The Eucharist Community

In less than a week’s time I have had two distinct glimpses—scratch that—more like high definition images of what I think the church is called to be in this world. The first experience involved moving two sisters out of a condemned mobile home that I wrote about in an earlier post. The second experience happened after the worship service last Sunday. Pastor John had just given a message about prayer and healing and invited the congregation to receive prayer in the chapel. I was one of several people in the chapel that had received “training” to pray for healing and to anoint with oil the sign of the cross upon the foreheads of those seeking prayer. After praying with several near strangers, my favorite member of the Rye Over 55 Club walked into the room with eyes full of tears. Being one of those men with a rare but serious overactive tear glad disorder (ok, I just cry a lot for a dude), the downcast look on my elderly friend’s face brought instant tears to my eyes. She wanted prayer for her deteriorating joints, emotional stability, and for her friend dying from cancer. She was overwhelmed to say the least. Then I was overwhelmed. I started to pray but tears flowed more freely than words. So I stopped talking, and there we sat, huddled in the corner of the chapel, filling the trash can with used tissues. In this very tender moment our humanity lay raw. But in the midst of all this I was conscious of what was transpiring. This was an expression of the Eucharist Community alive and well. Here we were, two people three generations apart, being broken and poured out for our hurts and the wounds of the world.