Of all the many reminders to remember, two seem to stand out: Remember the death of Jesus. Remember the prisoners. Both of these items can be brought to mind when our heart burns within us. And that fire is set in Heaven, as God's people seek it diligently.

Think with me of Cleopas and his friend, mourning the loss of Jesus as they slowly head to their home in Emmaus (Luke 24). A stranger joins them and engages them in a conversation about the stories they have heard all their lives, but never with such meaning, never with such a connection to their inner most beings. A fire is kindled. Interest is high.

But alas, they reach home, and the visitor is about to move on. No! they both say. You must come in and have dinner. The three sit at a modest table and the visitor holds up bread, as Melchizedek of old. As the bread and the body of the visitor are both in view, a curious feeling arises, adding to the burning of their hearts. In an instant the stranger, Jesus Himself, is gone. The bread remains and catches their gaze. The connection is made. This they will never forget.

Jesus has already told His disciples to take bread like this, break it, eat it, and in so doing, to remember. But the story of Cleopas is relayed through the centuries to remind us of the need for the burning heart when the subject of Jesus' death is remembered in a group. No rote prayers here. No routine or ritual. This is to be a heart matter or it cannot be practiced at all. Those who eat "unworthily" says Paul, that is, not discerning what Jesus did and why, will be guilty of the crucifixion all over again.

For it was dead hearts and a cold crowd, a religion gone awry and frozen with indifference and ignorance that crucified Jesus. That religion lives - or rather spreads death - among us still. It is a sorry thing to see young and old alike trivializing the communion table by letting it pass in 5 minutes, with no heart, no tears, leaving people wondering "What was that all about?"

The burning heart. When the fire burns, flesh is gone. Gold is tried in fire. So are we.

So is the prisoner, the modern-day representatives of Jesus Christ that we are also told to remember. He has no collar, backward or properly placed. He usually wears no, or at least cares not for, title or privilege. He loves not this world. His heart is Jesus. He burns for Jesus' will to be done. The external fires of his life, the trials and persecutions, are nothing compared to the inferno that rages in his heart. He has seen Jesus. Naught else matters.