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Communion


Communion.  Rapport.  Oneness.

The room is half lit.  Waves pound the shore outside.  The dishes piled high.  But our bellies are full and our hearts are more full.  Our laughter comes in bursts, and we are afraid we will wake the children already tucked in their beds.  We hold our breath and listen for a cry before the raucous laughter escapes from our lips again.

This place is safe.  It feels like being home.  Even though we are all out of town.  We share each other and faith and the little ones.  Our faults and our strengths.  We are far from perfect and that is okay.  Because in our weakness He is made strong.  Because we are family.

Communion.  An act or instance of sharing.

A hush comes over the table and someone suggests we say why we are thankful.  For the cross.  Like popcorn the answers come.  Continual renewal.  Forgiveness for all our sins, past, present, and future.  That in Christ our best days are always ahead of us.  For His strength that we can rest in.  For hope that we will see Makiah again.  That this life is truly the dream before we awake.  To eternity.  With Him.

Communion.  The eucharist.

We break the bread.  Because He was broken for us.  Because you don't have to be in a church building to be the church. It reminds me that we are broken.    We have felt the deep searing pain of brokenness.  The ripping and tearing that is evidence of the broken world we live in.    We marvel.  That a king would offer himself to step into this place and be torn to pieces for us.  For me.  For you.

We drink the juice and remember that more than juice has been poured out.  An offering.  An exchange.  A life for a life.  The life is in the blood they say.  Who would give their very essence to save another?  What master trades places with his servant? But we each have met the answer.  People can argue with ideas.  But these lives in this room, this hope, this laughter springing up out of brokenness.  Who can argue with this?  

This living Communion. 

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