Oh how I wish I could have froze the moment in time. Do you ever have minutes like that? They are too special and beautiful to let them fly by so quickly. I wanted to grab in the palm of my hands this moment and coddle it as if time would stand still if I could hold tight enough.
As evening settled, the table was set and I waited for the girls to arrive. The bread, the wine, the feast. Nestled between all the elements were glasses of crystal, beautiful red grapes, and decanters of juice. My heart felt this would be a moment — a holy moment — a love feast.
My soul had been yearning for communion.
To hold the meal. The bread, His body. The wine, His blood. To remember this Lord’s Supper. For months I longed for deep communion, not the quick and hurried version. But a communion that lingered — a Supper. This seemed a yearning out of nowhere so I balked at inviting others to gather.
But this evening, would the girls want to stop and remember. Oh how I hoped so, because I had to. Scriptures kept nudging me in as often as you gather, do this in remembrance of me.
As often as you gather. Come in holy awe.
To commune as Jesus did — over a table, relaxed with friends. This gathering and meal. Is this not what Jesus meant when he said, do THIS in remembrance of me? Sit, share, and remember. Have supper.
Oh how we have rushed these precious moments. Many no longer take time to sit and recount over and over what Jesus has done. Tables no longer hold lingering conversations, but rather collect the fodder from busy lives.
But these meals we skip. These tables we ignore. They are important as it’s there where Jesus stories can be told generation after generation. It’s there where Jesus becomes real in the everyday ordinary. Oh Lord, forgive us for not sitting down to remember.
Do this. THIS. I don’t think THIS is the quick passing of the individually wrapped communion and stale bread chip. I don’t think this should only happen monthly, weekly, or even quarterly. I don’t think a quick reflection of Jesus body hanging on the cross is what Jesus meant. Who eats a meal in minutes?
“Anyone who eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Master irreverently is like part of the crowd that jeered and spit on him at his death. Is that the kind of “remembrance” you want to be part of? Examine your motives, test your heart, come to this meal in holy awe.” (1 Corinthians 11:27-28 MSG)
They warned us.
Warned us not to rush to the meal eager to eat and get drunk ignoring those who received none. Oh we say that’s not us — that’s just those Corinthians. And yeah, maybe we don’t rush to the Lord’s table to get drunk on wine — but we do rush.
We rush to and from the table because we are drunk on busyness. We want to remember quickly because we have things to do and places to be. We want to eat and run. Communion on the go. And we miss the point and importance of the lingering and retelling of modern day Jesus stories, as well as stories of old.
Authentic life happens around a table. Stories being told recounting Jesus faithfulness. Bread being broken and remembering how his broken heals our broken. And time around the table leads to vulnerability and trust. Trusting one another with our battered messes.
And yes, it’s good to come to the table broken. The wine — the bitter red wine — the bitterness reminds how the road before Jesus was bitter and hard. But in the end He would prevail — broken and poured out for us for our broken, bitter, and wrung out souls.
And maybe, just maybe, if we lingered longer here there would be less drama and hurt. Maybe we could remember what life is all about, what being a Jesus-lover is truly about. Maybe we’d slow down, breathe, and love each other longer and deeper.
THIS is what He offers, if we will stop and remember. This.
This evening, the girls remembered. We sat around the lowered coffee table with communion before us and remembered. No rushing. Leaning back, maybe even reclined as Jesus, we remembered Him. His faithfulness. How much He loves us and how he loves our brokenness and bitter moments.
In lingering and remembering, the peace of His sweet presence fell. The realness and joy of living with Jesus was tangible. He was there. Broken and poured out for his broken and wrung out girls.
As the lights glistened, the bread was eaten and the glasses emptied. Jesus was lifted high in remembrance through our laughter, tears, and stories of Old and New. We were refreshed, renewed, and reminded of His faithfulness and love.
Oh may we never miss another moment to come together and do this.
This is where life in Jesus begins and ends.
A holy sacred moment frozen in time.
Memory after memory — remembered.