eucharist | kyrie

delaware river through coin-operated binoculars

I made the mistake of thinking myself essential.

Every Sunday evening at Hope’s worship service, the Gathering, we receive communion. We press toward the bread and the cup, smell the yeast and grapes, hear the words, “The body of Christ…the blood of Christ.”

Some weeks, I get the inordinate pleasure of serving communion. Of looking into the eyes of my beloved students and offering them the only thing in the world that will keep them alive.

Other weeks, I get the equally inordinate pleasure of praying with students while everyone files forward to eat and drink. We find a quiet corner, they spill their hearts, I try to wrap up their tender souls and lift them to the Lord.

On weeks when I pray with students, my pattern is this: receive communion myself and then find my post to pray.

But last night, the line for communion was long, and I decided to skip it so I could be available to students.

I thought students needed me more than I needed Christ.

Lord, have mercy.


(This post is one in a November series for NaBloPoMo, National Blog Posting Month. You can find the rest here!)


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