Let’s be honest, today was an awful day. I fought myself to wake up, eventually winning, but a good half hour after the projected wake up time. I tried to write a blog several times today, but never got past: “My to-do list is long and ‘buying eggs’ keeps getting pushed to the bottom. Yesterday was Monday and my to-do list ended with ‘fall over.’ Not as a command, but as the inevitable.”
I felt inadequate at work today. I was frustrated and confused, probably because I have been exhausted so much so that I am surprised I haven’t cried yet. Actually, strike that, I shed a few tears on my drive from one office job to another. Traffic and stoplights give me too much time to think. And so does waiting for the copier to make ninety copies of something front and back and stapled. All that to say, my day was not a good day. I have been looking forward to the following: lunch, sleep, and Saturday (the only Saturday this month I will get to sleep in).
But there was a worship service on campus tonight. Honestly, I just went because I needed the chapel point (I know, ministry majors shouldn’t admit that, but I am tired and it meant pushing my bedtime back a full hour). It is called “Kingdom Come.” It started off a little rocky, with worship songs I wasn’t familiar with and no words to sing along. However, I could see at the front of the stage was the Table. The elements were sitting there.
They started singing the song that is always sung during Communion, and I was getting antsy. “Sweet Jesus Christ my sanity, sweet Jesus Christ my clarity; Bread of heaven, broken for me; Cup of salvation held up to drink, Jesus the Mystery,” they sang. I looked around: the back was instructed to go first. I was patient. I waited. But I knew what was coming.
“Christ has die and Christ is risen, and Christ will come again,” they sang as if on repeat. Finally it was time for my row to walk forward. I couldn’t help it. I knew that I was going to rip off a piece of bread and dip it in the juice. I was going to taste life. It was the life I needed desperately. It was the restoration I was longing for that I confused with a desire for breakfast burritos (although those Sonic breakfast burritos were yummo). I needed to be reminded. I am given freedom. I am given life in Christ’s death and resurrection.
I was smiling. I ripped the bread and dipped it into juice. “This is Christ’s body broken for you. Christ’s blood shed for you.”
“Praise be to God,” I said. I wanted to scream it. I wanted to fist pump the air. Praise be to God! May He get all the glory!
I was walking back, stood in my place. I know the song; I know my favorite part is still coming up. I love Communion, and I love ritual.
The drums starting pounding and the guitar was hitting the right notes and “Celebrate his death and rising; Lift your eyes, proclaim his coming; Celebrate his death and rising; Lift your eyes, lift your eyes,” they sang.
Celebrate his death, but that’s not all. His rising. We celebrate his rising. The grave could not hold him. We proclaim his coming. I am expectant. He will come again. And we will celebrate.
So at the end of an awful day, I tasted joy. I tasted the Kingdom.
And I end my day crossing myself. Amen.