Present
Wine pours into a chalice somewhere behind me. It’s brief, but a sudden rush. We’re waiting here in the quiet. I notice the space again. This bread, this cup, they are prepared in our waiting. In our presence. It’s neither hasty nor efficient. It requires our presence to be what it is. Absent the community, it is but wine in a chalice. Bread on a plate. But this bread and cup, it nourishes as flesh and blood come present together.
And so we wait, present, together.
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(Photo: Sandra Heska King, at Laity Lodge, used with permission)
Dixie Cups on the Counter
Sunday morning after Christmas I hunkered down under the blankets in the Murphy bed my dad built for the guest room. Instead of getting up for church, I buried my head in the pillow looking for a few more winks, but found none.
The Rev. Whitesheets preached a harsh sermon that morning, and I couldn’t will my eyes to stay closed.
Besides, I had a granddad to visit.
A Rock is Just a Rock — Or is It?
Guest post by my dad, Paul Willingham
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What comes to mind when you hear the word rock?
A noun? A verb or some other part of speech? No, this is not a grammar test.
A Rolling Stones Concert?
A boxer named Balboa or Grazziano?
Elvis, the King?
Alcatraz?
Gibraltar?
Prudential Insurance?
Or if you are a hoops fan, a basketball?
The entrance to Jesus’ tomb?
The grand old hymns Rock of Ages or
My Hope is Built on Nothing Less?
Sandy Patti’s Upon This Rock?
Jesus’ promise to Peter in Matthew 16?
Psalm 18:2?
The wise builder’s foundation?
Jesus himself?
His Body, Broken
Contrasting Samson’s strength-for-myself with Jesus’ willingness to muscle under us for our gain reminded me of a post from the archives. Meanwhile, we’re off to see our last Minnesota Twins game in the Metrodome. Enjoy the weekend. Go Twins!
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The Lord’s Supper is not funny.
That last meal that Jesus shared with His disciples, celebrating the Passover supper together? Even less funny.
Yet, from time to time when I hear said that Jesus’ body was broken, I confess I force back a snicker. I don’t want to laugh. I try not to do it very loud. And I try to get over it really fast.
It’s embarrassing and offensive to be found laughing about such a somber thing.
I’ve learned that not a lot of people appreciate snickering during Communion.
And they really hate snort laughing.
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The Conversation