Broken

Every year at this time, I become more conscious of the magnitude of the love of the Lord. And I am overwhelmed. I took communion tonight with a friend of my heart in her church. We praised and sang and a man passed me a loaf of bread, looked into my eyes, and said, "the body of Christ, broken for you."
Tearing off bread humbled me.
My Christ.
Broken.
For me.
I can't put down a good story, so I have a terrible time dwelling on the Last Supper without running straight on through to Good Friday and Easter.
But this one evening holds so much overwhelming, incomprehensible love.
Jesus, Lord of the Earth and all who dwell in it, on his knees. Washing feet.
Not just to make a point. Not just to set an example.
But because he actually loved them like that. Enough to be humbled. Enough to be humiliated.
And then he came to Judas, who had already plotted my Dear Lord's death. Who played innocent and extended his ankles to as yet unscarred hands.
Jesus knew, saw exactly what was happening in both the physical and spiritual realms, and He washed Judas' feet.
Because He loved him.
As His heart broke from the betrayal and the loss of a loved one, from the pain of having one so close to his heart trade away his life for mere coins, Jesus still loved. Still served.
I ask myself if I could do that? Um, no. I don't think it's humanly possible.
It is incomprehensible unless it is an act of God.
My God, My Jesus, Lord of my heart and life, Savior of my soul, I ask what stands between me and you. I want so much for my soul to mingle with your Spirit. I want to inhale you and exhale me. I want to merge completely, to feel you rush through every part of me.
Flood and overwhelm. Lavish.
What stands between our union like that? My flesh. It is a mortal cage that would tether me to its death sentence and bar me from your freedom. Please, my Lord, cut me free of these forsaken bonds and draw my whole self into your being, your freedom. Jesus--whose blood on Earth freed me from death--my dearest Lord Jesus, I want the whole dependence on the Father that you had, and the freedom to love like You. A love not of this world nor bound by its laws. I want you. More of you. All of you that I can bear. And then more.