.
And they’d say, What?
And he’d say, This—touching eyes, hands, wounds. Touching them.
And now he gathers them one last time and says, This—breaking bread and lifting a cup.
And they’d say, What?
And he’d say, This, sort of looking around. 

Consider

When Jesus says “as often as you do this, remember me,” what is the “this”?

Pray

God, reveal your presence to me in the quiet moments of this day. Amen.



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