3 Nephi 18

Jesus told some of his twelve to get bread and wine for him. While they were gone to the store, he sat the crowds down. When the bread and wine arrived, he tore up the bread and passed chunks to his twelve. When they were full he told them to serve the leftover bread to the crowd. When all of them felt more or less full, he said to the twelve: “I’ll put one of you in charge of bread distribution to baptized believers. What we’ve done here should be a habit, a ritual. It’s to remember my body, which I’ve let everyone handle and prod and poke at. By chewing up this bread religiously, you assert that you remember this event.”

Next, he passed around a cup of wine to the twelve, who all took swigs, then passed it to the rest of the people. Again, everyone felt full, though the ratio of wine to fullness is debatable. Something else was going on here.

Jesus said to his twelve, “I know this seems weird, but sometimes I give weird things to do to see if you’ll obey. Simple as that. As for symbolism, the wine shouldn’t be hard to figure out: if the bread is my flesh, the wine is my blood. Flesh and blood—that’s all any of us is on earth. But if you think about my blood you are thinking about how I died mercilessly at the hands of traitors, which I did by choice for you. To remember this actually injects my spirit into your brain. He’ll scrub up your non-thinking-of-me thoughts, give you ideas, and sometimes be a road map, because even I can’t figure out your roadway system without help. Just kidding. It’s been a long day.

“Anyway, if you do these things it’s like building a house on a rock foundation. Hard to get started at that—have you ever tried building on a rock? But it’s worth the extra umph. As I’ve said before, the alternative is building on sand. (Okay, I’m leaving out building on good firm soil, which is probably what you’re used to. But hear me out.)

“Do what I say and our common Father will smile. The devil, meanwhile, will frown—though maybe not on the outside, because he likes to keep up good appearances. He’s a good Pr man. But don’t let that Cheshire grin fool you. He’s a menace. He’ll hunt you down and strap you to his wagon and throw you into cages for torture games.

“You’ve heard me pray and you were, shall I say, blown away. Try to pray that well. Consider me an example of good praying. And when people will say they couldn’t possibly write down what you said, you’ll know you’ve hit your mark.”

He turned back to the crowd for the next part:

Watch yourselves. Because Satan wants to sift you like wheat grains. You have to pray all the time, even if it’s not the top-flight prayer you’re aiming for. At least pray—in your families, especially, and for your families. Because, frankly, your doddering old patriarchy is in need of some sparking up. And till it gets some, your wives and children suffer. Look at how I’m talking even: as if wives and children weren’t here, which of course they are. So we should watch our speech, even when we’re not praying.

If you plead to God for the right things, incidentally, you’ll get them.

Do meet together often, too. And don’t be churchy snobs. Let anyone attend, no matter how they’re dressed or how they smell or how testily they might act. Learn what it means to be a “Christian.” You can pray for anyone who disturbs the presumptive peace of your meetings. But you’re not supposed to bar the door on them.

I’m a torch. You’re torchbearers. You know what that means. If you drop the torch, well, shame on you.

[He turned back to the twelve and said:]

Here’s something else I’m insisting (before I do some other things that Father requires of me):

even though you let people of disrepute meet with you, don’t let them eat the special bread or drink the special wine. For those folks it’s really a kind of poison, like eating hypocrisy and drinking deception. Still, even though you rightly forbid him or her to eat and drink, be patient and help get them to where they can eat and drink acceptably. Remember, repent + be baptized = get to eat the special bread, etc. Don’t repent and I spill wine all over your name. And that’s hard to get out.

Again, please be patient with these people. I have to repeat that injunction again and again, because it’s the nature of the highly religious to be mean and exclusionary. Tell the truth: that’s you, isn’t it? Stop thinking you’re under siege and see what you can do to make people who aren’t you happy. Don’t judge and close the door, even metaphorically. Because you truly have no idea what’s seething or brewing or incandescing in another man or woman’s brain. And if you think they’re sick, so what? Didn’t I just heal clinics full of sickies with the snap of my fingers? Who’s to say I can’t do that with souls as much as with bodies?

I’m talking at length and taking so much time because I’ve watched you fuss and elbow each other for decades. You may have repented of those Mosaic dysfunctions we all know about. But how about going deeper? Try looking out for each other instead of against each other.

I’ve got to go now. Let me touch each of you and say a few private words.

And he did. What he said was private. So don’t look for clues here. But he did, in touching them, flood each of them with his Spirit. We’ll see more evidence of that later, perhaps.

When he was done with this last act, a fog bank rolled in and effectively blinded them. Jesus snuck off in the cloud. The twelve later said he floated up just like he’d floated down only hours earlier.