The Cup

“It is not the critic who counts;

Not the man who points out how the strong man stumbles,

Or where the doer of deeds could have done them better.

The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena,

Whose face is marred by dust and sweat and blood;

Who strives valiantly…

Who at the best knows in the end triumph of high achievement,

And who at the worst,

If he fails,

At least fails while daring greatly.”

– Theodore Roosevelt Man in the Arena Speech 1910

There is this line that I love in the story of Jesus.

It happens at a moment in his life that feels a lot to me like the golden hour near the end of each day.  Those last few moments where it is still light, but the night is about to begin.  For whatever reason, I always feel anticipation in those moments.  They feel like being on the cusp of something.

The line I love is probably fairly familiar if you have had any contact with a church during communion time. It is the intro line to the standard line. Usually glossed over as the text moves quickly toward the darkest episode of Jesus’ life. It happens in a small, second story room, and its aftermath leaves blood in the streets and crosses on hills.

Several writers have talked about the moment, and while all tell it true, I think a man named Paul’s account is so interesting because it holds so much emotion in such a short description…

…Jesus, on the night He was betrayed, took bread, and when He had given thanks, He broke it and said, ‘This is My body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of Me…” 1 Corinthians 11

You may have heard it at one time or another growing up throughout the years; it is the passage that most people use to introduce the practice of communion. I am pretty sure I even have part of the verse on a dish that someone gave us for Sheri’s and my wedding.  It was on a bread dish…get it?  Christians are the cleverest…

I may have heard those verses of Paul’s a thousand times, and sat as it was preached to me a dozen ways, but sometimes when you hear it, it just strikes you. Because I always hear the emphasis (and justifiably so) placed on the second part of the verse. The remembering how Jesus died for us all.

But, for reasons beyond my educational level to understand, I always think in stories when people read the bible to me. I can’t get over what it must have been like to be Jesus in that moment. I wonder if the way we talk about this first communion ceremony at times takes away from the passionate emotions, and in a way steals some of the rawness of Jesus’ bravery from the story.

Think of that first part – Jesus, on the night he was betrayed…

Ever been there?

Ever had a moment when right before you had to walk into something, you wondered if anybody would stick by you through it? You knew you had to make a hard choice, and in the back of your mind you doubted if anybody would stay…and then no one did.  Jesus was right there.  How much that must have hurt.

Or the very next line – [Jesus] took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it…

Ever had a moment when you were just wound up? So tense that the slightest sound sent your emotions through the roof? It could be a bump in the night while home alone, a car backfire, or just a sudden noise out of context and we are ready to fight in an instant.

The bread Jesus was using was unleavened. It had no yeast, per Jewish traditions, and was essentially like a big cracker. As He broke it, it had to make a crunch that to Jesus must have been so loud. Several accounts say that just hours later from this moment He would sweat so hard in prayer that the stress would break the capillaries of his forehead. He was in anguish, and as the bread crunched it had to just send his mind there.

His flesh would be torn and ripped.

His back and limbs would soon know the crunch of the Roman whips.

Yet still Jesus thanked God in that moment.  He would be torn but not torn down.

And in the end, He implored those in the small room to – “do this in remembrance of me.”

Why remember that night? I like the end of it, the whole Jesus wins thing. I imagine this is for the same reasons I enjoy when movies sum up comeback plots in succinct two minute montages with upbeat musical scores. I don’t enjoy dwelling on the conflict – I love when the story is redeemed. I think that is normal?

Which is probably why Jesus asking us to remember feels so abnormal.

Why dwell on that painful moment before the moment?

I wonder if it is because of what the ceremony says about us. How the seemingly simple act of taking communion pleads to us over the centuries about one central message:

We Matter.

So much of the tragedies of life are not about what we are made to believe they are. We can look to our brokenness, torn relationships, Instabrags, depression and habitual compulsions to avoid feeling by filling our lives with more screens and think that it is all about us either losing control of our lives or being torn down by others.  The reality is so much harder.

It is that we forget so easily that we matter.

Left to my own, I neglect so quickly the things I so need to hold dear.

I heard an idea from a pastor once about his morning routine with his kids before they all left the house for the day. He would give them a small bit of encouragement for that day, having no idea what they might face at school.

I fell in like with the idea the moment I heard it, and so – like most of my parenting ideas – I stole it.

There is a bench at my daughter’s school that we stop in front of every morning. I say every morning but in reality we missed it this morning because of a meltdown over a sweatshirt choice and us having to run past the attendance office as the bell rang – don’t ask. I am still recovering…

Each morning, we repeat the same routine.  It starts with my bending down right to her eyes and asking her a question:

“Hadley Marie, do you remember what is true about you?”

She shakes her little head ‘no’ with a smirk. (Honestly, she is a bit sassy…)

I then tell her what is true and always has been true about her.

“You are beautiful.

You are smart.

You are kind.

And you are brave.

Whatever this day has for you, you got this. Now go get ‘em.”

She then gives me a determined scowl and whips her little ponytail around, and down the hall she goes. Occasionally giving a subtle hand wave as she goes.

I love it and honestly only do it for two reasons:

The first reason is that as my only daughter, a sub goal of my life is to actively work to ruin almost every boy’s chances of ever dating her.  I want every guy that tries to ever date her to have to work so hard that only one man will endure the effort – and he will have to pass the most extensive background check Sheri will let me buy.

The second reason is simply this – I have no idea what she is on the cusp of each morning. Is this the morning when she will be betrayed? I can’t always be next to her and punch the little midgets that might tease my beautiful little girl.

But I can keep telling her what I – her dad who loves and knows her – think about her. I can keep repeating it each morning so that when people or circumstances try to put something in her heart, there won’t be room. It’s already occupied with my words and a thousand kisses from her momma.

To Jesus, we mattered so much that when God saw the endgame – that we would not be able to be with Him – He devised the easiest way for us, and the hardest way back for Himself.

He put it all on the line, while never forcing us to take any of it. He dared to put all the love He had out there and give us the option to throw it all away. Jesus opened himself up for us to reject and betray him. To tell Him that it was not good enough in our eyes. Or to debate our need for it and to have others criticize how there is not more proof around for His act, or that you can’t take it all literally, it is like a metaphor. He set the stage for some to even take the symbol of his love and then flip it around in spite. And then Jesus, knowing what could happen…still did it.

Why?

The end mattered more.

We mattered more.

Because the truth about you is that before you were on the cusp of your time here on earth, Jesus broke himself open for us all, and in each taking of communion He whispers to us all…

“Do you remember what is true about you?

I have always loved you.

I will always love you.

I love you in this moment.

I still think you matter.

Now Go Get ‘Em.”