A weepy Wednesday
I went to bed last night and awoke this morning
with sorrow on my heart and in my mind.
Stories of sad friends.
Broken families. Broken finances.
Broken relationships. Broken hearts.
Another deadly cyclone.
Food riots. Subdivisions looking a lot like ghost towns.
Car accidents. A private plane crash.
Drought persists. As does the downturn in our economy.
In church, Katie nearly wept as she reminded us of
the spiritual hunger that plagues us individually
and the physical hunger that plagues us universally.
I did weep.
And then the Feast was served. We were beckoned to the table.
The bread symbolizes the broken body of our Lord on the cross.
The juice symbolizes the shed blood.
It is a preposterous story, a horrible story, an unbelieveable story.
Love that gave up His life for my lostness and brokenness.
This is not a religion that demands that I work for redemption.
It is not a religion that demands that I die for redemption.
It is a story, an amazing love story that stars Someone other than me.
Someone who came to earth thinking about me and died
so that I wouldn't have to do anything to be redeemed except believe.
That is a story that gets me weeping sometimes.
A story that reminds me of my inability to solve everything.
My inability to fix my friends' broken hearts.
My inability to feed all those that are hungry.
I cannot even fix my own broken heart, shattered relationships,
and deep disappointments. I cannot feed my own hungry soul.
That is what makes the Feast of Remembrance so very beautiful and poignant.
It is done. It is finished.
All I have to do is admit my weakness and receive His strength.
Admit my selfishness, my self-centeredness, my obsession with my own way.
And rest in His love, His mercy, His forgiveness, His grace, and His peace.
There in the front row of First Presbyterian Church in uptown Charlotte,
I saw them come. I saw us come.
The hungry, the thirsty, the fearful, the broken, and the weepy.
Take the bread, dip it into the juice. Eat.
Then we filed out of the church, back to offices, schools, and back home.
For a few moments at least, we felt the fullness of faith,
the connection of our community,
the hope of glory.
When the weepies return - and they certainly will -
we will return to the table.
Hand in hand. Arm in arm.
Together we will partake again.
We will pray. We will hold on to one another.
We will hold one another up.
We will weep together.
We will remember His goodness, His mercy, and His love.
And then we head back out into the world.
Strengthened for the next leg of the journey.
Traveling mercies to you.
To each of us.