Tapped to Serve

Ring. Ring. I glance at the phone to see who is calling me in my office. The college chaplain. I pick up. We exchange pleasantries, then he asks me if I am an ordained minister. The question surprises me. I am not quite sure where this conversation is going. "No," I answer. "Not yet. I am still in seminary." And silently, I acknowledge that I am not sure I am being called to serve in that capacity though there are definitely aspects of ministry that have great appeal to me.

"Oh," he responds. "Somehow after hearing you speak in chapel last fall I got the idea that you were. I'm asking because this Friday we are planning a special Holy Week experience for the students which will end with communion being served, and I thought of you and wondered if you would be interested in serving?"

Wow! I am deeply honored that he thought of asking me. I have served communion when I was Minister of Music in denominations that have laity serve. First time I did so was on an occasion when the senior pastor was out of town. I had seen him do it every Sunday for over a year. I knew how, knew the words, the actions. But I had never stood on that side of the table.

I went into it willing and without even a thought that perhaps this was inappropriate. I viewed it as obedience to the appointed person in charge. How blessed I was to serve! I didn't realize the incredible intimacy in serving the body of Christ to the body of Christ. Waves of tenderness and gentleness and love flooded my being as I offered, over and over again to people I had come to know and care for, the body of Christ, given for them.

I had a nearly irresistible urge to hug each person for a long moment, to tell them that everything was going to be alright, that they were so deeply loved. I valiantly fought tears that burned for escape from the corners of my eyes. I nearly choked on the lump in my throat at the sheer emotional reaction everytime I looked someone in the eyes to bless them.

At one and the same time, I felt so totally unworthy of doing what I was doing. Who was I to be allowed to serve as a conduit for the grace of God? My cheeks flushed with the shame of how far short my life has fallen of the mark God intended for me. I was torn between wanting to be relieved of the task because I was too decrepit to continue, and wishing that this precious time of bonding would never end.

It was as if time did not exist the whole while we were serving. Just a delicate fragile moment of sharing punctuated by whispered familiar words, words I had heard a million times from the other side of the chalice. The experience was so powerful I was afraid to wish for another chance to serve for fear I would be seeking only the experience and not true service. Yet from time to time God allows me to serve this way, a gracious gift of unbelievable joy.

The chaplain tells me he doesn't think ordination is a requirement for this type of service, but he will check to make sure. He gets back to me to say I am welcome to join him and two others in serving. I look forward to it with great expectation. But what is this? For the first time before serving communion, I am overwhelmed by the need to intercede for these students, to spend devotional time in heavy prayer for students, some faceless, others I recognize. It is serious and agonizing. And non-stop.

I wake in the middle of the night and hear myself praying. I drift off. In the morning, I awake in prayer. All day long until chapel time I am distracted from normal activities by the burden of intercession. I wear it like a coat of mail, a warrior doing battle with unseen foes. Is this how pastors serve? I have never heard anyone mention this.

I enter the auditorium with an air of expectancy. Surely God will be in this place. It seems so common, so ordinary, so unanointed. Yet the intercessory spirit stays with me. We sit in silence meditating on Scripture and artwork depicting the week of Christ's passion. Then it is time. I step forward to take my place beside others and once again I whisper the familiar words. "The body of Christ, given for you."

I do not know these brave students who come forward - without being told by a parent - to partake. Do they do this because it is what they have been taught, because it is familiar? Or do they seek a touch from God, a grace of forgiveness and love? I do not know. I only know once again that searing duality of unworthiness coupled with extreme blessing. I am so honored to be allowed to do this.

I quietly wear the cloak of elevation for the rest of the day and well into the night. The words I read at Vespers and Compline take on new intense meaning - more significance than I thought possible. I am so grateful to have been asked, for it permitted me to be touched by the hand of God. What a privilege and joy.