Communion. Taking communion is a common Christian practice, but what does it mean? What is it really supposed to be like? Written below is an excerpt from my journal, coming out of one of the times I spent taking communion– and to me, this is an example of what communion truly is. Taking the body and blood of Jesus and letting the love of the Father run deep. I have tried to make it a practice to take communion every morning after some time in silence with the Lord. For me, taking my time is key. If I’m too rushed I will close off my heart, fearing the mess will be too much for 20 minutes. But when I give Him time, He softens me and I can really let the reality of the sacrifice of Jesus run deep. Not out of religion. That is the exact opposite of the point. Religion is the counterfeit of intimacy. So I sit there, with the bread and cup, and allow the Father to speak whatever He wants. Often, out of those beautiful times, comes writing and a movement in my heart like this one below…
An excerpt from my journal:
You. How could I begin to describe you when everything in me feels like I’m breathing for the first time when your hand touches mine.
I’ve looked in so many other places, scraped my hands here, burnt them there, after sticking my hands in so many different piles I was painted with mud. Every time my hand touched the mud it drew a line on my heart. A stain. And man, did I touch the sticky substance. I dug my hands deep, trying to find something of value.
But you pursued me. You never stopped pursuing me, as if my heart, my muddy heart, was the most valuable thing in the universe to you.
I drag my feet. I’m damaged goods now, ready to be disregarded with all the other broken items.
‘All He will do is tell you how wrong you’ve been. Don’t go home’
An ache. A deep ache in my heart pangs at me. A hole. Somewhere deep inside. There used to be a flower there, now it’s just an empty hole in the mud.
How could I? To get rocks of ‘I told you so’ thrown at me? But I look up for a second. I see a man who is bruised walking towards me. White lines stain His cheeks; tears. He draws closer, I haven’t run yet. Closer. Closer. Closer. A hand touches my shoulder, a gentle but reassuring touch of ‘don’t be scared.’
“I took these bruises for you, all the stones that had your name written on them. You’re safe now. Is there anyone left to condemn you? I will not be the one to. And if it was up to me, I would do it all over again to lay my hand on your shoulder and reassure you once more. You are safe now. Just breathe.”
I collapse in a tsunami of tears, I feel my heart unravel, but I’m not scared.
As He stood there, taking stone after stone of condemnation that was destined for me, the stains on my heart were all together removed. As if they were never there.
Bless you all in your pursuit of falling more deeply in love with our beautiful God.
- A YWAM Maui Staff member