I file in line, shuffling my feet with my eyes fixed to the floor, eager to approach the Table, to come and to eat. Though the movement is routine and practiced, every time I partake in the Feast, it is the first time. So I move with the current of communion, without allowing it to become automatic. For my wandering heart still races, and my feeble spirit returns to steady as I trek towards Holy Communion. My soul is willing and my flesh is eager.
In the pews and in the parking lot, we are a myriad of lives. We are pressed suits and pretty dresses. We are a people of rags and a people of riches. We are searching souls and reaching spirits. But here, during this divine time, we are all walking with the same sin, all sick with the same disease. Though it shows up differently in our uniqueness, as we walk to the Table, we are all just a people in need. We trudge together through the mud, desperate to touch a piece of the Love.
“This is the body broken for you.” I am a starved beggar with cupped hands. “This is the blood shed for you.” I am living and dying of thirst, with a spirit parched. I see the loaf of bread, and I want it all. I see the cup of wine, and I crave all of it. But yet again, I am given all that I am able to receive, just a bite of bread and a taste of wine. Could I ever truly swallow all of it? Have I not been made to always long for more?
Never is my longing more acute than when I stand at this Table. But never is my desire more satisfied than when I eat of this Meal. And so I take and eat, dissolve and digest, His body broken and His blood shed. Away from this Table, I am both plagued and blessed by this journey of desire. But in this fleeting moment of remembrance, at last I am full.