Friday, August 8, 2014
(On Friday I join with a community of writers that encourages one another. I use the weekly prompt to find my writing voice, discover what I really believe, and oftentimes to tell stories. You can join us here.)
Somebody fills the cups to the brim and they're there waiting for us. The first time goes fast. I say the words over and over, "the body of Christ, broken for you." They take their bread to dip in the cup. I use their name if I know it. Most look me in the eye the same way I do to them. Most smile. A lot say "amen" or "thank you."
But the first time it goes fast. I rush my words. It's exhausting. I wonder if the Body broken for me can keep having meaning after all that rushing? But then the lines of people stop and we, the servers, go up to him for our portion of the bread and wine. And to each of us he says it with such meaning, such passion, that it's like the first time every time.
So the second time, and the third time, and all times after that I go slower. I recognize that my words and speed control the pace. I go slow so others may feel it's the first time, every time. So that we both might be filled with newness of the blood that washes away all our sins.