The day begins as any day. It is a time of remembrance. My disciples think this is a time as any Feast day. A time to gather and come together. A time of preparation for this day of remembrance once a year. It is all customary; it is familiar. They are glad to once again be in my presence.
Even as the bread is broken and the wine is poured out, they cannot know the true significance. Even as I articulate the truth of my broken body and my blood poured out for them and the world, it holds only symbolism. How can they know what will transpire? How can they envision the horror of the coming days? Nothing or no one could come against the coming events. It is My Father’s will. I lay down my life. No one takes it. I could have called my armies to prevent such an act.
All points to my sacrifice. From the first shedding of blood in the garden. Skins that only covered yet revealed the shadow of things to come. The sacrifice of Isaac not needed for only I would suffice. Only My blood would be pure enough; the blood of The Father.
Come and partake. Eat my body and drink my blood as a symbol of what I gave. A sinless, perfect sacrifice. Once for all.