The smallest supper of all is laid on the table. A mere morsel of bread and a mere sip of wine become the drama of our redemption. His body broken to nourish our famine. His blood spilt as the greatest transfusion in history. So that we belong to a new ancestor now. The bread of life and the wine assures us: “Apart from me ye can do nothing.” Every church in every land regularly says “Thank you” in the eucharist in grateful remembrance.
Am I now seeking the favor of men, or of God? Or am I trying to please men? If I were still pleasing men, I should not be a servant of Christ.
The Revised Standard Version
In this world it is not what we take up, but what we give up, that makes us rich.
Henry W. Beecher