We took Communion at church today. I remember as a kid thinking that I wished the ceremony meant something to me. I sort of understood it, always took part in it, but it didn't resonate with me. Like, I totally get that Jesus died for me. That sucks. Moving on.
Sometime in the last few years, though, I GOT IT. God watched his son die. For ME. Jesus went through THAT. For ME. He was betrayed and abandoned by the people on earth he loved most. He experienced separation, sin. For ME.
Oh.
I don't deserve it. I wouldn't choose for him to do that. I would never ask that of anyone, much less of the creator of the universe. As the depth of his pain and my unworthiness became clear, it broke my heart.
I fought it. I completely, utterly disagree with the choice God made. I am not worth THAT. He shouldn't have done it. I wouldn't do it, never, ever. And yet, he chose to. It was his choice to die. Really, he didn't have to, he could have let us all go. But he chose to die.
So now, during commuinion, I find myself trying to rest in being loved. He gave me a gift I don't understand, don't deserve. I am so grateful.
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