Still, having said that with the utmost sincerity of my heart, I admit even I felt some lingering anxiety about how this election might impact my family and our growing church. Then something amazing happened. God disrupted the fear and worry.
After the service, our in-person congregation at Anamesa West gathered around the dining table for our monthly communion celebration. it used to be the standard fare. A loaf of bread, and a cup of grape juice. But recently we have been shaking things up. We have been gathering around our dining room table to share this meal. And on the table are little hor d'oeuvres to nosh on during and after the celebration. Small gifts we ask all who are able to bring and share with one another. On top of that, instead of it being me leading the ritual, we all gather around the table and those who are able participate in the readings and blessings and prayers that I have printed out on a piece of paper. One member will read the words of institution. Another will read the words of assurance. And others will follow suit around the table to read the invitation to the meal, the prayer of consecration, and then the blessing of the bread and cup. Last Sunday I watched how we came together, members of both political parties, to share this most sacred and holy meal in unity and peace. Even as some asked God for the American people to vote wisely for the sake of our country and others voted to keep their rights they feared would be taken from them, we all came together in prayer and harmony. There were no rolling eyes, no side glances and smerks, no clinched jaws holding back their opinion. Just love. Just unity in that love. And peace. The kind that comes from being one body and one spirit - with Christ as the head. But that is not the amazing part. We have worked hard to get to know one another. We've learn how to trust and love each other. And we have put in the time, struggled and fallen and gotten back up again, leaned hard on what little faith we have to take the words of Jesus to heart. And to live them out as best as we can, even if it is just once a week and only in this small community. As we were nibbling on the meal, I saw the paper with the communion liturgy on it nestled among the plates of figs and dates, cheeses and crackers, and breads and dips. It sat there like one of the meals. Only no one was reaching for it. Like a salsa that was too hot for everyone taste, those words just quietly and patiently rested and waited. Reminding me there was one final task that needed to be finished before we could begin our usual post-service discussion —the prayer of thanksgiving. The paper was in front of A, a young mother who had her two-year-old daughter E sitting on her lap. It only seemed natural to ask her. Which she happily agreed. And invited her daughter to join her. For weeks now she had been telling us of her daughter's ability to read. But I will confess, I took that as an attentive parent doing some well-deserved bragging. So, imagine my surprise when A picked up the paper and E began to read from it. She read each word with great confidence and clarity, with her mother only helping on bigger words like “covenant” and “abundance.” As I watched her index finger of her left hand move over each word I had put on the page, I noticed in her right hand E was nervously squeezing a handful of communion bread that she had ripped off the loaf right before her mother asked her to read. I watched in amazement as she held tightly to the body of Christ for reassurance while offering the prayer of thanks for the entire church.In that moment, my heart was filled with hope. Nevermind, a child of her age reading. She was praying for us! And had faith enough to know who to trust and cling on to in times like this. She faced her performance anxiety and nervousness with great confidence because she held tightly to Jesus who said, "I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never hunger. And whoever believes in me will never be thirsty" (John 6:35). In that moment the tension and worry that I had been clinging onto began to dissipate as I slowly unclenched my anxious fist. And opened them back up to Christ. Evelyn reminded me of the simple truth, that no matter the challenges our country may face, the church will continue moving forward. All we have to do, as both individuals and a Jesus loving community, is to cling to Christ, whose light and love will always guide us through darkest nights and fiercest storms. Jesus says, "Unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven" (Matthew 18:3). That kingdom, Jesus says, is right here, in this space between life and death. He calls us to approach the world with humble and trusting hearts, like children. To let go of the fear and worry and hatred ad judgement, and cling to him. In Jesus, like Evelyn reminds us, we have all the words we need to give us hope, strength and all we need to build bridges across the chasms that divided us. And we have the Holy Spirit to guide us and empower us to be peacemakers and love givers. We have no reason to worry about tomorrow, but to be present with him and one another today. Yes, in that presence we are called to work for justice and mercy, but we are called to do that with humility and servitude. "For whoever wishes to be first in the Kingdom," says Jesus, "must become a servant to all" (Mark 10:44). As we look ahead to the new church season and embrace the theme Building Community in the Space Between, let us hold fast to the truth that God’s table is big enough for all—where we can gather as one, strengthened by Christ’s love, ready to embrace whatever lies ahead with courage and hope.
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