Lord, once more I have eaten and drunk in your house. I stretched out my hand and brought bread to my mouth. The taste of the wine still lingers. They are reminders of the body and blood of your only Son, broken and shed for me.
Father, I have done this so often, in various churches, cities and even countries. Now I wonder if at any time, in any of these places, I ever truly “discerned the body” of my broken Master. And when I participated today, was it “worthily?” Why did my heart not cry when I thought of the broken body and of the death that I should be “showing” while I swallowed twice?
Oh, my God, can it be that my heart has hardened? I confess that it is true. Against my wishes, without my knowledge, Satan has managed to infiltrate my emotions as well as my life. Suddenly, I perceive the devastation that he has caused. I know why I did not cry.
Heavenly Father, I have been your daughter since childhood days. I clearly recall when, for the first time, my mother read the story of Jesus’ death to me from a children’s story Bible. For weeks and months, I attentively followed the progress of divine revelation—creation, sin, the flood, the formation of God’s people, the heroes of the faith, the prophets… I was thrilled with the birth of Jesus. I watched Him grow, teach, tell parables, perform miracles… I didn’t know how to read. We didn’t have a television. Throughout the day, the scenes would go through my mind until, at bedtime, another chapter of the divine story would become my own through my mother’s lips.
With horrified tears, I followed every detail of His suffering. I felt His anguish when, in the cool Gethsemane night, His perspiration turned into drops of blood. From personal experience, I already knew that blood signified suffering and pain.
I was outraged by Judas’ traitorous kiss and, when the soldiers arrested Him, I felt an enormous urge to cry out that He was innocent. My heart applauded Peter’s rapid reaction, as he drew his sword to defend His Master, and was amazed when Jesus healed the wound of his enemy and said— “Peter, put that sword away. If I should wish it, thousands of angels would come to set me free. But I’m doing this because my Father wants me to. I have a mission to accomplish.”
In consternation, I saw that Jesus’ kind and miraculous act had no effect upon those soldiers. Upon my inquiry, my mother confirmed that not even the servant that had been healed opened his mouth in protest. Instead, they wrenched His arms behind His back so that they could tie together the hands of blessing and healing. I watched Him, still smudged with blood because of his earlier anguish, being taken away by those rude and insensitive men. In the darkness, he stumbled, trying to maintain his balance as they shouted, pushed and shoved.
I took offence at the false accusations. I felt the whips as if they were lashing my own shoulders. I yearned for someone to wipe His brow from the blood that was running from the crown of thorns. I winced as they spit on His face. I kept waiting for Herod and Pilate to declare Him innocent. I expected Jesus to explain the true situation. But He remained silent. No one got up to defend Him. The reason for that was a terrible mystery to me.
I got terribly angry with Peter when he denied Him and was enraged with all those religious and political leaders. They were idiots, evil, cowards…!
His condemnation was unbelievable. How could God allow this to happen to such a good person! To His only Son! Certainly He would interfere at some point. And I listened impatiently as my mother described Jesus’ anguished itinerary to Golgotha. When the nails were hammered into His hands and feet, I began to cry. As I huddled in her lap, I heard how He died. But she comforted me, promising that on the next day we would learn about His return to life. And so it was.
For weeks, Lord, I begged not to go beyond those chapters, asking my mother to read them to me over and over again, until the words and the events were engraved forever on my heart. The author of the book explained “The Lord Jesus never did anything wrong. He didn’t deserve any punishment… But the people did. People do many wrong things. Men and women and children too; all of them. These do deserve punishment. They cannot go into the beautiful heaven to be near God… But the Lord Jesus loved these people so much. He wanted to take the punishment that they deserved. And then… then the beautiful heaven will again be opened for these people. It was this marvelous thing that the Lord wanted to give them. But that punishment…. That punishment was so heavy! And the Lord Jesus had to bear it all alone… He did not say one word. The pain and the sorrow were borne patiently and silently by Him… And there was no hatred or anger in His glance…”
My mother also answered my questions and, bit by bit, I understood that Jesus had suffered all of these things in my place. I was so grateful. I truly sought to show my love to Him by my obedience and good behavior.
