Communion

“That ‘This bread, My body, and My blood, the wine;

This do remembering Me till I return.’

O, souls who for His glorious coming yean,

Unto the Saviour’s words your ear incline.”

I took the cup

And as I gazed into its ruddy glow,

It seemed quite suddenly a shining screen

Across which flashed a strangely solemn scene:

Judas, penitent, wringing his hands in woe.

I heard a cock crow, and beheld a man

Warming himself beside a fireplace.

I saw him start, a grave look crossed his face-

The picture faded and the next began:

A group of sad disciples, sore dismayed;

They had forgotten how the Lord had said

That He had come to die - Messiah dead?

With anxious hears they spoke; with fervor prayed.

Before me is a dungeon, dismal, dank,

Barabbas sat in utter misery.

Never again, he sighed, would he be free,

Knowing full well that he had self to thank.

Heavy footsteps and a guard appears,

Barabbas’ heart beats hard as they ascent;

At last, his time has come, this is the end.

But wait- O, does he dare believe his ears?

He listens with a pulsive, eager breath. Can it be true that he is free, while there

Stands One Whose presence sanctified the air

Condemned to die, when he deserved the death?

The scene is shifted, and I see a hill,

Jerrying soldiers; sobbing people stare

At the center of three crosses standing there.

I hear a gently voice, “Father - Thy will.”

And making his way slowly through the throng,

Barabbas, looking at last in the face

Of One upon the cross, taking his place,

One Who had never sinned, Who knew no wrong.

Barabbas vanished, and before the king

I saw myself, sinful, wretched, vile.

Across my Saviour’s face there passed a smile

That said, “For you.” For me this suffering?

“O Christ,” I breathed, “This death was but my due

And Thou hast borne it all, instead of me,

So like Barabbas, I am now set free.”

I heard His voice, “My life I give for you.”

“My God, I don’t deserve it,” rang my cry

Re-echoing with a force that made me start

And realize with a sudden warmth of heart

No one was left there;

none but God and I.

Around me, empty pews; the lights were dim;

Somehow I had not heard the others pass.

I still clasped in my hand a ruddy glass.

Slowly, I drank, “This do - remembering Him.”

By Barbara C. Ryberg