In the course of my life there have been few times I have not gathered with friends to observe communion - sometimes referred to as "The Lord's Supper." Be the group but a handful of friends, today I was unable to make that connection. Yet this holiest of days resurrected memories long buried by the clutter of everyday life. Much of my life has been so adventurous, with experiences so epic and dramatic they often seem surreal or contrived. In particular one year I celebrated the New Covenant on the banks of the Mekong River and soil of Laos with eight men. On that day the communion elements were orange juice and broken bread purchased with a stack of Laotian money from a hole-in-the-wall bakery, but a stone's throw from the flow of muddy water that stood between us and Thailand. Our adventure in the faith bordered on the mystical. For days, God had been showing up in epoch fashion. Since then I have hungered and thirsted for that same relevant God. I have yet to sort through the entire experience. Truthfully, since then I have battled mightily against a serious sense of loss and emptiness.
Today, seated across from one another in the quiet of our home, Sandy and I honored the Lord's death, resurrection, and promise to return with unleavened matzo bread, broken to signify Christ's battered body, and a chalice of red wine to signify His shed blood. Recounting the good and the ugly, we tearfully thanked God for the power of His resurrection to redeem our lives and make all things new. Without a doubt we have been sailing uncharted waters, and though refreshing none the less, the last 3 years have been our greatest test and challenge. Faith has many facets, and we are seeing a shimmering never before experienced.