Communion

 Today was Communion day in my little church. We take Communion once a month and I always find it to be a sacred time of faith renewal. Well usually.

See here’s how it goes; in my church we serve Communion by passing a platter of little bread cubes, followed by a  tray that holds a bunch of teeny tiny little glasses of grape juice representing the wine. The bread is usually some kind of white or whole grain bread.  First the bread is passed, and we all hold our cube in our hand until the pastor speaks a few words and invites us to eat the bread, which we all do at the same time.   Then the juice is passed, more words are spoken, and we do the same. 

So today, as I took a piece of the bread and held it in my hand, I noticed that it looked different and was kind of firm.  One might even say HARD. I discreetly squeezed it a little.  Yup.  Hard.  So I just thought, “Oh well. It doesn’t matter, it only matters what it represents.”  So after the pastor’s words were spoken and we were invited to partake of the bread, I put it in my mouth and tried to chew it.  Imagine a mouthful of baking soda and sawdust.  It was apparently someone’s failed attempt at a soda biscuit.  There wasn’t enough saliva in me to dissolve it.  A camel wouldn’t have had enough saliva to dissolve it.  I concentrated on not choking and just did the best I could to mangle it enough to swallow some.  Chew chew chew, try to swallow. I started thinking, “I hope they hurry up with that juice.” 

After a few more words, thankfully they passed the juice.  Of course we all had to hold onto our tiny little thimbleful of liquid until pastor gave the word.  Soon we all had the little miniature shot glasses in our hands and the pastor was saying a few more words.  That’s when I heard it.  It sounded like someone across the aisle a ways back was crying.  There it was again, someone trying to stifle sobs.  Soon the sound was undeniable.  It seemed that someone was overcome by the moment, filled with the Spirit to the point of tears.  I finally had to turn and look.

There was one of our leading church ladies sitting in the pew, shoulders shaking, holding the little glass in her hand, laughing so hard her face was red. Soon others around her, already smiling, began to chuckle.  Poor pastor plowed ahead with the liturgy, backed up by a chorus of chortles and snorts.  After an eternity he finally gave the word to drink the juice.  Finally.  Hard as I tried to focus on the true meaning of the sacrament, I was mostly just relieved to have that tenth of an ounce of liquid to help wash down the sawdust.  (I later found out that another lady in the back told the deacon who was passing the tray of little glasses, “I’m gonna need two of those.” )

Well by now the laughing was raging out of control.  You know how it is when you’re NOT supposed to laugh, you laugh all the harder.  It’s just a law of nature, it’s not your fault. 

Everyone was at least smiling, smirking, or glancing at the pastor.  Even he had a smirk on his face by now and said, “I assume all the mirth has something to do with the quality of the bread.”  Well now the whole place erupted.  Permission to laugh.

Through a Herculean effort, the congregation finally pulled it together and we continued with the service. 

So today was not your average Communion.  But you know what, there really shouldn’t be an ‘average Communion’ anyway.  No one was intentionally disrespecting the sacrament.  Circumstances just threw a touch of comedy into the mix.  The laughing church lady later said, “I sure hope God has a sense of humor.”  Pastor said, “Oh I think He has a great sense of humor.” 

That’s just what I was thinking. 

 

 

 

A Poem for Early Summer in Western New York

The cottonwood

flies through the air,

and where it lands

I DO know where;

Right up my nose

and so it goes,

that with each breeze

again I sneeze!

 

 

 

Have a great day everyone :-)

 

 



Not Just a Recital

Yesterday I saw a dance recital.  But it was about so much more than dance. 

I saw exuberant joy in the face of one “special” dancer (Buddy would have called her “one of God’s kids”)  as she leaped and swooped and kicked and grinned, keeping up remarkably well with her able-bodied mainstream classmates.  Pure joy in motion.
 
