Communion In everyone’s career, they have moments they love and other moments they could do with out. It’s the balance of those scales that help us decide if what we are doing is something we truly love and want to do long term or if it is something that we can only tolerate to pay the bills until we find something more satisfying. With my career, I consider myself very fortunate as I have far more days that I love than I do days I wish to just stay in bed and pretend I didn’t hear the alarm clock. Even the moments that most likely should be difficult never seem that bad. And the great moments? They truly are the best. Sometimes those moments are as obvious as a full dining hall, filled with the laughter and ever-increase conversation of fellowship. Other times, it is more subtle. Like the stars that float over our heads every night, just hoping to be noticed so they can reveal the vastness of God’s creation. Sunday was an interesting mix of both the obvious and the subtle though. One of the great joys I find in my job is going to different churches to share about the camp ministry and to encourage continued participation in our mission. Many of the churches I visit I attend yearly as a guest, driving long distances just for the chance at 15 minutes to share the children’s message or to visit some Sunday School rooms. It makes for long days, but ultimately it is worth it. This past Sunday, I went to a church in Janesville, WI. I have visited my friends there several years in a row now and always have had a warm reception. The children’s time went well as I shared with the youngest kids about the bizarre tradition and mystery of a snipe hunt and how for many years I treated my own faith in the same way. Often seeking something I never had any intention of truly finding and when I realized it was actually real, I realized I had been looking in the wrong places and with the wrong heart all along. After this time with the kids, I stayed through the service and was asked to help with communion by the pastor. You may find this hard to believe, but I have only done this one other time in my life, and that was the previous year at this same church. I’m not sure why I have never really assisted with communion before, but I guess the opportunity just never came up. On this Sunday, the communion elements were being distributed up at the front of the sanctuary as the rows of the congregation were guided by the ushers. Row by row, people walked to the communion railing, knelt as they were able, and waited for us to serve them the cubed bread and the tiny glasses of grape juice. I had seen and been a part of this practice for my entire life. But from this vantage point it was so different. To hold the tray of glasses before someone and say the words, “The blood of Christ,” as they willfully took part in one of the oldest and most sacred moments in human existence. It was amazing. And it should always be amazing. I know for myself though, it has not always been this great moment of symbolism that it deserves. In many ways, the great act of communion had been reduced to a “first Sunday of the month” tradition that extends the service by a few minutes but did not actually feel like this great moment of interaction with a living and holy God. Don’t get me wrong, there are many deep moments when I have taken communion as well. Especially when I had felt I had been truly separated from God by my recent actions or attitude. In those moments, communion felt altogether too short. In the moment I received the bread or held the juice, I needed more time to truly articulate my need in prayer for forgiveness and grace. I can remember clearly at the church of my youth, resting my forehead heavily against the pew in front of me. Feeling the wood grain pressing against my head, I would work through the mistakes I had made and embrace the love that was purchased on the cross at the front of the sanctuary. That was different. That was a holy moment each and every time I entered into it. And so there I was. Repeating those words. “The blood of Christ.” Over and over again. To each face and heart it was likely hitting them differently, just as it has in my own life. But I couldn’t help but wonder what those individual circumstances were. As their fingers pulled the small glass from the shiny silver tray, was their heart heavy with the loss of a loved one or anxiety about how to provide for their family? Were they asking for forgiveness for something that happened recently? Something that happened this very morning? Or was it a revelation that finally freed them from some sin deep in the past, giving much needed release from something that had followed them for years? What was the good work that God was doing in this simple moment? And what about the other side of the coin? What about those who were here, but not really here? What about those who, like myself on some previous Sundays, were taking the bread and the juice, and did not fully embrace this moment for it’s potential? Would God meet with them in another way later this week? Or was the idea of giving their struggles to an invisible God too much to believe in the midst of their personal storm? Whatever the case, the moment provided such a range of potential and change. While it may look so simple and in many ways absurd on the outside, these littles cubes of bread and tiny glasses of grape juice were telling a story much bigger than I can fully understand. A moment of surrender and remembrance given freely to all, embraced by many, and transformative for some. God’s work is never done with us. And even when it feels as though He may have departed from us in our hardships, that is when that time at the railing of communion is all the more necessary for our hearts to be brought close to Him once again. He does not depart from us, we depart from Him. Im just thankful that most times all it takes to jog my memory of the sacrifice Christ made is a little piece of bread and some juice. He does great things through those simple means.
Posted on: Thu, 06 Mar 2014 04:31:47 +0000
Trending Topics
Recently Viewed Topics
© 2015