Windows of the Soul
It's said that the eyes are the windows to the soul.
On Friday night at Red Bird, I had the privilege, along with two fellow pastors, of serving communion to those who had participated in the work camp. All week, I had watched the people who gathered there to serve. It's what I do. As a pastor, I find myself often watching people, because you can learn a lot about a person just by watching the way they go about their day.
I had commented to some in our group that there seemed to be other teams who thought they were there for a vacation. When they came to breakfast, they were dressed as if they were going out to tour and sightsee rather than put in windows, remodel a bathroom or re-roof a house. There were others who seemed as if they were merely going through the motions; I can't really describe it other than just the "sense" that they carried about them and projected to others.
But then we came to Friday, and as broke the bread and blessed the cup, I again found myself watching people. We invited everyone to come forward to receive the sacrament by intinction. And, as is usually my habit, I looked each person in the eye as I offered them a piece of the bread, the body of Christ. In some eyes, I saw passion. In many other eyes, I saw disinterest. Many didn't even look at the bread they took. They seemed to stare off into the distance. Perhaps they were praying, but if the eyes are the window to their soul, then their eyes told a different story. It was more like, "Here we are again. I sure hope we get through this fast so I can move on to something else."
It made me think about how I come to the table. Do I come with passion, anticipation, excitement? Do I want to be there? That night, I was proud to be part of a group, our team, who came to the table because they wanted to be there. You could see it in their eyes. Not that our group is or was perfect. We're not. None of us are—and that's why we come to the table. That's why we receive the bread and the cup, because we're not perfect. We need that reminder of what Jesus did so that we could be saved, made right, made holy. My goal, every time we have communion, is to create that sort of anticipation not just for our church, but to have it rise in me as well.
Thanks, Portage First, for coming to the table with anticipation and with joy, even when we were all so very tired.
How do you come to the table? What do your eyes say about your desires, your longings and your relationship with Jesus? What does your heart tell you about why you are there?
On Friday night at Red Bird, I had the privilege, along with two fellow pastors, of serving communion to those who had participated in the work camp. All week, I had watched the people who gathered there to serve. It's what I do. As a pastor, I find myself often watching people, because you can learn a lot about a person just by watching the way they go about their day.
I had commented to some in our group that there seemed to be other teams who thought they were there for a vacation. When they came to breakfast, they were dressed as if they were going out to tour and sightsee rather than put in windows, remodel a bathroom or re-roof a house. There were others who seemed as if they were merely going through the motions; I can't really describe it other than just the "sense" that they carried about them and projected to others.
But then we came to Friday, and as broke the bread and blessed the cup, I again found myself watching people. We invited everyone to come forward to receive the sacrament by intinction. And, as is usually my habit, I looked each person in the eye as I offered them a piece of the bread, the body of Christ. In some eyes, I saw passion. In many other eyes, I saw disinterest. Many didn't even look at the bread they took. They seemed to stare off into the distance. Perhaps they were praying, but if the eyes are the window to their soul, then their eyes told a different story. It was more like, "Here we are again. I sure hope we get through this fast so I can move on to something else."
It made me think about how I come to the table. Do I come with passion, anticipation, excitement? Do I want to be there? That night, I was proud to be part of a group, our team, who came to the table because they wanted to be there. You could see it in their eyes. Not that our group is or was perfect. We're not. None of us are—and that's why we come to the table. That's why we receive the bread and the cup, because we're not perfect. We need that reminder of what Jesus did so that we could be saved, made right, made holy. My goal, every time we have communion, is to create that sort of anticipation not just for our church, but to have it rise in me as well.
Thanks, Portage First, for coming to the table with anticipation and with joy, even when we were all so very tired.
How do you come to the table? What do your eyes say about your desires, your longings and your relationship with Jesus? What does your heart tell you about why you are there?
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