Leaving Jesus at the Table

I was fortunate enough to serve communion with my wife Jennifer the morning after she was Ordained. As we gave the elements to mostly complete strangers I began to notice the vast range of emotions present. Some looked to be penitent, others robotic, and some even smiled. One observation that the struck me most was how much bread people took, and what they did when they felt they had taken too much. Many took a tiny bit, and some broke off more than they felt they deserved and looked pleading feeling bad for taking so much.

With these attitudes towards communion, take little, feel bad when you take too much I began to wonder... How much of Jesus do we leave on the table? With many things in life we are taught to share, do not take more than you need, or finish what you have before getting more. I recall my Uncle Bob had a "Clean Plate Club" if you take it, you eat it. I feel these attitudes often mix with how we see communion. I do not want to take too much, would not want to deprive someone else. And yet, I feel the exact opposite attitude is transformative. Moving from a view of scarcity to one of abundance, from fear or depriving another to overflowing sense of gratitude and blessing enough for all, from fear of judgement to the hope of mercy and salvation.

Back to serving, it seems like the kids got it, perhaps because the worship service was long(and they were hungry), or perhaps just because the wisdom children have which we often grow out of, many kids dug right in, tore off a big hunk and seemed to actually enjoy communion. There is so much joy and gratitude waiting for us to grab hold, waiting for us to simple let go, dig in, and be ready to be changed.

There is more than enough. Perhaps someone out there has been to a church where they run out of communion elements, where the attendance is so far above and beyond someone had to do a bread and juice run before the service could continue, and a second blessing of the elements, as for me, there has always been more than enough.

Growing up there was a tradition (in the loosest sense) that after communion and most people had filtered out, the Pastor would offer us kids the bread. I am not sure of the theology, or if we had broken some rule, but it felt right. The sacrifice had/has been made, the bread has been broken, why eat a little and run? I believe we are called to return to the table again and again, to live and act into the abundance, and to share not only what is on the table, the amazing transformative news, but well beyond the walls, way beyond blessed elements, as often as we gather to eat a meal, let Christ be there, let Christ be Shared, there is always enough for seconds, both in terms of food and chances. Don't leave Jesus at the Table.

Falling in love with East Africa

Two spoons of the sugar of Novelty
Poured into a cup of Familiarity tea
The metal spoons stirs and the crystals dissolve
Palm trees are whispering “paradise”
As malaria plasmoids multiply in the blood stream

Babies on a straw mat with no diapers
Are peeing on themselves
Dusty, hardened feet start the 4 km walk to church
Fresh vegetables are piled on boxes to be sold
Attempts to get money in every way possible..
Jumping out of the bus and peeing outside in a group
While a truck passes by, towing a man on a bike
He holds on with his hand-
What if a bump comes? Or he gets tired?
A baboon is hanging out, stares..
Ridiculously large avocadoes sometimes resemble mangoes.
Nzuri, kurungi, mzungu,
Chakula tamu, ebiokurya birungi
Hospitality with the last coins
The roof is leaking.. Oh well, that’s life
Ugali, matooke, millet… Cold showers
No bras sometimes, and no deodorant most of the time
Saturday club swag, Sunday church swag

The origin, the place you can be in your natural state
Mountains, and God’s creativity to be appreciated
Doing math in your head while watching your bag
Ngapi, zingaha, and wapi, and nkaha

Webale, asante,
Mirinda fruity and Fanta,
Sweet taste of Novelty in a cup of Familiarity
If there was a heaven on Earth, I think it’d be in East Africa
At least a taste of it…
I think I was a part of it, right from the start of it,
These blessed lands.
The white men may have political and financial privilege around the world
But these people were blessed with beauty, simple life, real food.

With each new day, God is guiding every step
Maybe this was a taste, a sneak peek
Novelty and familiarity
Eternity in paradise – how could I have doubted?
We were a part of it, right from the start of it…

Don't worry

Do not be afraid. Turn to the side and breathe in His peace. No need to worry. Don’t worry.  Wherever you are, God is with you – He is the one that carried Israel, the one who brought about Jesus and knew exactly how, when, and why everything was going to happen. He knew how to get to me at the right time. Wait on Him. In the meantime, He loves you, he gave up his baby boy for you. Jesus had compassion so great and knew people’s hearts – don’t you think He knows yours? If you’re wrong and need correction, go get it. If you’re right, you will prevail, because justice always prevails. The Father  feeds the birds and clothes the flowers – don’t you think He’ll take care of you? If we give our kids food and not rocks or hazards, don’t you think He’d also give us food and the best kind for us? We know what we want, He knows what we need. Do not be afraid. He is with you. You can receive His peace, pray for it. “Don’t worry, don’t worry, don’t worry”  – quiet whispers calm me. 

