ash wednesday kairos

My heart tripped on the way to the communion table tonight, and I fell into καιρός.

I went to the Ash Wednesday service at church feeling pretty drained. This day of the liturgical year is somber, and I was feeling homesick for my friends. Sitting in the pew, I thought about this night last year, when I shared soup around a table, and then foot washing and communion. How close and dear that felt, how personal. I felt as far away from the person in the pew next to me tonight as if we were in different cities.

Communion tonight was served by intinction, where the people walk up to the front, take a piece of bread, dip it in the cup, and eat it while the server utters words of ritual blessing. “The bread of life.” “The cup of salvation.” “For you.” “For you.”

“It’s okay that I don’t want to be here now,” I thought. “I don’t have to feel every service. I’ll be home soon and can put on my pyjamas and relax.”

I took the bread and dipped it in the juice, and met the eyes of the ministers serving, and after the words of blessing, said “Thanks be to God,” the usual response. But as I said it, my breath rushed out of me in a long sigh. In that moment, looking into the eyes of the minister and speaking words of gift and gratitude, I met the eyes of all the friends throughout the country with whom I’ve shared this meal. I was in Granville, Richmond, Boston, Lancaster, Bend. I was both holding the cup and eating the bread. I was so full of the love of God that I felt stretched. And I cried, and felt held and healed and comforted.

This is part of the miracle of God’s time, of God’s presence, of God’s love: I am never alone, and, as the minister reminded us tonight, nothing can separate us from the love of God in Jesus Christ.