Sharing with L.L. Barkat today also:
He is passionate about funerals and communion and children in worship and says that worship should be about us sharing the stories of the Word. He has written a book on worship and I have read it from cover to cover—highlighting and underlining bits that speak story to me. He has come from Maryland to teach us about worship and I have driven from my now home to the home where I grew up to meet up with him and my classmates. He is fluent on the piano and he makes us sing. We start off wobbly at first but we gain confidence at his encouragement and soon we are singing with our hearts.
The boys came with me and they are spending the day with my mother and part of me is distracted by this strangeness all day. Coming home is dying for me—letting go of the past and embracing love and forgiveness. When I drive to the church where our class is held I realize that if I keep going straight up the street I will come to Compton’s farm—one of the places we used to park in high school. Memories of stolen kisses haunt me as we discuss the Eucharist.
There is no more appropriate time than a funeral to celebrate communion, he says. Death is the consummation of everything our Lord celebrated in that final feast.
His voice is hushed with reverence and I am jarred by what he says.
Can I celebrate this death?
That first night my classmates get together in the hotel and drink wine and talk about amendment 10 but I drive the windy road to mom’s and sleep on the floor of her living room with one boy on the couch above me and the other asleep in an adjoining room. The windows are open and I listen to the sounds of my roots. I hear a train lumber nearby and its thunderous passing leaves me lonely in its wake.
This death is painful but I feel the beauty of the feast calling and I shift my pillow and let sorrow leak. They don’t believe that I know the One True God but He is with us the next day at dinner. I take the roll made by my mother’s hands and break off a bite.
It is soft in my mouth, rich and sweet, and I ache with the beauty of this dying.
How about you? How do you embrace the God-joy? Every Monday I’ll be sharing one of my Playdates with God. I would love to hear about yours. It can be anything: outside, quiet time. Maybe it’s solitary. Maybe it’s loud and crowded. Just find Him. Be with Him. And come tell us about it.
Grab my new button at the bottom of the page and join us!