Do This In Remembrance of Me

We had Communion in church yesterday. I love Communion.

Sunday mornings are always busy. I have four kids that must be picked up from their classes. I teach a class. And people always have things to talk to me about concerning Women's Ministry. I love all of it. I love my class and my church family. I love getting settled in our seats and looking around for new visitors to go meet. I love our music.

All of the different aspects of these things swirl around in my head as I sit there. Burt preached about deacons. About the fact that God has called all of us to serve. To live in connection with others. To give of ourselves and our time to serve others. One of the points that he made was that serving increases our faith because when we serve, we are in a deeper communion with Christ. We learn more of him through serving others because he came to serve. We are identifying ourselves with him.

As I sat and listened, I was pierced in my soul. I was cut to the quick over my pride. I know that I serve others, but is the intent of my serving to be more intimate with Jesus? Or is it to feel good? When is "serving" a natural talent and when is it an exercise of my faith?

Then it was time for communion. I felt overcome by my shallowness, my selfishness. I could hear Burt telling me to come to Christ's table and I sat there fighting to find Him. My sin felt like it was pushing me under, the water was murky. I tried concentrating really hard. "Picture the cross." .... "God where are you? I can't find you here."

Then the still small voice said, "Be still." And the image of being at the lake when I was a kid immediately came to mind. Stomping around in the water's edge, seeing the mud churn up and make the water thick and cloudy. Then I could picture myself in the water, swinging my arms around frantically trying to find the surface. Working. Striving. Struggling. Then the voice, "Be still."

In my mind and spirit and body, I took a deep breath and stopped... Breathe... Wait. The water clears if you quit churning up the bottom. And there He was. Like seeing the sun shining down on the surface of the water, he was there looking at me.

Like with Peter. Peter denied him three times, each more vehement than the last. And at the last, Jesus turned and looked at him. Then he went to the cross and died. Knowing that the only one brave enough to follow him at all had just denied knowing him. And yet... he still died.

Knowing all my sin, pride, shallowness, selfishness, he died. He told me, "Take this, my body, broken for you, eat. Take my blood, shed for your redemption, drink." And I ate. And drank. And received his mercy anew. I was fed. I was full. My sin no longer overwhelmed me, pulling me under, making the water murky. Suddenly, Christ was so much bigger than my sin. The burden of it fell away like dead weight. And I floated to the surface to bask in his light. Free. Loved. Cherished. Remembering.