Crying in the Chapel

I experimented with the food today trying to figure out how to just make one serving at a time so that my meals will always be fresh.  I failed miserably and choked through a meal with only half-cooked rice.  The smell of the spicy Indonesian food that was being prepared by my suite-mate was a wonderful addition to my impatiently-made serving.  The aroma of the garlic and onions was heavenly.

Tonight I want to share a story with you that really moved me today.  A pastor in my class shared this story during the devotional at the noon Eucharist.

A few years back he was attending a retreat.  One day he headed toward the river to spend some time alone and pray, but instead found himself drawn to the "chapel".  In actuality, it was an old cinder block building that was serving as a make-shift chapel for the retreat.

As he made his way to the chapel, he thought, "Why in the world am I going to this ugly old building when I could go down to the riverside and enjoy the beauty of God's creation?"  But, he he felt compelled to continue on to the small gray building.

When he went in, he noticed that the Holy Communion elements were on the table.  He reached the table and extended his hands over the elements, praying and allowing himself the time to contemplate the sacrifice of the body and blood of Jesus.  

And he heard a man start crying.

This didn't surprise him much.  After all, he was at a retreat where (as he said) "it happens."  He continued with this inner worship.  

At some point, however, it entered his mind that the communion elements were the focal point of the chapel when they were present and he was blocking the man's view of them.  So, he took a step over and, out of curiosity, he turned to see who had been crying.  But nobody was there.

A little frightened, he searched the room with his eyes.  No...he was alone in the small, temporary chapel.  How could this be?  Nobody had left the room.  The crying was quite clear and unmistakable and  most-certainly a man's cry. 

And he wondered, "If I continue, will I hear the crying again?"

He extended his hands over the elements and resumed his prayers and meditation.  The crying did not come, but the choked gasps that often signal the end of a crying jag were quite clear. 

When he finished, he surveyed the room once more.  As before, he was alone.

But we all know he wasn't.  

We never are.

...I am with you always, to the very end of the age.  --Matthew 28:20