One of the most fantastic things about the holidays has got to be my mom's cooking.
Sure, holidays at the grandparents are great, and my in-laws are fantastic, but I grew up eating what my mom made and it will always symbolize home for me. Something about her stuffing, her mashed potatoes...heck, even her cinnamon rolls taste different in my parents' house even if I recreate the recipe perfectly. There's an element of familiarity and warmth that comes from the atmosphere, of reconnecting to happy memories, complete triumphs, and utter defeats. I have a history with those meals, and they will forever be a part of me.
I think that's what Christ is getting at with His last supper. While scholars can debate the merits of transubstantiation, the meaning of there being dual cups in (I believe) Luke, and other academic endeavors, I feel in my innermost being that what Christ is doing with this humble meal of bread and wine aims to call us home.
No matter what happened throughout the week, whether there were happy memories, complete triumphs, utter defeats, or most likely an emotionally taxing combination of all three, when we place the body and blood on our tongues we can feel home. We are reminded of our salvation, the greatest gift of all time and (usually) one of our happiest memories. We are brought back to our triumphs in the Lord. We can savor our defeats, because we know Christ has been made stronger through them, and we are made stronger in Him.
Crackers and juice are just crackers and juice. I've eaten saltines my entire life, and grape juice is always a classic. But for some reason, sitting amongst my brothers and sisters in the Lord, that simple meal brings me home, into the presence of my Lord, where I truly belong.
"You make known to me the path of life; you fill me with joy in your presence, with eternal pleasures at your right hand." Psalm 16:11
