My drifting mind sometimes gets lost in the list of “to do” items on my plate and sometimes it floats away to a dream secretly harbored in my heart. At other times it ponders the questions that, painfully, cannot be answered. This morning, however, it went to a sweet place in my memories.
This morning I found myself whistling “Let Us Break Bread
Together on Our Knees”. That, in turn,
reminded me of the first time I was invited to receive Holy Communion by my
parents. For whatever reason, Mark and
Paul were not with us in the sanctuary during the worship service. When the time came to go forward to receive
Communion, my Dad asked me if I wanted to go forward.
I’ll never forget the feeling within me. A lump instantly came into my throat. I felt that odd mixture of wanting to remain
a child, but also wanting to go to the Altar.
It was too much for me to process.
I felt my myself shrinking. I
know I put my head down. Ultimately, the
issue was not shyness about receiving Jesus in Holy Communion, it was about my inner
conflict with growing up.
This morning, as that memory came up, my first thought was, “Why
on earth didn’t you go forward? You love
receiving Jesus in the Bread and Wine!”
And, almost as soon as that thought crossed my mind, one of the sweetest
memories I possess flashed before me. It
was the picture of kneeling to receive Holy Communion with my Grandmothers on
either side of me.
I don’t remember what the occasion was, but my Grandma Boyce
joined my Mom and Dad and me (now an adult) for worship at my Grandma Marsh’s Church. I was seated between them for worship, and,
when the time came to receive Communion we went forward together. We all three knelt at the Altar rail and
received the Body and Blood of Jesus.
I still can’t believe how privileged I am to have had that
moment with them…and with Jesus.