True Communion

Imagine if you knew what communion should look like for a group of people... Now imagine that you somehow manage to get that group of people to particpate in an unlikely event such as communion (see Bible: Luke 22)... Specifically they participate in a fashion of that infamous event that is not mystical niether is it temporalized or localized to a church architecture...

***Interruption***
I witnessed a leader today nearly cry his face off in front of his wife, brother, closest friends, pupils and leadership team in an exasperation to explain how amazing it would be to have true communion. But, not just to have it as it is, to have true communion where small community (see cell groups, life groups, small groups etc.) is based on this idea of what Jesus actually said to remember Him by... Where small community sets out a "extra" chair not for Christian symbolism of hinting at bringing a new person but rather rather for the empty chair awaiting Christ's second coming when we will once again dine with Him... Small communtiy generated around the simple response to Jesus' statement of remember me by... eating, drinking and having honest conversation...
*** End Interruption***

Now back to imagining implementing a strategy for authentic communion and having it become a weekly meeting where people get saved by grace, taught grace, transfer grace to other human beings and accept that grace covers all our journeys... now imagine the "Leader" above this leader who is doing this great job with the most difficult of people being told to STOP this form of communion solely because it is "different" and not-traditional...

[ex. I had us meet at Pub & Eatery for wings every wednesday night and the owners fell in love with us so much that they gave us free drinks (non-alcoholic only) several times and starting being involved with our small group meetings to the point of crying openly with us]

But the plug was pulled because it looked so invariably different from classic misrepresented Sunday morning once-a-month watered-down-welches-grape-juice & stale-Premium Plus-unsalted-crackers...

I envisioned a people group of Canadian Christians re-developing the way community is done in a smaller capacity and I think I may have witnessed a foundational block of its beginnings today...

Just thought you should know - whoever you will be...

hugs and kisses

Inaugural Post... To quote C.S. Lewis

I do think, said Shasta, that I must be the most unfortunate boy that ever lived in the whole world. Everything goes right for everyone except me. . . .
And being very tired and having nothing inside him, he felt so sorry for himself that the tears rolled down his cheeks.
What put a stop to all this was a sudden fright. Shasta discovered that someone or somebody was walking beside him. It was pitch dark, and he could see nothing. And the THING (or person) was going so quietly that he could hardly hear any footfalls. What he could hear was breathing. His invisible companion seemed to breathe on a very large scale, and Shasta got the impression that it was a very large creature. And he had come to notice this breathing so gradually that he had really no idea how long it had been there. It was a horrible shock.
It darted into his mind that he had heard long ago that there were giants in these Northern countries. He bit his lip in terror. But now that he really had something to cry about, he stopped crying.
The Thing (unless it was a Person) went on beside him so quietly that Shasta began to hope he had only imagined it. But just as he was becoming quite sure of it, there suddenly came a deep, rich sigh out of the darkness beside him. That couldn't be imagination! Anyway, he had felt the hot breath of that sigh on his chilly left hand. . . .
At last he could bear it no longer.
"Who are you?" he said, scarcely above a whisper.
"One who has waited long for you to speak," said the Thing. Its voice was not loud, but very large and deep.
"Are you -- a giant?" asked Shasta.
"You might call me a giant," said the Large Voice. "But I am not like the creatures you call giants."
"I can't see you at all," said Shasta, after staring very hard. Then (for an even more terrible idea had come into his head) he said, almost in a scream, "You're not -- not something dead, are you? Oh, please -- please do go away. What harm have I ever done to you? Oh, I am the unluckiest person in the whole world."
Once more he felt the warm breath of the Thing on his hand and face. "There," it said, "that is not the breath of a ghost. Tell me your sorrows."
Shasta was a little reassured by the breath: so he told how he had never known his real father or mother and had been brought up sternly by the fisherman. And then he told the story of his escape and how they were chased by lions and forced to swim for their lives; and of all their dangers in Tashbaan and about his night among the Tombs and how the beasts howled at him out of the desert. And he told about the heat and thirst of their desert journey and how they were almost at their goal when another lion chased them and wounded Aravis. And also, how very long it was since he had had anything to eat.
"I do not call you unfortunate," said the Large Voice.
"Don't you think it was bad luck to meet so many lions?" said Shasta.
"There was only one lion," said the Voice.
"What on earth do you mean? I've just told you there were at least two the first night, and --"
"There was only one lion, but he was swift of foot."
"How do you know?""I was the lion." And as Shasta gaped with open mouth and said nothing, the Voice continued, " I was the lion who forced you to join with Aravis. I was the cat who comforted you among the houses of the dead. I was the lion who drove the jackals from you while you slept. I was the lion who gave the Horses the new strength of fear for the last mile so that you should reach King Lune in time. And I was the lion you do not remember who pushed the boat in which you lay, a child near death, so that it came to shore where a man sat, wakeful at midnight, to receive you. . . ."
"Then it was you who wounded Aravis?" Shasta asked.
"It was I."
"But what for?"
"Child," said the Voice, "I am telling you your story, not hers. I tell no one any story but his own."

***

That narrative sits on my desktop and I revisit it inumerably as if it were one of my own journals. I won't say much about it now - your imagination can make its own bloody conclusions and life applications for this first post...