A friend of mine asked some people why they keep coming back to the table. Why communion is so beautiful to them. I've been thinking about it all week and this blog I think is an answer.
Friends, it has been a long few years. I am a bruised scarred mess. And the place I feel the most pain is sitting in church. Guys, I've been hurt by the church. Not the whole church, but the church all the same. It's a complicated story with many, many parts. But the gist of it is a year and a half after my life drastically changed I am still often angry. I am still often hurt. I still shed many tears. I still relive conversations and emotions and events in my head. And deep down at the very heart of the issue, I feel like a complete an utter failure. A failure to God. A failure to those I ministered to. A failure to my friends. A failure to myself. I think, if only I was different and better, I wouldn't be here. And I'm terribly afraid to try again. And I'm terribly afraid that this has all just been a waste. And every day, especially on Sunday, I try not to think these things because that is not how a good Christian who puts her hope in God thinks. And yet, it is all still there. And I sit in church on Sunday and I cry.
I hate telling you this because it is ugly and reveals things that I would rather remain hidden. And I don't say this so you can tell me I'm not a failure. I write these things because I think maybe there are others who are in the midst of a similar painful journey and sometimes you feel like you are so alone and sometimes it seems like you only hear the story when there is a victory at the end.
Friends, right now I am in the midst of the pain and I'm not sure where the end lies. But I am trudging along and I see glimpses of something other than this place. I keep trying to forgive and failing and I keep handing the pain and anger and failure over to God. I feel like I am trying to restart my life at 31 and I am terrified and frustrated. And I look around at my world and I see people who are in even more desperate pain than me, who are enduring incredible suffering and my heart just breaks and I don't know what to do and I feel like I'm not doing enough.
And this is why I keep coming back to the table. This is why communion is so beautiful. Because every time I kneel and listen to words Jesus uttered to his confused, hopeless, messed up, broken disciples in that upper room I remember. And every time I recite with the rest of the congregation that I am not worthy to come to the table through my own righteousness, I remember. And whenever I am given the bread and wine and am told that this is the body and blood of Christ broken and shed for you, I remember. I remember that He is there, that He entered into the mess when there was no victory in sight and He promised reconciliation. In the midst of all of this I am reminded each time that in my present ugly pain, He is present as well. And that is beautiful. And His church is beautiful.
