Let’s DO this! …
At a certain time, say, 7:00 pm Friday night, we all just walk out of the building we are in. Just out.
Just for a few minutes.
Not rally, not speeches, not organized.
Talk to neighbor. Just OUT.
Ready to move on.
Beyond putting one another down to feel raised up.
Beyond pitting one against another.
Beyond destroying this Earth that holds us.
Together we stand.
I stand here, next to you.
You stand there, next to me.
Person by Person. Neighborhood by neighborhood.
City by City.
Land by Land.
We, the people.
~ Magi Treece
“Oh no, I couldn’t,” my neighbor says to my offer of a fruit tart.
“You’re SO disciplined,” my other neighbor comments, as she helps herself.
I have invited them to my house to share the tarts. I have made them especially for the occasion. Prepared them lovingly, presented them carefully and attractively, included only healthy ingredients. And yet, one declines, and it is said of her…you are disciplined.
I come to the communion rail and accept the piece of bread from the hand of the pastor. “Wendy, this is Christ’s body, broken for you.”
I dip it in the cup and hear, “Wendy, this is the blood of Christ, shed for you.”
I say amen. And I eat. Not to be graphic or anything, but some of it sticks to my teeth and the roof of my mouth. And I think, oh, I want to consume every morsel. Wouldn’t want to waste a crumb. And then I remember my kitchen table and think…
What if I came to Christ’s table and said, “Oh no, I couldn’t”?
Ironically, my neighbor declined the tart as an expression of guilt. Speaking but not saying, I can’t eat that tart because I feel guilty about the weight I’ve gained. It’s not discipline she is speaking, it’s shame. I wonder how many don’t approach Christ’s table because they are ashamed. Unaware of the grace offered there. How many decline His offering because others might see them and judge them unworthy.
It is certainly true that I haven’t earned the right to eat that bread and drink that wine. But Christ died so I might change my “Oh, I couldn’t” to His “Yes, you can.” And not only that. He stands beside me as I do and says, “You’re so disciplined.” And He means it.
God is a God of paradox. In His Kingdom, consumption is disciplined. Who turns away the bread of life? Eat up and follow Me.
We do have an odd and often unhealthy relationship with consumption in our country because we know our own willpower to be lacking and our discipline to be weak, especially when no one is watching. Funny how in community, when everyone is watching, we can discover a “renewed discipline.”
As Holy week approaches and Easter morning dawns I pray we can gather as especially large and forgiving communities and resist the urge to look right and left at who might be thinking what about our presence. Let’s be disciplined about looking one way. Upward at the cross. Perhaps we will hear the words again, “Father, forgive them for they know not what they do.”
And for a moment we will feast without guilt or shame at a table where we are completely welcome. We’ve been invited. Our host expects us to eat what He has prepared.
***I wish all who read this a most Holy Week and a joyous Easter. The KC will continue in the week that follows. He is risen indeed. Amen.***
We were supposed to have a humdinger of a storm. They were calling for 8-12 inches in our first and only real snow storm of the year. This a daunting forecast in the DC area where plows can be days in coming and power and internet service can be spotty thanks to tall trees and above ground power lines.
So, in my current Lenten expression of “out of the GOODness of my heart” I sent an email to nearby neighbors the day before the storm: After the storm clears and if we still have power, let’s gather for our “Just Desserts.” I heard back from a few. You’re so clever, they enthused. What a great idea, they said, but let’s see what the storm does. One even said, if it’s happy hour time can we bring the wine?
I admit, I did love the play on words 🙂 And I wasn’t just playing. I had a wonderful fruit tart recipe from a dear friend who was ailing, and I wanted to try it out, as she would have, with a bunch of friends.
Well, storm day got here. And wouldn’t you know, the plows came fast and frequently. The storm did rage, briefly, but the flakes were large and wet. We got a few inches mostly of slush. Snow turned to rain, but, not to be denied, I shoveled our walk and driveway, put out the de-icer for the steps and, of course, made the tarts and brewed the coffee. When the snow stopped I wanted to be ready.
Of course, “when the snow stops” is not really a time. So, mid-afternoon when I sent the second email “Shall we say 5:00? Come on, when ever you’re done shoveling” I got several apologetic responses. Well, because we could get out, I did. I went to work. I went to tennis. I went to Brooklyn to be with my daughter who had a baby this morning (okay – that one was a pretty good excuse).
Yes, the call to community doesn’t have the attraction it used to. If we have power and internet and when we have transport, we connect to places far and wide. Only when we’re trapped and left without other options are we “forced” to be with our neighbors. I wonder at this. And at my inept method of invitation with its “flexible timing” and open-ended RSVP.
Five o’clock ticked to 5:30 and no one came. My tarts sat, a dozen strong on my counter. Accessorized by their pastry caps. I took a photo to share with my friend. They were lovely. She would be pleased, I hoped, that I had made them. She needn’t know that I didn’t have anyone to share them with. Even my husband said, “I’m not eating one. It’s almost dinner time.”
I transferred them to the Tupperware container and set them in the frig.
I’m not much of an organizer, but my invitation did come from a good place. That place of no expectations. Even when no one came I chuckled to myself, “What if I threw a party and no one came?” That’ll make a great blog post. I was okay with that. God made it okay. And just as He did, the doorbell rang.
“Uh-oh” my husband said. Translation, “Better get those back out.”
I open the front door to two smiling neighbors holding a bottle of wine. “Come on in!” I say, ushering them into the kitchen, where every good party begins. And we gather, we four, around the isle of tarts back on their pewter serving platters, and pour libations to toast the not-so-much snow.
Wouldn’t you know, the bell rings again. There stands another neighbor, “Where is everyone?” she asks. Her husband has opted to stay home on his computer where he has been working all day, but here she is anyway.
And into the kitchen we go. To join in neighborly conversation about friends and kids and jobs and movies. Some have tarts. Some don’t. Some have wine. Some don’t.
I’m not really cut out to be a hostess, but a different Host is at the center of this gathering. I know Him in the faces and the sentiment, the truth and the hardship, the humor and the realities. How would we have known of a birth and a death, a new job and one that won’t let go, a child in need and a mission to save them, all of these in the last 24 hours.
We say that news travels fast over the web. News among neighbors travels deep. Perhaps that was our just desserts. Isn’t that always the way with good? We just never could have known it ahead of time, but it’s always amazing looking back. What a view grace must have.