A Holy Moment

Mom, Dad, and I went to the Maundy Thursday service at church tonight. Holy Week has taken on a new meaning for me. Or maybe I've just come to understand the significance and importance of this time in the Church more and more. I only wish others did, too. Especially Good Friday. Think about it, without Good Friday there is no Easter. Without the cross there is no resurrection. Why is so much emphasis placed on Christmas and Advent, yet it seems that much less is placed on Lent and Easter? I know, without Christmas there could be no Easter. But honestly, why as a community of believers is far less emphasis placed on the time that leads to the death and resurrection of Christ? Fortunately, our church seems to do a good job of this. Our pastors do place that emphasis on Lent and Holy Week, and some people respond. But let's just say that our new santuary (which was built to accomodate our growing congregation that will soon max out this new addition) was pretty bare tonight. We looked like a small group of people... But none of that is what sparked this particular blog.

After the sermon, communion was served and some people participated in foot washing. I personally don't do footwashing. I recognize its significance and know that some day I will get a straw and do it, but I'll have to get an intensive pedicure first. And let's just say that my feet haven't seen flip flops in a while.

Anyway, Mom and I went to take communion together, which we were doing by intinction (when you dip the bread in the juice). Generally when we do this we form a line and receive the elements and then can kneel for prayer at the alter. But since there were so few people and we have a much larger alter, it was served while we were kneeling. Generally when we are kneeling already, we receive the bread and then a small cup of juice. So when Mom received her bread, she just ate it like we normally would. I just looked at her with that "Mom, what are you doing?" look, and she realized her mistake. The pastor serving the bread was long gone at this point, and the pastor with the cup was right to us. So I gave Mom half of my bread so that she could take from the cup. Unfortuately, I could not contain my laughter. I tried and I tried, but I couldn't make it stop. Needless to say, I didn't quite have that moment kneeling at the rail after receiving the sacrament that I normally do (or normally hope for). But this was okay. After all, we come to the table to receive the sacrament as a community, right? We share in the breaking of the bread. Communion is a "community event," is it not? So what better way to celebrate Holy Communion than by sharing my bread with my own mother? It was kind of special. And funny all at the same time.


As the pastor of our church always says, Lent is a wilderness. And Lent has certainly been a wilderness. It's time that we journey to the cross, out of the wilderness, and to the resurrection.