I felt off.

I wasn’t even supposed to be here.

 It was the first Sunday of the year and I was used to being at Kairos on communion weekend. But because of the holidays, we wouldn’t be at the Jesuit Center until the second weekend that month.  So here I was at my own church.   Up front sat the bread and cup.   The communion table was waiting.




I felt little flits of anxiety bouncing around within.  It had been so long since I had been here for communion Sunday.  And now I was wondering, how?

How were we going to do this as a family?  Would he remain in the pew while I led our children forward?  Should I go without him?  Will the kids have questions?  Will they want to take communion this way?  How does this work ?

In this moment, splintered.

Slowly, each pew rose to their feet, turned and filed out towards the center aisle.   Quietly everyone moved to the front and stood in a line, waiting.  Each one who came forward was offered the body and then the cup.    

Hands held out.   This is His body, broken for you.  

Free to all who desire it.   The cup of salvation. 

As each line of people returned to their seat,  my gut churned.  What was the invitation for us?  How would we be received?

Then, our turn.

We, all five of us, stood and marched forward.  So unsure of what would happen next, we approached our spot on the carpet.  This place for the hungry.  So familiar, yet so foreign at this moment.   I looked down at my feet and then over to the kids.  I try not to stare but I notice him stand on the other side of our kids, face forward, arms resting at his side.  His eyes lock with the bread bearer, and there is an understanding.  He does not eat.  But, he is known.  Then right on to the rest of us, we do what we know to do and receive.  And just like that it is over and we go back to our place in the sanctuary.

Sometimes things change.  Sometimes we can no longer receive.   Sometimes what worked for us for so long, no longer works.  Sometimes we have to find a new way to be together.  Sometimes all we can do is tell the truth of where we are. Sometimes all we can do is stand with one another and resist the urge to fix.

 Sometimes there is nothing to fix.

In that time and in that space there was so much uncertainty.  It is our job to just keep showing up.