I wonder if I should even be here. I am a creature of weakness and sin, so much flesh mixed in with new born spirit. I come to this table ashamed, uncertain.
All is mixed, the singing about blood and love and the passing of picture books back and forth between squirmy children and the lifted voice and hand of my sister in radiant praise and the laughing over how cold the foot-washing water is and the sharing of deep stories, what Jesus is doing in us.
So much more is going on than we are aware…
I need these people.
I desperately need the mercy of Jesus, and they offer it to me in pieces I can hold.
Tears are healing, and they find me. Confession is healing, and it swirls in the room. Prayers of the saints are healing, and they surround me.
I taste the bread on my tongue; I crush it with my teeth. It is coarse textured, dry, earthy, with a lingering honey sweetness. I begin to cry. Again.
And I know why I am here–
because I need Him.