Morning Rounds and Evening Musings

I saw Jesus at church Sunday. He always shows up in the most unlikely places. On Sunday, Jesus was two old women, one black, one white. They sat next to each other two pews in front of me. I watched people scurry to the altar for communion, and I watched as Jesus slowly stood. Ever so slowly, leaning on each other for support, they hobbled up the stairs to the altar.

Together.

Jesus was the white woman, holding the hand of someone her upbringing and culture forbid her to know. Jesus was the black woman, holding out a supportive hand to an image of her oppression. Jesus was there, his body the food for the white and black woman alike. His blood the cup of salvation for two weary souls. His sacrifice, the possibility for reconciliation, unity and life.

On Sunday, heaven happened at St. Luke's. Heaven looked like two old women, determined to meet Jesus at the altar rail. They fed on him even as their bodies withered away. Heaven--the place where there truly is no Jew or Gentile, no black or white and where wrinkled, dysfunctional bodies become new--that place took form at the altar rail as two old women lowered themselves to their knees and stretched out their tired hands.

Together.

I saw heaven there. Just a glimpse. Jesus sat at the table, welcoming us all to join in the great feast.