Since today is Sunday, I chose a moment of worship ~ Communion:

The diffuse light of the rainy day gives the stained glass windows an even glow instead of the multicolored light beams that fill the sanctuary on a sunny day. 

I watch the flashing gleam of the brass trays as the deacons move along the aisles, passing the elements back and forth down the rows.  The background of organ music is punctuated by throat clearings, coughs, and the babbling of the baby on the back row. 

I take the small square of cracker and crush it between my teeth.  It is dry, crunchy, bland, just faintly sweet.  I take one of the tiny cups from the second tray and the deacon moves on since I am sitting alone on this row.  I hold the cup in my hand and let the music flow over me as my thoughts turn to the members of my family who are far away and those who are near, silently requesting blessings for them and thanking God for their health and safety.  

The music comes to a close as the deacons return to the table.  We all take that one small swallow together. The tangy flavor of the grape juice floods my mouth, a strong contrast to the bread.  The ritual is completed as a community with the words: “Christ has died, Christ has risen, Christ will come again,”  and the joining of hands for the Benediction.

These few moments are the most sacred of my week.  It is this expression of my faith and hope that keeps me strong.  The weeks when events prevent me from participating never seem quite complete.

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