I took communion last night.
With Wizards of Waverly Place in the background, dished piled high in the sink and three loads of laundry piled on my bedroom floor.
I know Jesus meets us, sits with us and digs with us in the messy and I needed His body and blood last night and it was the perfect setting.
Anyone who has been reading my blog or knows me personally knows that I have stepped out of church and even reading my bible for awhile. It’s become an unhealthy, unfamiliar environment and I need time to heal and discover; from the mouth of God himself who He is. However in not going to church I am missing this one sacrament.
It’s always been the one that meant the most to me, that’s struck me in bones. The partaking in Jesus, in what He did as His last meal on earth. Breaking bread with his brothers, with the men He spent the most time with, the ones He poured His very being into.
Everything has been rough lately. I am in a head on, messy, digging in the dirt where “Walking on Holy Ground makes you shit your pants” (~Abby Norman~ ) kind of place. It’s been ugly and part of it is grappling with the old molds of faith and finding footing in a new freedom of who God, Jesus and The Holy Spirit really are.
I admitted to my therapist last week that I really don’t know who God or Jesus are. That the part of the trinity I feel the closest too right now is the Holy Spirit. I have been pushing back against legalism and the evangelical culture that hurt me and her people that let me down. I have been speaking with a few close friends who speak life and truth over me and I had a realization that all this push back was causing tension. I know what I don’t want to be, what I don’t want to be and that places that I don’t want to go. However the more I push back and the more I fight the more this tension inside my spirit grows.
I have felt like I am just floating through my faith for so long and those feelings were starting to scare me. After this last weekend those old thoughts started creeping in of losing my salvation and God being angry at me; pounding His gavel down, screaming SINNER.
I know that’s not God. I really do.
That’s why yesterday I knew I needed the body and the blood. I needed to break bread with Jesus and drink grape juice. Amidst the chaos and mess of my surroundings; my soul needed that closeness with Him, that grace that flowed when I prayed, ate and drank as a follower of Him and Him alone.
Peace flowed, joy entered. The floating feeling is slowly easing and I am finding my center again. I know that church right now is not for me, the bible is still hard but I am finding other ways to fill myself and my spirit with Him.
Taking communion with Wizards of Waverly Place in the background, dishes piled high and laundry all over my bedroom floor was probably the best thing I could have done at this point.
I broke the break and poured the juice.
I prayed; or rather spoke to Him in gentleness about where my heart was and where I wanted it to go. How I wanted to know HIM for Him.
How I want Him in every SINGLE part of me. Not far, not floating, not pushing back but knowing that I am solid with what I believe but that I still need more of Him.
Jesus poured out, in my mess.