Invitation

An invitation

I received an invitation. Apparently it is an open invitation. It read:

“Come and break bread with me. Let’s talk. I will tell you my story and you can tell me yours. I want to share with you, to give you all that I am.”

I was excited.

He was there waiting for me as I entered His home. He greeted me with arms outstretched. He was beautiful yet I knew He had fought for life.

As I looked around I couldn’t help but notice that there were enough seats to feed an army, yet the setting was so intimate, as if it would be just Him and me for dinner.

There were candles, flowers, pictures, and statues everywhere. I wondered who the pictures were of, what their stories were, and still are? From where had the flowers come? And the stained glass windows were so grand as they called me into their facets.

The statues and images, He told me, were of those He loved who had passed away. He told me their stories, of the love they had for Him and how they had fought and died telling His story and love for all.

An art piece of His beautiful mother, Mary, was placed in a position of his house as if she was looking lovingly upon those who came to visit Her son with pride and seemed to be giving a special blessing.

She was beautiful and sad at the same time, as if her struggle was having to watch what her Son had to go through, but she knew He did it for love.

I was struck by the fragrance of incense in His home while candles created the perfect ambience for the dinner He had invited me to participate.

He told me the candles are to light the way to Him, and the red candle was to remind us He was truly present. The incense was our prayers that He was sending up to His father.

An artist had rendered images of His struggle that were placed around His living area. Fourteen in all. Most of them were hard to look at, because they were so violent of a war waged on one Man.

The stained glass windows, He said, were for those who could not read, so that they too could know His story. But He said the real secret was that the beauty of them was His hope to call them into His house so that they too could get know Him - from the outside shine.

Oh and the table, that He set for me to dine, was the most beautiful. I think I could actually see His loved ones at one point during the meal. Diego, Bernadette, Maria, Andrew, Bibiana, Thomas, Daphne, Agnes, Terese, Anne, John, Theresa, Martha, Mary, Joseph, Moses, Elias, Barnabas, Ignatius, Matthew, Mark, Magdalene, Rachel, Elizabeth…there were so many. He also had soldiers that were lovingly guarding Him.

The way He looked at me as He placed the bread in my hand, and the wine…I was in heaven. I didn’t want to leave. The love He had for me was intense. I didn’t want it to end. And it didn’t because I carried it out with me to share His message with you.

He is love, and those images and statues and stained glass windows, flowers, candles, are but reminders of what He gave for us.

They are no different than the images of the loved ones who have gone before you that you talk to, pray for, are saddened by and that have reminded you of the happy moments you shared in their lives. ​

Let’s respect His house. Let’s respect each other’s homes.