I awake at my usual early hour despite my late night retiring. I know not only that I will go to church, but I long to be there - to be in the midst of the familiar and the uplifting, to partake of communion and be filled with the Word. To be touched by the One who loves me and cares what happens to me. To hear again the encouraging words of life and blessing. To be with friends and be touched by their smiles, their stories, their ah-ha's of the week.
Drew is a bit surprised that I am up. He would rather have spent the day sleeping I suspect. But no matter. I walk the dog and we climb in the car and head east (how appropriate) with gratefulness that the car is working and the way is clear to travel. It looks like rain, but we are undaunted by the weather.
We sit in the sanctuary surrounded by reminders of faith - the beautiful stained glass windows depicting Jesus as he touched lives, the tall white candles softly lighted, the open Bible, the paraments of green swaddling the altar and the pulpit, gracious flowers on the window sills, the pastors in their monk-like robes and stoles.
My feet touch the rich luxurious thick red and yellow patterned carpet beneath my sandals. The chair hugs me gently, the soft cushion comforting, the arms supportive. I relax and close my eyes letting the quiet of the room wash me clean from the noise and bustle of the week. The playful voices of little children assure me that what I am experiencing will continue long after I am gone.
And so we begin. Together we sing words of encouragement. We confess our sins and receive God's cleansing. We listen to the Word of God read and sung. We nod and smile during the time for children. The Word is brought to us. The bread is broken. The cup lifted high. The body of Christ broken for me. The blood of Christ shed for me. Take and be healed. Take and be whole.
Yes, this realigns my twisted misshapen life to what is pure and good and right. This reassures me that everything is going to be all right. This bath refreshes and rejuvenates and enlivens. Afterwards, we gather to be with each other, to check in and be hugged. Yup. No matter how bumpy the night, thank God there is always Sunday. Its just like going home for Christmas. Without the angst.
Drew is a bit surprised that I am up. He would rather have spent the day sleeping I suspect. But no matter. I walk the dog and we climb in the car and head east (how appropriate) with gratefulness that the car is working and the way is clear to travel. It looks like rain, but we are undaunted by the weather.
We sit in the sanctuary surrounded by reminders of faith - the beautiful stained glass windows depicting Jesus as he touched lives, the tall white candles softly lighted, the open Bible, the paraments of green swaddling the altar and the pulpit, gracious flowers on the window sills, the pastors in their monk-like robes and stoles.
My feet touch the rich luxurious thick red and yellow patterned carpet beneath my sandals. The chair hugs me gently, the soft cushion comforting, the arms supportive. I relax and close my eyes letting the quiet of the room wash me clean from the noise and bustle of the week. The playful voices of little children assure me that what I am experiencing will continue long after I am gone.
And so we begin. Together we sing words of encouragement. We confess our sins and receive God's cleansing. We listen to the Word of God read and sung. We nod and smile during the time for children. The Word is brought to us. The bread is broken. The cup lifted high. The body of Christ broken for me. The blood of Christ shed for me. Take and be healed. Take and be whole.
Yes, this realigns my twisted misshapen life to what is pure and good and right. This reassures me that everything is going to be all right. This bath refreshes and rejuvenates and enlivens. Afterwards, we gather to be with each other, to check in and be hugged. Yup. No matter how bumpy the night, thank God there is always Sunday. Its just like going home for Christmas. Without the angst.
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