Desire

I was standing in front of the altar waiting for communion. The manger scene was still set up, right in front of me. I was making surreptitious glances to the right to make sure I didn't goof up when the elements came to me. I wasn't expecting the realization that hit me that moment -- how much I wanted Jesus -- baby Jesus, crucified Savior, risen Lord.

Somewhere in the dark of last winter, there was a Sunday morning when I opted out of church and walked on the beach. The darkness was spiritual and emotional; I think it was a sunny day. A smooth pebble caught my eye and I bent to pick it up, and then another. My handful of rocks reminded me of another beach, encountered at the end of a chaplaincy internship at Children's Hospital. A rock for every deathbed I attended, every child whose family I connected with at some level. Tossing rocks as far out into the waves as I could, I said their names and grieved and tried to let them go.

I tried to name my frustrations and griefs as I picked up rocks. False promises -- a daily quiet time and you'll always have God's peace. Disappointments -- why is church the hardest place to make true friends? My pockets were getting a bit weighed down as I approached the slough. I turned toward the incoming tide and started launching. Done with that one. Give up that expectation. I can live without devotions, without church and its trappings. Finally I was down to one smooth stone. Its name was "desire" -- my desire for God. I looked down at it, turned it over in my hand a few times, put it back in my pocket.

So now on Sunday mornings, I stand with a handful of brothers and sisters and open my hands and receive. Body and blood, food from heaven, forgiveness and grace, life.