I Got To...

I got to preach this morning.

I can't tell you what an honor it is to be used in this way...to have the privilege of sharing the Word of God with others. It's a strange thing. On each of the three opportunities that I've had to preach, I have felt a tremendous amount of "heaviness" prior to Sunday morning. Particularly on Saturday.

It's not heaviness like the pressure I've felt to score well on an exam or to perform well on a speech, but a mental and spiritual heaviness that reminds me of the weightiness of God's message for each of us.

Although I pray through the whole process asking the Holy Spirit to provide me with the message, guide my words, and guide the hearts of the listeners, I understand (and take very seriously) the warning given by James to those who would answer to the call to be teachers of God's Word.

I also got to visit a few of our members in the hospital on Friday.  What a privilege to enter into a private place of healing and pray with someone who needs God's healing, comfort, and strength.  Some of my favorite conversations with fellow brothers and sisters have taken place in that sterile environment in the presence of God.  (Where two or more are gathered...)

I got to visit with young college students about Christ this past week.

I got to serve Holy Communion last Sunday while several of our members said those familiar phrases, (Christ's body/blood broke/shed for you.) in their home languages--seven different languages!

I got to help setup our recently renovated fellowship hall for the upcoming auction to benefit our missionary to Honduras while visiting with the other volunteers and occasionally picking up my friend's little girl who happens to like me...and honors me by wanting my attention.

I got to grow in grace as I experienced hunger for another week and gained new insights into this suffering.

Serving my God is not a chore, it's a privilege.

I am so grateful that I get to do it.

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

The Eucharist

Apparently my body is adjusting, because day 7 was much easier.  I have a feeling that I will have many ups and downs throughout the year.

I've worried about my lack of energy and decided that I need to continue to exercise throughout this year--even though I know that will use precious calories.  But on each of the last two evenings I put in 45 minutes on the elliptical without feeling I was pushing it.  The Olympic coverage helps!

During the noon hour on campus, the Eucharist is available daily.  The word "Eucharist" is taken from the original Greek word (εὐχαριστία),  used in the New Testament (1 Corinthians 11:23-24).  It's the verb that tells us He "gave thanks" after breaking the bread.  I actually prefer to call this sacrament, "Holy Communion".  Our God is a God of relationship.  Through the "Lord's Supper" we are reminded that He calls us to be in relationship with Him and each other.  No one name can encompass the depth of this one spiritual act.

This sacrament was especially meaningful to me today.  With my belly so empty, there was something very special about accepting Christ's body and blood into my own body.  That sounds kind of weird, I know.  And, honestly, I really can't explain it.  But knowing that the only nourishment to my body in an 18-hour period was the bread and juice of the Eucharist, also nourished my soul.

Don't get me wrong, each time I participate in Holy Communion I am moved.  But this was different.

I can do all things through Him who strengthens me. (Philippians 4:13, NASB)