This is My Body Broken For You

The pastor invited us to partake. This is my body- broken for you. Do this in remembrance of me.

Snap! Crack! As the Good Friday communion matzo broke and snapped into a thousand pieces in my mouth, I suddenly had a tangible knowledge of "brokenness" wash over me.

My mind began to muse... The perfect, sinless One... broken... but His body wasn't really broken, was it? Not a bone... then what did it mean? Are we referring to His flesh being scourged and lacerated?

But more importantly (this is where my mind went next) who broke it? The Jews who called for His crucifixion? The government who condemned an innocent man? The Gentiles who nailed His feet and hands?

It always strikes me how many people were involved in Christ's crucifixion- Jews and Gentiles- and so all peoples are there- partaking in guilt. There's a John Michael Talbot song that goes something like, "Would you crucify him? Talkin' bout the sweet Lord Jesus- if he walked right here among you once again?" The answer of my heart always says "yes." Natural man hates God. If He hadn't saved me- I'd have been right there cursing and condemning. Purity and righteousness are hateful to a heart that loves sin.

Though the pastor touched on one of my favorite points in regards to the crucifixion- (that it was the spiritual alienation between Christ and His Father, the severing of the Godhead, that was the true torture of the cross)- this Easter Sunday my thoughts keep coming back to the idea of brokenness.  "But he was wounded for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his stripes we are healed" (Isaiah 53:5, ESV). I keep feeling... and hearing... the snapping and crushing of the bread under my tongue and teeth...

This is my body... broken for you. Do this in remembrance of me.