second sunday in lent

This is my body, broken...

We speak these words around the table as the family of God - breaking bread together, sharing communion with one another and with our Creator, remembering the Crucified One who suffered (and suffers) from us, for us, and with us.

We celebrated the Lord's Supper last Sunday, gathering to pray around the common table; to partake of bread and wine (grape juice, actually...we are Baptist, after all); to reaffirm our shared calling to be disciples of Christ - healing the sick, comforting the afflicted, freeing the captive, serving the poor - even if it leads to the suffering of the cross.

And although we are in this season of Lent, with its self-denial and cross-bearing and reflective mood, there was an air of excitement and passion as we renewed our commitment to be followers of Jesus, wherever that may take us.

That was Sunday morning.

This is my body, broken...

I found out late that night that an older church member had fallen down the stairs in her home on Saturday night and lay there until Sunday morning. She was badly injured - multiple broken bones, massive bruising and bleeding, head trauma - and was on a respirator in ICU, and they didn't know if she would make it.

I went over first thing on Monday morning and had a chance to see her. She looked like she had been savagely beaten. She didn't even look like herself. This person who had always been so graceful and refined, was now reduced to the raw, battered shell of the woman she once was.

I spoke to her quietly for fear that even a loud voice would cause her more pain, and as I did, one eye fluttered open and the smallest tear slowly formed at its corner. As the tears welled in my own eyes, I prayed with her family members and we stood around her bed.

That was Monday morning.

This is my body, broken...

How often do we say, think, or hear these words without a second thought? How often have I stood over a communion table, bread in hand, speaking these words but not understanding what they mean?

This idea of a body, broken is not as neat and tidy as we make it sound in our prayers or rituals. It's fairly easy to speak these words and say a prayer over the broken body of Christ on a communion table, because they can remain hollow and empty in their rote repetition as they dissipate into the air.

It is much more difficult to pray over a broken body on a hospital bed. The words fall flat on the floor, heavy with the gravity of the moment, and there's no way to make that prayer sound pretty and polished...we probably shouldn't even try to.

How do we recognize brokenness even as we celebrate communion? How can we find communion and wholeness in the midst of pain and brokenness?

I don't know. But I did, right there in the ICU, standing over a body, broken...

Note: This lady passed away early Thursday morning, and the funeral is being held today. Prayer for her family are greatly appreciated.