He laid in front of me, his chest partially uncovered. “Eat my flesh and drink my blood,” he said. And when I hesitated, He said, “don’t be afraid. It is a gift, one that was meant for you.” 

“Only,” he added, “please do so in gratitude. I suffered a great deal to give this to you.”

So I began to cut him apart. I desecrated Him, at His own request. I cut strips of flesh from hands that had healed, cut away flesh from the feet that had brought good news. “How lovely are the feet of those who bring good news, Isaiah had said….. I took and drank blood that didn’t belong to me, blood that had travelled through his heart, the blood that bore, over and over again, the fingerprint of His DNA. 

When it was time to cut his heart out, I hesitated. “Don’t you want something for the pain? Shouldn’t I drug you with some painkillers, or make you unconscious first?”

He placed his hand gently over mine, ignoring the rusted knife it held. He looked directly into my eyes. Even as His face showed exhaustion, pain, and blood loss, He smiled sweetly, and said, “what groom drugs himself before his own wedding?” 

And I cut His heart out. 

See:

Isaiah 52:7

And see: Matthew 27:33-34, when Jesus was offered something to ease His pain while being crucified, and refused to drink it.