Not tonight

My legs were heavy.  My heart was heavy.  My eyelids were heavy. 

There were only about fifteen feet between me and the Communion Table but they were fifteen feet I just Could. Not. Make.

Not tonight.

At our church the bread and the juice sit out for us, up front on a smooth, simple wooden table.  We are welcome to come up as we please, during the Table portion of the service that comes after the teaching.  To eat the bread.  To drink the juice.  To remember Him together.

And I love this, it fits the character of our particular church body so well.





Occaisionally most nights I have stuff that I either bring in with me or comes to the surface in that most vulnerable of meeting places.  Baggage, if you will.

And week after week Jesus faithfully meets me during our church service and I am always ready to confess, to rest, to rejoice, to learn and to pray and even on the roughest of weekends I am quick to leave my seat, walk humbly to the table, and receive Communion.

But not tonight.

The stuff seemed like too much tonight.

Jesus, I don’t deserve to wear forgiveness like a crown, please don’t ask me to.

Jesus, I have been up since before 5am and I just can’t.

Jesus, why am I still struggling with this?

Jesus, who will help me?

Jesus, why is this so hard?

Jesus, I feel alone.

So for the first time, tonight I was resigned to stay where I was and not come to the Table, not partake.

My legs were heavy.  My heart was heavy.  My eyelids were heavy.  

But then, when I least expected it, the Good News came.  

As I sat there, weighted in my seat, our Pastor announced that tonight the Bread and the Cup would be passed, that they would be brought from that smooth, simple table right to me.  I wouldn’t have to move.  I wouldn’t have to put one foot in front of the other.  I wouldn’t have to do it on my own.  I could simply sit, be served, and receive.

The Good News.

In my tired and weary and sinful state, when I just couldn’t bring myself to come to Jesus, He came to me. 

Just like when He came to me in high school, when I could barely explain why or what,  but I stood up to accept Him as my savior.

He came to me my freshman year of college, when I just couldn’t make a good decision if my life depended on it, but was crying out in need.

He came to me while weeping over two lost babies, crying along with me and washing my feet.

He came to me when He became flesh and dwelt among us.

He came to me when He lifted up His robes and sprinted out of his house to meet the prodigal son.

He came to me when he found me pouting during the party, letting the older son know that all The Father has ever had, belongs to him, too.

All along, Jesus has been the one coming to me.

Tonight, He came to me while sitting in church, unable to play the part of a mature Christian, unable to get up, unable to move forward by myself.  He came to me with my community to offer, once again, His Body and His Blood, given for me. 

He came to me.


4 thoughts on “Not tonight

  1. Elizabeth V

    This is amazing. Thank you for sharing…. for being so honest, so open, so brutally bare. I connect with this so much… the way this church body shares communion was very powerful to me; I had never “seen it done” that way. What you talked about, about how you bring things with you to church, and time and time again He meets you there anyways… that is why I want to be apart of this church body. Because you can’t NOT face Jesus there. It’s active. I can’t sit there and go through the motions, even if I want to. I even told Andrew one Sunday that I didn’t want to go, just for that reason. I didn’t want to face Him today. To meet him. To have him confront me and love me and forgive me. That’s when I knew this was the church God wanted me in. Because He comes to me, every time, meeting me where I am.
    Anyways, sorry for the long comment. I just really appreciate you writing this.

    Liked by 1 person

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