It has always brought a surge of exultation and yet, humbleness. For eleven years and three months, I got to do it every week, but for the rest of my ministry it was once a month. This time was different in some ways. The sanctuary was large and new, all the folks from the Yoke were there and many others, as well. The Elders, Brian and Ed and Claud, were there assisting in the presentation the service. It seemed very familiar, and yet, it seemed out of place. Still, we were entering the time for the Lord's Supper. This was the exultation and the sense of humbleness. Exultation from knowing that here was the Gospel in its purest demonstration, humbleness from knowing that by presiding over this event, I was serving in the place where Christ once served. This feeling had been there every time I had been in this situation; gratefulness and unworthiness overwhelmed me. I looked to the ceiling into the beautiful crystal chandelier to quietly, before we actually started, give the Lord my deepest thanks. The glitter of lights in the chandelier lifted my soul!

And then I began to realize that it wasn't a chandelier after all. It was the vertical blinds over the door to the patio. They were reflecting the light from somewhere outside in the night as they swayed in the light breeze. The music I was hearing was not coming from Nancy and Janene, but from the neighbor's wind chimes as they, too, let the breeze move them. The brightly lit sanctuary dimmed drastically to the darkness that only night provides. I wanted to hold on to the images I had been seeing, but the dream faded quickly. I lay there and an all-encompassing sadness swept over me. There was no brightly lit sanctuary, there were no folks from the Yoke, or from anywhere else, there awaiting the blessing Communion brings. The Elders, my friends, were not there. Just an empty and dark room. Tears stained my face.

I got up and made my way to the kitchen, where I made a cup of coffee. (Coffee; a drink to be served in times of happiness, sadness, joy, grief, clear mindedness, confusion or at any other time of human existence.) I sat down and pondered the dream. In seminary we took a couple of courses in dream interpretation in psychology. Certain elements of dreams show up quite commonly in everyone's dreams. Certain emotions, certain visual things. Our dreams are our minds with no filters and can tell us a lot about ourselves. As I thought back on the dream, I realized that the new and bright sanctuary was part of what I always wanted for the Yoke. A new church sitting in what used to be a bean field. I always felt that the folks deserved to have that building. I rarely shared this desire, but I had it, nonetheless. The additional people were the growth of the congregation. The Elders, assisting, were the friends with whom I had shared. I felt the service was the first in the new building. The chandelier was, oddly, from the front entrance of the funeral home I managed in Ohio. At a funeral home you deal with grief. Sometimes I would look at the glittering lights and feel my mood growing easier. (And then I would see a light that was out, and I would have to go and get a ladder and change the bulb.) All of it was what I had envisioned for the Yoke.

But it was the Lord's Supper that caused the tears. I know that for many, the Lord's Supper is a monthly ritual. I know that some churches have it just once a year or not at all. I have known pastors who resented the Supper because it took time from their service. But for me it was always the most sacred of times, and Maundy Thursday was the most sacred service of the year. 

The bread represents the perfectly sinless body of the Savior taking on the punishment we deserve, and the fruit of the vine represents the sacrificial blood that covers our sins. How can that be a ritual? How can that be common place? It says to us the story of redemption and it shows the never ending love of Christ. The most solemn of times.

Solemn does not mean humorless. Many years ago, at a church I pastored, we were having a baptismal service for new believers. After every baptismal service, a couple of the Elders would gather the ones just baptized in a room just off the baptistry and they would administer Communion to the group. There were ten or twelve freshly baptized believers this Sunday. One, Jim, was really excited to be receiving Communion. After he received the bread and the fruit of the vine, he bubbled up and said, "Oh man, three Communions and one baptism! I feel holy now!" We did Lord's Supper every week at that church. Jim had been in the early service and received Communion. He had been in the later service and had received Communion. Now he had just received Communion for the third time that day and, because he understood the message, he truly felt blessed of God.

So, the Lord's Supper of the dream was to be a joyful experience. But the dream ended before the Communion began. This was the very sad part of the dream. I may preside over Communion again as one who fills a pulpit or who serves as an interim pastor, but I will not serve with a congregation so dear to me again, and that hurts my soul.

However, I am not done. I was asked Friday by a lady if I would do a Bible study in the building in which I live. This makes me smile. It may be that a Sunday school class will soon come open. Wonderful opportunities are ahead!

It will be fine, but never the same. What is the same is that Jesus died, was buried and rose again for you and for me. I pray that next Sunday, as you prepare your spirit for the Lord's Supper, that you will allow the Lord's Spirit to move on you. Quench not the Holy Spirit!

Blessings. 

           

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