The Last Supper

Communion & Rising Above Betrayal

Over the summer, I found myself in a heated debate over something I never imagined would stir such intense emotion: The Last Supper.

It all began with the Paris Olympics Opening Ceremonies. Their creative direction was bold, symbolic, and deeply polarizing—perhaps intentionally so. The imagery stirred conversations across the globe, not just about athleticism, but about spirituality, history, and identity. It was as if their marketing team knew exactly how to provoke the collective consciousness, bringing sacred archetypes into the spotlight.

As I’ve shared before, I was raised Catholic. While I no longer consider myself a devoted member of the Church, I hold deep respect for the teachings I absorbed during those early years. They helped shape my moral compass: to love my neighbor, to walk humbly, to give when I can, and to treat others as I wish to be treated.

I may not follow the doctrine to the letter, but I live by the heart of it.

Growing up Filipino, Catholicism wasn’t just a religion—it was everything. Faith is woven into the fabric of our culture, influencing how we celebrate, how we grieve, and how we view justice, compassion, and community. So when images of the Last Supper became a global talking point, it felt personal—not just spiritually, but culturally.

As the debates unfolded, I found myself watching people—some of whom I considered part of my own community—mocking a symbol that’s literally hanging in my parents’ dining room wall. It caught me off guard. What started as creative spectacle at the Olympics had snowballed into something that felt like open ridicule—targeted specifically at Christians and Catholics.

It wasn’t just satire or critique. It felt like mockery on a massive stage, and yet when people expressed hurt or offense, they were quickly dismissed as being “too sensitive.”

That moment made me reflect deeply on the actual significance of the Last Supper.

Growing up, we revisited the story every year—Jesus’ final meal with his comrades, his ride-or-dies, his most loyal companions. Even knowing betrayal was imminent, he chose to show up with presence, with love. This was the night Communion was born—when he broke the bread to represent his body, and poured the wine to represent his blood.

As a child, this teaching instilled in me an intuitive understanding: when I eat of the Earth and drink her waters, I’m also becoming more like Christ - that was the lesson he was leaving everyone. 

To me, that ritual wasn’t about religion—it was about reverence. And it impacted my perspective on food, especially after learning more about nutrition and how food is cultivated.

But somewhere along the way, the sacredness of this ritual began to feel… diluted. In a world of overconsumption and instant gratification, breaking bread has shifted from communion to compulsion and entertainment. We’re no longer simply nourishing ourselves nor really appreciating where the food is coming from—we're trying to fill a hunger that goes far deeper than the body.

It made me wonder: how often do we betray ourselves by trying to satisfy that endless hunger with things that don’t truly feed us?

We take more than we need—from the Earth, from each other, from ourselves—believing more will finally make us feel full. But like Judas trading loyalty for silver, we sometimes sell out our truth for a temporary fix.

This is what I call meeting your inner Judas. The part of us that acts from fear. That hides behind masks. That chooses comfort over courage. That numbs instead of feels. That betrays our highest self because the path of integrity can be painfully inconvenient.

But here's the good news: Judas lives within us, yes—but so does Jesus.

And every moment gives us a choice: betrayal or bravery, avoidance or presence, fear or love.

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Just like Judas, we all have moments where we choose the path of least resistance. Where we give into temptation, insecurity, or ego.

This week, as a continuation of Monday’s post on the 7 Deadly Sins, I invite you to reflect on which of these energies show up in your own life—not as punishments, but as portals for transmutation.

Each sin is a teacher in disguise, revealing where we're disconnected from our highest truth:

• Gluttony – Where am I trying to fill a void with consumption rather than connection?

• Greed – In what ways do I take more than I give, fearing there won't be enough?

• Lust – Where am I seeking intimacy through fantasy, rather than cultivating true presence?

• Envy – Where do I betray myself by comparing my journey to others’?

• Pride – When do I armor up with ego instead of surrendering to humility?

• Wrath – Where am I punishing others for the pain I haven’t healed within myself?

• Sloth – In what areas of my life am I asleep to my potential, avoiding the inner work?

Each of these shadows contains sacred information.

When acknowledged with compassion and curiosity, they can be alchemized into virtues: temperance, generosity, chastity, kindness, humility, patience, and diligence.

It hit me recently—maybe I was always meant to be obsessed with the final season of Smallville. Maybe I didn’t fully understand why it stuck with me all these years… until now.

In that final arc, Darkseid preys on humanity’s weaknesses—amplifying fear, manipulation, and ego to divide people from their truth. Nearly everyone is marked with the Omega symbol, the ancient symbol for the end—the mark of surrendering to shadow. And what was he preying on?

The 7 Deadly Sins.

The same energetic distortions that have plagued humanity for centuries.

And honestly? That storyline doesn’t feel like fiction anymore.

Look around.

We’ve taken too much from the Earth.

We’re drowning in consumerism.

We mistake excess for success, and pleasure for peace.

People feel divided now more than ever.

And now we’re facing the consequences—not as punishment, but as a wake-up call.

I don’t share this to sound preachy. I’m not here to condemn. I’m here because I believe we’re being asked to choose. We’re being called to bring sacredness back into our lives—to remember that every moment, every breath, every bite, can be infused with love again.

This is the path of Christ Consciousness—not about religion, but about radical love, forgiveness, and alignment.

Jesus learned how to create Heaven on Earth, and through his sacrifice, offered the world the blueprint to do the same.

He surrendered his Heaven on Earth—not as a loss, but as a gift—so that we might rise, awaken, and reclaim ours.

Not through perfection… but through presence. Through choice. Through love.

We’re at a crossroads: Continue numbing out, avoiding the work, clinging to what's comfortable…Or do the brave thing—face the shadows, integrate the sins, and rise.

Not to ascend into some distant “heaven”…But to create Heaven on Earth.

🌿 Closing Reflections

The Last Supper wasn’t just a farewell dinner—it was a mirror.

A moment of ultimate presence in the face of betrayal, of fear, of fate.

Jesus didn’t run from his Judas.

He broke bread with him.

He shared his table.

He loved him anyway.

And maybe that’s the invitation for us now.

To recognize our own inner betrayer—not with shame, but with compassion.

To remember that every shadow reveals where the light still wants to shine.

We don’t overcome our vices by force.

We transmute them through love.

Through awareness.

Through choice.

The Earth is calling for this transmutation.

Not tomorrow.

Not when we’re more ready.

Now.

To take only what we need.

To return what we’ve borrowed.

To embody the very virtues we’ve forgotten: humility, patience, temperance, kindness.

The battle between light and dark isn’t out there—

It’s within us.

It always has been.

But so is the resurrection. So is the redemption.

So is the warrior who chooses love over fear.

You are that warrior.

Happy Holy Thursday.