Dining with the Divine, Reclining with the Redeemer

The supper is made: it is finished. We approach a table on which is laid an inestimable, ineffable feast. The bread is warm and ready to be torn for eating. The wine is poured generously from its cask; may all who will hear about this night know that the wine flowed and flowed. This feast is for you.
This is no restaurant, the host reminds. There is no fee for the uncorking, no surcharge for refills. Just bring your appetite. Come hungry. Again and again, come thirsty and parched and ready to dine and drink. Work all day, every day, and trust that this supper will await your emptied stomach and dry tongue in the evening, whenever you come seeking it. This feast is for you.
You'll certainly come with the day's sweat still glistening on your forehead. Your arms and legs will be tired from toil. Your eyes will be heavy. Your calloused, broken feet will be brown and dusty, mud and muck caked on. You'll arrive in no shape for a proper supper. Who would approach a feast without readying himself? But don't fret, wanderer. Don't worry, worker. Your host will wash you. He will prepare you to dine. This feast is for you.
When he breaks the bread, he will say it is for you. When he pours the wine, he will say it is for you. Oh, how many times will you partake, friend, before you realize that this host himself is for you? How many times will you come to dine before you understand that you are dining with the divine, reclining with your redeemer?
You will never know satiation of that deep hunger that you itch about and tremble over in the middle of the night until you ask why. Why is the table always ready? Why is he always prepared to wash my feet and serve me bread and pour me drink? This host, my friend, is Jesus. Did you not notice his king's crown? Did you not see his gaping wounds? Did you never follow him from supper in your robe, with belly full and mouth tingling, into his garden and to his Father's house? There is a second course, brother. Do you not hear his prayers, his invitations? Go and be fed.