"A colleague has recently described to me an occasion when a West Indian woman in a London flat was told of her husband's death in a street accident. The shock of grief stunned her like a blow, she sank into a corner of the sofa and sat there rigid and unhearing. For a long time her terrible tranced look continued to embarrass the family, friends and officials who came and went. Then the schoolteacher of one of her children, an Englishwoman, called and, seeing how things were, went and sat beside her. Without a word she threw an arm around the tight shoulders, clasping them with her full strength. The white cheek was thrust hard against the brown. Then as the unrelenting pain seeped through to her the newcomer's tears began to flow, falling on their two hands linked in the woman's lap. For a long time that is all that was happening. And then at last the West Indian woman started to sob. Still not a word was spoken and after a little while the visitor got up and went, leaving her contribution to help the family meet its immediate needs."
John V Taylor then comments;
"That is the embrace of God, his kiss of life. That is the embrace of his mission, and of our intercession. And the Holy Spirit is the force in the straining muscles of an arm, the film of sweat between pressed cheeks, the mingled wetness on the backs of clasped hands. He is as close and as unobtrusive as that, and as irresistibly strong."
Imagine that? "God" is in the muscles! "God" is in the salty wet tears and the sweat! I like this picture of God. The compassion and the "realness" of it rings bells with me.
Some years ago my wife and I one Sunday afternoon went on a mission. We went around the shut in elderly folk of the congregation offering to have communion with them in their homes. We had a couple of visits with little communion services at each then we went to a third lady. We offered communion and she said, "Nah.... that doesn't trouble me... but will you have a cup of tea and, Oh yes, I got given some cake the other day," she said with a glint in her eye, "we'll have a bit of that as a celebration." Together we prepared our afternoon tea and then we sat and talked of family and friends, and frustrations and feelings. Then we left. As I sat in the car I asked my wife, "Which was real communion? The little 'religious' services we had with the others or the "cuppa", cake and conversation we had with Betty? Which was truly sacred?" I had to admit that the cup of tea and cake was truly "communion" and felt more real and sacred.
Today in the back of the Church at what we call Space2B we had 20 people call. It was full-on! An eighty something year old brought his lunch and ate it while telling us about composting sea weed and vegetable gardening. Another couple talked to me of having to put their cats, pets for over 17 years, "to sleep", and the grief of that decision. People shared resources. New settlers talked about language, employment and visa difficulties. We talked about sustainability things, about exercise and about jobs. Another older bloke donated some wire puzzles he had bought. Someone brought sushi to share, and another had brought pop-corn that we cooked in the micro-wave.... and so it went on. It was a busy few hours as people came, talked and had food and drank coffee. But it felt "important", sacred and life enhancing. The only thing "religious" was that it was in a church. There was secular background music. None of the conversation was about 'religious' things, but about real "life" issues. I went back to my office after washing the mugs feeling like I had just participated in something truly sacred. "God" was in the listening ears. "God" was in the empathy shared! God was in the laughter and God was in the "See you next week, have a good week." Washing the mugs felt like washing the communion cups.
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