The First Communion

When Was It Written
This poem was written on November 17, 2006, two days before Trace Crossing gathered to share their first Communion together as a church.

Why Was It Written
So many times we come to the Lord's table and just go through the motions.  I think that night when Jesus actually ate his last supper with the disciples that it is very possible that every disciple around the table was just going through the standard Passover motions.  But not Jesus.  There was a lump in his throat because there would be nails in his hands in less than 24 hours.  There is no way that this meal was just another get together for Jesus.  For the disciples, maybe.  For Jesus? No way.

Who Wrote It
Kevin Wood, pastor
"I just wanted us to come to our first communion with the very same sense of purpose and passion that Jesus approached the last supper with.  I've done the Lord's Supper on autopilot before.  I think it cheapens the meal. I think it disgraces God.  I wanted all of us as a faith family to come to the table of grace and say, "Thank you, God. Thank you so much."  There is no other way to come to the table than with gratitude centered on grace."



The First Communion
The first communion was a painful task, 
A difficult dinner with a difficult cast.
Around the short table sat thirteen men,
twelve of them clueless and covered in sin.
Among them an Andrew, a Levi, and Thomas,
a Simon and Simon, a James and James,
a Philip, Bartholomew, Thaddeus, and John -
and a Judas, still lingering, his faith all but gone.

And at the head of the table sat the one with a clue,
the only one knowing what nobody knew.
This meal was his last, this night his goodbye,
One more trial left to go, one more hill left to climb.
So after bowing his head, he then took the bread,
and fought back the tears, as his tender voice said:

This is my body, broken for you,
battered and beaten and bloodied and bruised.
Birthed in a stable not that long ago,
just a handful of miles right down that road;
A happy mother with her healthy boy,
the start of a journey covered in joy,
a journey that ends on tomorrow’s morn,
about five miles from the place I was born.

Then taking the bread, he tore it in two
And passed it around, but none of them knew.
This wasn’t a lesson, this wasn’t a sign;
This was the Truth torn for all time.

Take and eat, and do this in remembrance of me.

Silence settled as the twelve of them chewed,
battered and baffled, dazed and confused.

Then he took up the cup, and he stared at the wine,
the red juice squeezed out from the grapes on the vine.
The thought crossed his mind, a painful reminder of the life that is mine.

He gathered his thoughts, and spoke once again
with the strength of a God, but from the soul of a man,

This is my blood, poured out for the world,
for every man every woman, Every boy every girl,
Every race every tongue, Every class every creed,
Every hurt every hope, Every pain every need,
Every heartache and heartbreak felt by someone,
Every misstep and mistake, ever, ever done.

Then he held the cup high, looked them straight in the eye,
and told them the truth one last time…

Every sin that’s committed is powerless to stand,
against the blood in this cup, against the blood in this man.

With the tears now free flowing, and a quivering lip,
he passed it around and they all took a sip.

Take and drink, and do this in remembrance of me.

- Kevin Wood, November 17, 2006



Want to Let The Writer Know What You Think?
Feel free to contact Kevin at kwood@tracecrossing.org and let him know what you think about this poem.