And so I continued growing in your ways, Lord, by your grace. I did profession of my faith and married one of your servants. I continue reading your word diligently, go to worship services, teach Sunday School, share my faith… Nevertheless, I still became hardened. I hardly resemble that little girl that was so shocked with the existence of violence, cruelty and suffering.
Father, I thought that I was being careful with the films that I watch. I inspect and control the things that my children see. But now I realize that, bit by bit, my criteria has changed. It’s true that I still continue rejecting all that is explicitly immoral or violent. I look for that which is upbuilding, informative, educational or interesting. Nevertheless, your enemy managed to penetrate my defenses.
As I partook of your supper, I tried to concentrate on the broken body and shed blood of my Savior. I tried to visualize His pained and anguished face. But my heart would not follow my mind. And I began to ponder. Scenes of the film that I had watched the day before appeared in my mind. An intriguing plot. Famous and talented actors. Arab terrorists hijacking an airplane. American commandoes sneaking aboard. A courageous stewardess. Good against evil. The good wins out. Just like it should. No scenes violating the seventh commandment.
But what about the sixth commandment. A colleague of the stewardess gets shoved and ends up dead on the floor. The camera focuses on the pool of blood beside her head. A man gets shot in the face and blood flows from the hands that he instinctively raises. One of the terrorists staggers in the aisle with blood pouring from his back while another agonizes after confronting one of the “saviors” of the plane. Anguished, wounded, bloody, mutilated, agonizing and dead people—all in the space of an hour and a half of entertainment. I watched it, turned it off and that was that. Life went on. I didn’t lose any sleep over it. I had no nightmares. It was just one of many films that I have watched.
But I didn’t confess the worst part yet, my God. It is that my adolescent children watched with me. It’s true that I made them turn away during the violent scenes. But they were there. And the next time it is offered to them, they’ll remember that they saw this film with their mother. They will watch it with no qualms. And if I ask them if they’re sure that it’s ok, they can reply, “We saw it with you, Mom.” And I will go on with my tasks and, this time, I won’t be there to tell them to close their eyes… And the scenes of gratuitous violence will multiply in their memories. After a few times, they too will sleep unperturbed. It was meant for their amusement. They watched it, turned it off and that was that.
Have mercy, Lord, so that they will not regard the sacrifice of your son in the same unperturbed manner. Make it so that this act of eating and drinking does not become a mere mystical, communitary ritual, with ancient origins of little current relevance.
Father, I thank You for this warning. Please renew my awareness of the suffering of my Savior. I want my obedience to You to be the fruit of a sincere gratitude, of my perception of the immensity of your love for me. Only in this way I will be motivated to be faithful to You when difficulties arise and will I have joy when I am called to be a “partaker of Christ’s sufferings.”
Finally, give me wisdom to deal with the violence that keeps trying to infiltrate our lives. Movies are not the only problem, Father. My husband and I need discernment to choose well from among the horde of computer and videogames, musical video clips, books and magazines that proliferate daily. Give us courage to stop tolerating the “not so bad.” Help us to insist on what is good, and not only avoid the bad. Please don’t allow our children to nourish pleasure at violent scenes because of our carelessness nor permit them to find thrills as, on their video or computer games, they play at killing, “virtually” maiming and exploding people while their screams of terror and pain fill our ears incessantly.
Please raise up people in this country of Brazil, that are prepared to face the enemy in this area; that are ready to engage in mortal combat against Mortal Kombat and its similars and that can clearly communicate to their brothers the dangers and pernicious values that are inherent to the entertainment that bombards us from all sides.
Father, don’t allow the false experts with their modern, attractive and Satanic pedagogical theories to reach and intimidate your servants, both parents and children, so that they become afraid to advocate the right and defend it from the wrong. We have your Word, help us to remain in it so that we know the truth that will free us from the slavery that they want to impose on us.
I ask this, in the name of your Son, whose broken body and shed blood I long to better discern and proclaim, the next time that I partake of your Holy supper. Amen.
January, 1997
Published in the Presbyterian Ladies’ Magazine, SAF em Revista, 2nd Quarter, 1998