This past week, I started making plans for Resurrection Sunday. To a friend, I mentioned a desire to eat with a few formerly-homeless people I know. I wasn't sure if everything would work and this friend noted we could make food for the whole shelter.
Come Sunday morning, instead of getting up early, dressing to the nines, and going to some sort of "service" in which I wonder who exactly is being served, I played the harmonica in a rocking chair on the porch before I started peeling potatoes.
Instead of going to a service, we served. We cooked a few hams; three, large green bean casseroles; around 15lbs worth of mashed potatoes; 10lbs of carrots; corn; and rolls. Well, we didn't make the carrots, corn, and rolls, but we did prepare them.
After the food was ready, we delivered and shared in a meal with the homeless people (due to the nature of the women's shelter and our demographic, we only ate with the homeless men, although we delivered food to both). What joy! The men are such a pleasure to visit with--I wish more people would experience the joy of their company.
In essence, we shared the Eucharist. Earlier in the day, three of us had wine and bread, remembering Christ in cultic repetition, symbolizing our unity with Jesus and each other in suffering and resurrection, becoming the body and blood of Jesus. But at the shelter, we also had Eucharist, although there was certainly no wine involved.
Although we did not consume the elements, we were the elements. We thank God for that communal experience, embodying the word "eucharist," which means "thanksgiving." Not only did we give thanks, but we gave a reason for others to give thanks--taking a blessing and making it a blessing for others.
This Easter was the best Easter I've had since I spent part of the day as a quadriplegic when I had my bout with thyrotoxic periodic paralysis 10 years ago.
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