• By James A. Tweedie

Meditation on the Lord's Supper



His body hung upon the cross

Like shattered glass

Like broken dreams

A brittle thing

A fragile flower

Crushed.

His blood congealed the dusty soil Like summer showers Like scattered shards A fallen ruin A splintered limb Dashed.

Yet ghastly beauty gasps as hidden sun Finds gleaming rubies to reflect and to redeem Or so it seems to me But short the space of days to sift the bits Of tesserae and raise them from the grave And in the light of dawn discern a face.

We eat the glass and drink the shards Like broken bread Like offered wine A burning heart An opened eye— Alive.


Listen to Mr. Tweedie's original musical setting.



James A. Tweedie is a recently retired pastor, poet and composer living in Long Beach, Washington. He likes to walk on the beach with his wife. He has written and self-published four novels and a collection of short stories. He has several hundred unpublished poems tucked away in drawers.