I saw baby dancers, all dressed up in their pretty poofy dresses.  As the curtain parted and the music began…..they all just stood there.  Frozen.  Staring at the bright lights.  But then when it came time for each of them to come forward and do a little solo step, I watched as each one came to life and showed their families they really could dance. They really had learned.  And they were beautiful and precious.  And they were proud.

I watched as “dancers of size” proved to the world that elegance in motion is not restricted to the skinny girls.  They performed classic ballet, hip-hop, tap; all of it.  And they smiled and looked pretty and moved with grace.  It made me smile too.
 
I saw a mixture of love and grief displayed as only teenage humans can feel when tributes were paid to fallen classmates who had passed from this earth too young.  A reminder that the ones they loved will never be forgotten.  A lesson from their teacher that no one is ever really gone. 

I saw a powerful dance routine performed to a song that teaches we are not cool because of the shoes we wear.  We are not puppets of consumerism.  We can take off those shoes and be ourselves.  Wow.  Heady stuff.

I looked on stage and saw kids who had grown in stature and talent and maturity over the years since I started being a spectator at this studio’s recitals.  I saw self confidence where I had once seen hesitance.  I saw broad smiles where I had once seen neutral faces when they danced.  I saw pride.  The good kind. 

I saw awards given to dance students who had displayed special qualities throughout the year. Not just dance qualities, but things like personal integrity and enthusiasm. 

And yes, I thoroughly enjoyed the dancing.  There were many gifted students on stage yesterday, and many who simply love to dance and are learning to do it better and better. 
 
Because I was also able to attend rehearsals and observe personal interactions, I saw kids who clearly love each other and help lift each other up.  And I saw their teachers filled with love and pride in each of their students. 
 
Finally I saw Miss Amy.  Owner of the studio and Teacher with a capital T.  I watched her dance her own poetry-in-motion number with a man who had been her student as a young boy, and has grown to manhood with a family of his own, including his own children who are now students at the studio.   And I witnessed (as well as I could with tears in my eyes) her genuine, original, from-the-heart speech to her departing seniors. The speech was written in rhyme and set to music.  And so full of love and Truth it will be inscribed on the hearts of those students for all their lives.  And the audience too.
 
Yeah, I saw a dance studio’s annual recital yesterday.  But the dancing was only a part of it.  The main attraction was Love, Respect, Inspiration, Self-confidence, Cooperation, and did I say Love?
 
Oh yes.  It was a dance recital.  But it was about so much more than dance. 

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I'm Still Here

I'm sitting in my usual morning spot on the couch, ready to read my Bible and morning devotionals, just like Buddy and I did every morning.  The empty rocking chair sits beside me.  I open the blinds and see that it is foggy this morning.  I thank God for being so near in the clouds right outside my door.

I hear the mockingbird in the tree outside my lanai.  Two years ago at this same time a mockingbird sang continuously out there, night and day.  His incredible repertoire of vocalizations - incessant and endless - finally began to make me laugh.  Especially thinking how our grumpy neighbor was probably going nuts listening to it all night while he tried to sleep.  Buddy had been gone only weeks at that time, and the thought came to me then that somehow that bird had something to do with him.  Buddy used to make me laugh every day; I was missing that and then this bird had started making me laugh, right in the midst of my grief.

So this morning I am reminded of that time as I listen to my talented bird perform his whole routine outside my door. I open the sliding glass door and walk out onto the lanai to listen more closely.  Standing there, I see movement in the grass to my right.  I look and it's a bunny.  Oh my goodness.  We called each other 'Bunny' and we collected stuffed bunnies.  (He called them Fuzzy Americans.  Said that's what they preferred to be called because it was more politically correct.  See what I mean about him making me laugh?)    So here is this beautiful brown bunny.  I stand stock still.  He comes closer and sits right in front of me outside the screen.  After hopping back and forth a few times in front of me, he goes on his way. 

My mockingbird and my bunny both visiting me today, with God right there in the foggy cloud. 

Buddy is ever near.  I know it.  And I am reminded how brave and strong he was.  I vow to be like him.