Jesus sits down for supper with a small group of friends. He’s hosting the party. He’s got everything covered.

He takes some bread, breaks it, and gives thanks. He takes the cup and gives thanks.

It’s chilling if you think about it. Jesus is thankful for the bread and wine which he then says stand for his body and blood which will be drained out in less than twenty-four hours.

Facing his own destruction, knowing of the plot to kill him, predicting for weeks that this day and crossroads was coming, he still is thankful.

Most of us, when we know that something awful is about to happen, find it difficult to muster the quietness to be thankful. Instead, we are jumpy, we are chatty, we forget the simplest things.

On the other hand, the times that we are thankful are times when we are anticipating something good, when even the smallest provision elicits abundant gratitude.

Do you see what I see in this simple action of Jesus?

Father, here we are, at this table, with these guys. I am in the presence of my enemy, but you have prepared this table. You have given us this bread. You have given us this wine. This bread, a perfect metaphor. There will always be bread. This will always be available for telling the story. And a cup of wine. Perfect. exactly right. The blood-redness of it will resemble blood. This story, written in our creation, and my blood. It will hurt like hell. It will limit hell.

Thank you.

Jesus knew where the bread came from. He knew the story it would tell. Because he knew the plot, he could be thankful for what seemed awful.

Our invitation? To trust that story. By trusting, to join it. And to be thankful.