Communion, Communication and...Christmas

Church was really lovely today. It was our communion service, which we have four times a year, once at the end of every quarter. We sang several hymns, being spoiled for choice with songs about Jesus’ death and resurrection. The message was entitled ‘Calvary.’ The speaker, the head elder (a lady), is extremely emotive and impassioned when she speaks. She told us that Calvary reminds us of three P's – Pain (both the physical pain that Jesus suffered and the pain of separation from His Father as He bore the sins of humanity), Pardon (just like the thief on the cross who was given the gift of eternal life in his final moments, the pardon that is available to all of us who accept Jesus’ sacrifice) and a Promise (the promise of eternal life, the promise of God’s love as evidenced through such an amazing sacrifice for us and His promise to return to earth to rescue us).

The message was extremely meaningful and really spoke to me. It was a reminder of just how undeserving I am of what God has done for me, but that He does it anyway, whether I accept Him in my life or not, simply because His love for me is greater than I can really understand. It was a sobering thought. After the message, we split into separate rooms for the men and women, to wash each others’ feet. It is what Jesus did for His disciples after they ate their last supper, a common practice in those days when a guest arrived at your house, as their feet were often dirty and dusty from walking on the dirt roads. It was a strange undertaking for the disciples, since it was a practice usually carried out by a servant of the house, and here was their Lord, their leader, stooping down to wash the feet of those who may have been considered below Him. It is a symbolic act that we still undertake, following His example. Not because the feet of our fellow believers need washing necessarily, but it is an act that makes it necessary to lower one’s pride. It helps to teach us humility. Some would probably find it extremely strange, washing the feet of a person that you may not know very well, or may not have even met before, but it is definitely a humbling experience, both washing another’s feet and having yours washed too. It is only a symbol, there is no soap or scrubbing, lol, but it is an interesting experience. It would definitely be even more interesting if you did this act with someone you had a disagreement with.

The speaker reminded us of the fact that we shouldn’t see this as just a meaningless ritual, but that we should remember what it represents, that we need to remove pride of any kind from our hearts, that we need to esteem others before ourselves. She asked us to each pray, silently, to ask God to remove anything in our hearts that would separate us from Him. She finished with a final prayer. We were singing hymns as everyone got seated and settled, and the atmosphere was very reverent. I was seated opposite a lady I recognised, but don’t really know. We introduced ourselves to each other, then she washed my feet and I washed hers. Afterwards, we hugged and then we prayed together and for each other. Once we had all finished, we filed back into the main church to continue the service. There were ladies leading the singing, one of whom unexpectedly drafted Mum, Big Sis and I up to lead the singing in their place. We sang a couple more hymns and then sat back down while waiting for the next part of the service to begin.

The broken pieces of bread (which is almost more like a biscuit, cooked without yeast which is a symbol of sin, representing the sinless body of Jesus) were passed around, with a reading and a prayer, before we all ate. Then the tiny glasses of grape juice (again, not wine, it is unfermented as this again symbolises sin and so it being unfermented represents the sinless blood of Jesus) were passed around, preceding another reading and prayer before we all drank. Sometimes I wonder how this service would seem to someone who is not Christian, or has no knowledge or understanding of what it stands for and what it all means. It must certainly seem bizarre and possibly slightly gory, all this mention of eating bread that represents flesh, and drinking red juice that is symbolic of blood. I never really think of it literally like that. The last supper did consist of flatbread and red grape juice. It was a fitting symbol of the sacrifice that Jesus was soon to make. But it is a ritual of remembrance. Partaking of the symbols helps to remind me of the very incident that is at the core of my beliefs. It reminds me of exactly what the Creator of this world went through, in order to make it possible to save His creation. It reminds me of what my very own sins made it necessary for Him to go through. It reminds me that nothing I can do of myself can make me worthy to receive the reward of eternal life with Him, but that He went through the suffering, pain of separation and the experience of death in order to make it possible for me to receive that reward. It reminds me of the incredible love that God has for humanity, that He would allow His precious, perfect Son to go through such suffering and sacrifice, just to save His people, the very people who rejected Him, insulted Him, tortured and eventually killed Him. The same people who mock Him today, who even claim to love and follow Him, but bring dishonour to His name by rarely showing the very love that He calls us to have for each other. It reminds me that I have so very far to go. As we prayed, I nearly broke down into sobs, but just about held it together, as the tears fell from my eyes, hidden by my hair as my head bowed. The moment was killed slightly when, despite earlier requests to ensure they were turned off, someone's mobile phone rang. It would have been bad enough if it was a standard ring tone, but it broke into MJ's Don't Stop Till You Get Enough and the reverence of the moment was spoiled somewhat. I had to smile, but it was through a touch of annoyance.

The service ended with a final song and a prayer and then we watched a video of images set to the song ‘Nothing But the Blood of Jesus.’ As we left the church hall, I caught up with friends that we hadn’t seen in a while, I made a couple of new friends, I hugged friends hello and shook hands with those I knew less well. I felt refreshed, revived and reassured.

After the service, we gave our friend who shall hereafter be known as The Roman, the father of the three little kiddos I have adopted, a lift home to their new flat. Mum had helped them move at the start of the week and had shown me pictures of how lovely it was, but Big Sis and I got the chance to see for ourselves when we dropped him home. The Destroyer had apparently been asking after me, but when we got there he was asleep with his mum, so we said hello to Big C and Little C and got a tour of their lovely new home. The views from the seventh floor they were on were far-reaching and the windows let in loads of light. The Roman had been shy to ask for help with some things, as is their culture, but after my Mum's encouragement, he confessed that he was having a problem with his mobile phone and because they didn't have a land-line set up yet, it was causing problems with communication for their furniture deliveries and suchlike, so did we have a spare mobile phone he could borrow, one for him and for his wife? We duly obliged, knowing that we each have at least one spare handset we could lend them, and arranged to drop them to him later that evening.

On the way, he had been amusing us with stories of his girls, Big C and Little C, and how different they are in personality. Big C wants to be a doctor, is very intelligent and sweet-natured and very obedient. If he asks her to do anything, she just does it, without complaint or query. Little C, on the other hand, questions everything and always has an answer or excuse, not doing anything just because she is told to. "Why do I have to go to school?" she asks, or "Why do we have to eat vegetables?" He has told her that she should become a solicitor, since she loves to argue so much and reasons with him over everything. Her skills are pretty impressive and she is only four. He explained that he didn't want to dampen that questioning spirit, but that sometimes she got too cheeky and he had to put his foot down. When Big Sis and I went to leave, they walked us down the stairs to see us out. The Roman went first, then Big C walked down the stairs behind him, with Little C following and me and Big Sis bringing up the rear. "Did you have your lunch already?" I asked. Big C replied, "Yes. We had bolognaise." Their dad asked Little C, "That's good, did you have spaghetti?" "No," she replied, for seemingly no other reason than just to disagree with her dad. "See," he said casually, "this is what I have to put up with from the district attorney." We laughed. Big C must have been walking too slowly for Little C's liking, as suddenly she piped up, "What are you waiting for, Christmas?" Big Sis and I looked at each other and silently cracked up, not wanting to encourage her cheekiness, but wanting to laugh at how children pick up these random phrases from school. Big C didn't rise to it and seems to ignore Little C's cheekiness, which wasn't said maliciously, but was brazen all the same.

When we got home, we laughed at how different in personality they are and how tough it is for parents, trying to be fair, but knowing that you can't parent each child the same, because differing personalities require differing kinds of discipline. "It's hard isn't it?" Big Sis said. "Lucky I was the obedient one." Now that is cheeky.