                Be still and know that I am God.  – psalm 46:10

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ps did i even write this? I found this in the "writing" directory on my computer. supposedly i wrote it on 1/8/2014, not too long ago.. and some of the words seem like stuff i have thought but i dont really remember writing it. so maybe it really was divinely inspired

Never left nor forsaken

God, thank You for holding me

In Your arms, like Amy holds Oliver

Thank You, because You will never leave us

Nor forsake us.

Thank You because walk through us

Literally, by pumping blood to our muscles and giving them strength

And spiritually, by transforming our hearts and minds.

That You walk with us, side by side

Through our fears and aches

Through our joys and excitements

At the end of the day, who can I turn to?

The One that will not leave me nor forsake me.

I thank You that You cry our tears

And You’re in our corner,

and You got our back

I thank You that You comfort us

“Come, be my child,”  You say

And I surrender to Your loving arms

I want to be in Your presense, Your beloved

Always and forever.

“Will you trust me?” You ask

I come running back

Perfect love drives out fear, if we receive it

Let me be Your blessed one, here, and there, and everywhere

One year ago, I asked “what does it mean to love God?”

Now, I write Him praises

I understand, He will never leave me

Neither in life nor in death

“We are the lucky ones,” Lecrae says

“And you give us second chances, when we throw our hands up”.

We are the blessed ones

The ones He wants to hold in His arms, whom He will never forsake.

Thank You, God, that You don’t forget us,

Never reject us,

Never neglect us.

Thank You for giving me Your shoulder to rest my head on

And snuggle up against.

Thank You for the warmth You’ve placed in my heart

And that You never gave up on me.

As I grow older, I realize it more and more

I am Your child. 

Work

Stuffy, buttoned up, bad posture,

New hair styles, rare eye contact

Reclining in modern office chairs, but far from relaxed

We are hungry, we are weak,

We are monotone and bleak

We wear the right shirts,

And we say the right words,

Day after day

But not in the right voice,

And with only half of the right heart.

We dish out advice that someone should give us

I make a living loving people,

Supposedly helping them to repair their lives

The work is God’s, the work is good

But I would be lying if I said there aren’t times

Where my own preoccupations and questions aren’t at the center of my mind

Leaving the clients in second place

Am I really God’s instrument?

We gather round and complain

Roll our eyes and turn to our cellphones, to text or call others as an escape

We sigh and grow older

Billable hour after billable hour,

Weeks and months and quarters of appointments and units of productivity gone by

Is life wasted, or is this the only way to live?

Are we in the same rat race as corporate America, disguised as the fresh and new alternative?

We hold babies, and nag the ones on whom we depend

Make jokes out of our fears,

Send out inspiration and avoid checking our emails

Advocating self-care and neglecting ourselves.

I have been putting off scheduling a physical and seeing a dentist for over a year.

We teach about God’s faithfulness but don’t call back the folks who  test ours.

Have we lost the hope, the spark, the Life in the work?

Where are the fruits of the spirit?

Are we all jaded?

Overbooked with people, yet lonely

Busy, yet bored and useless

Barely grasping the hope

And allowing it to slip out of our hands as we rush off?

 Or is it just me?

We eat big blown up fruit with little nutrients

And give big blown up greetings with little substance

How can we stop being busy and start being?

And start hoping instead of teaching hope?

How can we love with our hearts and every fiber of our being

Instead of just officially?

Nobody knows

    

Nobody knows what you would have said, but held back

Nobody knows what silent struggles their neighbors have overcome

Nobody knows how many accidents have been prevented,

How many deaths you would have experienced but didn’t

How many times our lives could have been overturned

Nobody knows what cancers they didn’t get

Or who didn’t break their hearts because they didn’t meet

Nobody knows how much hatred and insecurity we hide behind our fronts

Nobody knows what would have happened if they took Irving street instead of Harvard to get to Michigan Ave that one night

Nobody knows the worlds we make up in our minds

Nobody knows the tomorrow that may have been

Nobody knows what beauty they would have experienced in life

But didn’t,

So there would be space for the one that was intended to be.

Spring is coming.

It’s me, myself and I ,

And some South African wine,

On the brown leather couch that Megan so graciously donated.

The indoor air is warm enough,

But it is too quiet.

I will accept it;

I can do all things through God who strengthens me.

 

Spring is coming,

And soon enough weeks will have rushed past,

If the globe keeps turning as it has been,

February will soon be gone, like many months before it.

 

Another gray day, but spring is coming

Cutting through between winter and summer

Like a train track  pierces through a landscape

Spring is coming.

Take that as you will.