The poison ivy got me. I put on gloves and went to war, pulling it up by the roots, yanking it up and breaking it off with reckless abandon. I’ve beaten it. It no longer lurks in the shrubs, waiting to ambush a hapless victim, but it didn’t go down without a fight. It’s left me wounded, struggling with itchy blisters around my wrist.
It occurred to me this Sunday. I was walking down the aisle to take communion. I looked at my ugly sores and thought how wonderful it would be to just wash away the poison and all the ugly, itchy painful mess all over my wrist. As I took the bread and the juice, I realized that over 2000 years ago, on a wooden cross, Jesus had done it. For sure, He still does it today. He offers the cure for a sore and blistered heart. The satisfaction for a soul that itches for peace. He offers it freely, if we will only take it. The bread and the juice had special meaning to me today. He is the Antidote for the poison.