Have you been handed a piece of bread by Jesus? I have. It is not the bread of forgiveness. It is the bread of betrayal. Like Judas, I have found myself at the table, knowing full well that my heart is not right with God.
Jesus takes bread and breaks it, but it is not the bread of redemption. It is the bread of recognition. The others sitting at the table cannot see into my heart, but Jesus can. The bread he hands me is a sign to me that he knows.
I cannot look at him as he hands me this bread, but a quick glance exchanged between us tells me there are tears in his eyes, just as there are in mine.
This bread sticks in my throat, just as conviction sticks in my heart. I must leave. I have to get away from Jesus’ severe mercy. I go out. And it is night.