The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.
And the people received him not.
Jesus broke the bread, passed the wine
"This is my body, this is my blood...eat it, drink it to remember me."
They crucified Him. His followers mourned.
He rose, He appeared, His followers rejoiced.
They grew in number. They met. They talked about what they had seen.
They ate, they drank. They remembered.
They gave their lives for what they believed.
They took from their plenty and gave to those in need.
They remembered: "What you have done for the least of these you've done for me."
They were united. They communed. They were accountable.
His followers disagreed over PowerPoints.
They fought over which songs to sing.
Some of them clapped, some of them held on to the pew.
Some of them spoke in tongues, some never opened their mouths to sing.
So they all broke off into different churches who talked badly about the others behind their backs.
They set up gossip rings and called them prayer chains.
They took God's Word out of context and stretched it to say what they wanted it to.
They kicked the preacher out of the church because the numbers weren't good.
They went on TV and ranted and raved and screamed and hollered but didn't say a lot.
They went to the least of these and told them God wanted them to send money to pay for lavish mansions and boats.
So it became hard to tell His followers from everybody else.
They gossiped just as much.
They shopped just as much.
They ignored the needy just as much.
They backstabbed just as much.
Their relationships looked the same.
Their families looked the same.
Their houses looked the same.
Their values looked the same.
They passed the plate of bread and grape juice,
But with all of the activity of religion and church and politics
And who's right and who's wrong, it was hard to remember.
And it was every man for himself.
And still, in the quiet of the night, that still, small voice whispers softly, "Remember me..."