The first thing I remember about last Sunday is a comment my
dear friend Lindsey made while we sat soaking in the first morning rays of
Florida sunshine over a cup of tea. I still had curlers in my hair and my mind
was running over the list of people I would see at service that day,
cataloguing possibly appropriate responses to polite conversation and
subconsciously planning exit strategies for every potentially awkward social
situation. (This mostly involved mentally noting the location of all church
restrooms.) I was already calculating the number of minutes I would have
between services and dividing it into sections for lunch, walk and substantial
nap.
Then Lindsey sighed and said something about how deeply
excited and thankful she was that today was the Lord's day and that she got to
go and be with God's people today. (I was really glad at that moment that the
mental activity of the last paragraph had been occurring inside my head and not
coming out of my mouth.) In response, I smiled and thought that I could
certainly agree about being glad it was the Lord's day and knowing how much I
needed to hear and respond to the Word preached. I didn't have time to process
much more before heading upstairs to take the curlers out of my hair and grab
my purse. But the topic wasn't to be forgotten or avoided.
The sermon text was from Psalm 42 and 43 which include verses like these:
"My soul thirsts for God, for the living God. When can
I go and meet with God?" (Psalm 42:2)
"Let them bring me to your holy mountain, to the place
where you dwell." (Psalm 43:3)
"Then I will go to the alter of God, to God my
exceeding Joy." (Psalm 43:4)
These made my brain run along to other passages like these:
"I have seen you in your sanctuary and gazed upon your
power and glory." (Psalm 63:2)
"How lovely is your dwelling place, O Lord of hosts! My
soul longs, yes, faints for the courts of the Lord; my heart and flesh sing for
joy to the Living God.... For a day in your courts is better than a thousand
elsewhere. I would rather be a doorkeeper in the house of my God than dwell in
the tents of wickedness." (Psalm 84:1-2, 10)
Men and women of God in the scriptures hungered to be with
God, together with his people, gathered in his place. The place itself is not
important. But all places which represent and facilitate the gathering of God's
people to worship and serve Christ become rightly sacred. And there in that
place - those nondescript four walls with the simple cross at the front and
matching hymn number boards on either side - I realized just how much I need
the body of Christ, the church. Not just the word preached, but God's people
gathered to worship, repent and care for each other. And I wanted to come back
for more. I felt then what my Wheaton pastor said in church this morning,
"for you singles, this is your family." How wonderful to realize that
God has already fulfilled those beautiful words in Psalm 68:6, "God places
the lonely in families." Families aren't always warm fuzzy places. Sometimes,
because of sin in this fallen world, families fall apart altogether. But in the
church family, our bond is not shared blood or even (ultimately) love for each
other. Rather it is the blood of Christ and his love for us. We are all covered
by that blood and held by that love. We have one Father and God over all who
will never - never - let us go or abandon us or forget about us. And that God
has commanded that we love one another.
I've found myself feeling especially alone and overwhelmed
with the task of discipleship during the last few months. So much so that often
I gave into laziness, lust and fear, seeking anywhere and everywhere for a
"safe" place. Last Sunday, I found my safe place. Not 3722 Belfort Rd
in Jacksonville Florida. My safe place is with the people of God. It's not
comfortable. In fact it might be one of the most irritatingly nosy, disruptive,
tiring places I could go. But it's safe. There we gather together, tired but
expectant. We are seated with our collective unworthinesses at the Lord's table
and fix our eyes at its head, Christ. He says once again through the word:
"Do this in remembrance of Me." And we feast. Like the place which
houses the people of God, the actual ingredients of the elements do not matter.
But the Person and Work they represent are too beautiful for words and may God
help us if we can partake of them without walking away changed. We take the
bread with joyful trembling, knowing that we do not deserve the life it
abundantly provides (John 6). And we stare together into the cup, given us by
Christ, with those glorious words ringing in our ears "The blood of Christ,
shed for you." I need that cup. I need to drink deeply of that cup until
my lips are stained by the indescribably beautiful truth it contains. And I need
to take this feast as often as possible with other forgiven sinners so that we
can rise from the table, as one body, to sing with blood stained lips the
inexhaustible praises of the Lamb whose bloody fountain is our freedom.
The Cup says to us as the Seraphim to the Prophet Isaiah,
"Behold, this has touched your lips; your guilt is taken away, your sin
atoned for." That verse in Isaiah chapter 6 is followed almost immediately
by the call: "Go and say to this people." To what people? To God's
people. Our call is the same. The Cup does not touch our lips so that they may
be sealed shut upon the blessing. Rather it cleanses, opens and marks them as a
channel for God's truth - all week long. I need to feed "continually on
[Christ] in [my] heart" so that I can process my own sinful nature and the
sinful actions and attitudes of those around me with the grace of Christ,
pointing to the holiness of Christ. I was so blessed and challenged by the
humility and earnest hunger for the application of truth that I saw in the demeanor and words of so many at church last Sunday. When I heard
them speak, I saw the stain on their lips. It was as if they passed the cup to
me again and said, "Remember, remember, remember the signs." The body
of Christ was in action. There in God's house, the lives and words of God's people added fuel to my flickering flame of desire for all other tastes - my words, thoughts, desires and actions - to be measured
by the lingering taste of that holy feast in my heart.
