“So, you bring all your history, I’ll bring the bread and wine
Oh, and we’ll have us a party where all the drinks are on me.”
Henderson, Tennessee was covered in ice on Sunday, and getting to church wasn’t terribly plausible. Some friends of a friend suggested that a few of us meet together for worship. We ended up worshiping together for almost three hours after which we moved the party to McDonald’s. It reminded me of camp back in 2012 when we sat around and told the story of Jesus and passed bread and juice while we did so. It was a time of family, and it looked like what the world should look like all the time — People from several backgrounds, with different ideology, living different stories, stopped for a moment and intersected each others’ stories and shared a beautiful experience with a beautiful Jesus. I’m telling you, that room smelled like Jesus.
As I sat in the room absolutely caught up in the Wind that was obviously blowing as the unplanned service moved from thing to thing flawlessly and effortlessly amid copious amounts of laughter, words formed for the end of a poem I had started a few days earlier but hadn’t finished because the words that came out at the beginning weren’t what I intended them to be.
Life is a story full of mountaintops
And gashes formed in plummeting from the heights
To a certain supposed death
But along the way, and despite the bruises
We become subject to the art of sacrifice
We submit to the art of servanthood
On the mountaintops ans etched into the scars
Are brothers and sisters and love
And written on those etchings
Is the very name of Jesus:
The Unity that binds us
The definition of eternal life
Our life’s desperate pursuit
So, break bread with me
As we break ourselves to love
And pour out this wine with me
As we shed our hearts together
Come walk in Love with me.