Palm trees wave their hands in the hot humid air. Hosanna. Lord save us. Set us free. See how your king comes to set his people free…
In the church I grew up in, we took communion every week. It was the Lord’s Supper done in remembrance of his death, burial, and Resurrection. If you missed Sunday morning for whatever mysterious reason, you could take it at the Sunday evening service. For 14 years I felt terribly awkward around the Lord’s Supper because that was how old I was when I was baptized, as in issued a ticket.
Last Sunday we were at the Kenyan coast for an organizational retreat. For the first time in seven months I got to take the Lord’s Supper. Seven months. After a practice that is central to my church experience once (or twice!) a week every Sunday for nearly 35 years, that’s a long dry spell. It came following a message which I was eagerly devouring as well, but won’t re-hash completely, about the “Triumphal Procession” that is mentioned in 2 Corinthians 2:14 and Colossians 2:15.
The image of the Greek word θριαμβεύω “triambuo” is actually the victory parade of a Roman army returning with the spoils of war, and there at the back of the line after the ticker tape and hurrahs, there comes the POW’s chained and destined for the arena to be killed by lions. So St. Paul describes our station in life as that part of the triumphal procession. The end. The POW’s. Being lead out of the kingdom of darkness, into the Kingdom of the Son He Loves.
And I was so happy to be marching slowly up the aisle at the end of that triumphant procession. But I missed my church back in Tennessee too. Then, I thought of them doing this exact same thing. We process forward to receive into our bodies little bits of the Body of Jesus and little bits of the Life of Jesus. And then my homesickness melted into something sweet and unifying. There they are too- following the careful procedures of which aisle to take, which element and which manner to take it. Looking around, who’s here today? What are they going through today? How’s his chemo I wonder? When’s her baby coming? Look how they take the children with them! O- I love this song, if only I could remember the 2nd verse… Jesus, this looks like a wedding and look at those wedding partiers processing up the aisle to meet you! I loved being the bride! And now, I receive you, Lord. Not just your supper. But You. Your death and your Beautiful Life that chases it down.
And I remember. I am part of you still. Nothing will separate me from your love.
There were 6 missionary kids last week that gave a testimony- their story of faith. (Ask somebody what that word means in Greek sometime!) And then they were baptized in the crystal Indian Ocean. And it was less dying as POWS at the end of line than it was Daddys loving their daughters. They came, willing to be buried in the water and made Alive in Christ. And their Daddys were there, like mine was for me when I was 14, saying to them: My daughter, I have always loved you. Even before this day. I love you and you make me so happy just being you. I will do anything to rescue you from your darkness. Anything.
The out takes:
The out takes:
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| little American Gothic |
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this
guy was interested in baptism. Mostly he was interested in how long they
holdya under. Good question for 6 yr olds. And seminarians.
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| more than words |
Your words have a lovely rhythm that pulls us in.
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