Look Out, Here Comes God
AM Psalm 1, 2, 3 • PM Psalm 4, 7
Jer. 36:11-26 • 1 Cor. 13:(1-3)4-13 • Matt. 10:5-15
When was the last time you knelt or stood at the communion rail and happened to glance over at your peers? For some of us it may have been some time. I have noticed during this pandemic how useful visualization can be. While not always optimal, we can go places we would like to be, in our minds. This kind of visualization can be an instrument of hope and growth in our lives.
Imagine you are at the communion rail. You quietly wait to receive. Others who are also waiting, surround you. Think about how different you are for just a moment. Now realize that here, your age isn’t really important. What you do for work or how many books you’ve read doesn’t apply. Tribes are meaningless. Here, in the presence of God Almighty, you quietly join together to receive something totally beyond yourself. Decorum and privacy are important but take a moment to see your neighbors. How do you feel about them? Let the scene wash over you. What do you notice? Anything you would you like to take with you today?
When I read the words of Paul to the Corinthians today, I find myself convicted. It’s almost like I’m in one of those old escape movies. The spotlight on the guard tower has suddenly fixed upon me and I am frozen. Caught. Nowhere to hide.
If I speak with the tongues of mankind and of angels, but do not have love, I have become a noisy gong or a clanging cymbal… (1 Cor 13:1).
How easy it is to get caught up in being right. In doing the right things. In saying the right stuff. In wanting to be on the right side. Human beings seem so easily to lose track of what pattern and practice are supposed to do in our lives. We start believing our preferences are synonymous with right. But look out, here comes God.
The reading today makes me think of the communion rail. For me this moment in the liturgy reminds me how crappy my gong sounds. It’s a look out moment where God comes roaring into town. It levels me to the ground, but it also lifts me. It changes me. It reminds me that the Lord is not only with me, but in me. Communion reminds me to see others with more grace. It charges and expands my capacity to love. It prods me forward. When we all come together, shoulder to shoulder, we get a glimpse of what God’s great vision for beloved community might be like. We come together beyond difference, with hands outstretched, to receive and be transformed by, love enfleshed. I wish I could keep that feeling with me all the time. Especially in traffic.
Written by Jonathan Wright
Jonathan is a native of Atlanta, GA and a relatively new member of St. Paul’s. He moved to the parish from the Cathedral Church of Saint Mark in Salt Lake City, UT where he became an Episcopalian.