The fellowship of the table

As the Maundy Thursday observance turned to the last supper, the symbols of Eucharist foreshadowed the grief that was to come.  Walking with the stream of men, women, and children toward the altar, I found myself surrounded by people I did not know, but who were connected to me.

In The Fellowship of the Ring, J.R.R. Tolkien brought together a cast of characters with different ethnicities, allegiances, and even languages, who shared a common enemy.  Their fellowship was based on an epic mission requiring epic action to succeed in destroying their enemy.

The fellowship of the table shares some similarities to this story.  We, too, are of many tribes and nations, and we share a common enemy. However, what draws us together seems so very ... ordinary. Jesus calls us to the "one anothers" – loving one another, serving one another, forgiving one another, building one another up.  He calls us to take up the towel and join at the table.
 
We sang a hymn that night that was not familiar to me, but it truly spoke to our part in the fellowship of the table – a fellowship that will come to fruition one day.

Here, O my Lord, I see Thee face to face;
here would I touch and handle things unseen;
here grasp with firmer hand eternal grace,
and all my weariness upon Thee lean.

Here would I feed upon the bread of God,
here drink with Thee the royal wine of heaven;
Here would I lay aside each earthly load,
here taste afresh the calm of sin forgiven.

Too soon we rise; the symbols disappear;
the feast, though not the love, is past and gone.
The bread and wine remove; but Thou art here,
nearer than ever, still my shield and sun.

Feast after feast thus comes and passes by;
yet, passing, points to the glad feast above,
giving sweet foretaste of the festal joy,
the Lamb's great bridal feast of bliss and love.
          (Horatius Bonar, 1857)

This is the second of a series of three reflections on Maundy Thursday.

The fellowship of the towel

As a woman who grew up in a "low church" tradition – with no official liturgy, very little emphasis on the church calendar, and skepticism about the use of icons and symbols – I've never celebrated Maundy Thursday.  Millions of Christians set aside this evening –  the night before Good Friday –  to somberly reflect on the washing of feet, communal meal, and the going out in darkness that Jesus and his disciples experienced on the night he was betrayed.  This past spring, my daughter invited me to attend with her at the Church of the Heavenly Rest, where we've been celebrating holy days for the past couple of years.  Heavenly Rest is a beautiful old stone structure, where sound echoes and silence can be tangibly felt.

It became clear to me as we began that the evening was designed to be a sensory experience that immersed us in the story.  We participated as re-enactors – not the cheesy kind wearing uniforms that were too small, anachronisms in this modern world, but participants in fact ... for we, too, are part of the same story that will continue until Christ comes again.

After the homily – a beautiful reminder that this night is, at its root, a community story –  the time for foot washing began.  All present were invited to participate in one of the most beautiful scenes I have ever witnessed.  Even though the clergy washed the first feet, it quickly became a free-for-all service of love one toward the other – parents and children washing each others' feet, spouses one to the other, lay members washing the feet of their priest.  My daughter washed my feet and I washed hers –  so humbling, both as receiver and giver.

I wept as I watched this act of love continue until all were washed, thinking about the words from John: "Jesus knew that the hour had come for him to leave this world and go to the Father.  Having loved his own who were in the world, he loved them to the end." (John 13:1)  "Now that I, your Lord and Teacher, have washed your feet, you should wash one another's feet.  I have set you as an example that you should do as I have done for you." (John 13:14-15)

I can only imagine how everything that happened to Jesus that night was heightened by the sense of last-ness – the last touch, the last word, the last meal, the last hymn.  And I am reminded how often I go about life as though it will last forever, putting off acts of service and fellowship until tomorrow or next week or next year, until the finality of death closes the door and the moment is gone.

Jesus had this amazing ability to engage his whole being in the moment of service, secure in his purpose and identity, never feeling the act was wasted – even an act as lowly as washing dirty feet. And he invites us today to join him in this fellowship of the towel, cementing our relationship to him and to each other.


This is the first of a series of three reflections on Maundy Thursday.

The next 30 years

Today Brian and I celebrate one of those surreal milestones – our 30th wedding anniversary.  Times like this remind me of our old friend, Bill Short, who would talk about the time-space continuum in relationship to God’s work in the world.  Some days it seems like we said our vows last week; other days it seems like we’ve been married forever.  Brian said, “We’ve been married way longer than we were single,” and that is true.  So much water has gone under our bridge!

Here at ACU we celebrate five-year reunions, and that got me thinking about some of those five-year markers in our lives.

1983:  I was almost 21 and Brian was 23 the day we said “I do.” I wore a beautiful borrowed dress; he wore tails (his mother, laughing, said the tails made him look like a roach!).  The air conditioning broke in the church, and our memories of the ceremony revolve around sweaty hands and the sound of box fans in the background…but we were surrounded by those we loved and that was all that mattered. We began our married life together in a one-bedroom apartment in south Grand Prairie.  Brian taught middle school band, and I commuted to north Dallas to work as a computer trainer.  We stayed up late with our friends, went to concerts, burned up money eating out all of the time, and basically had a ball. We learned that jobs don’t last forever, and saving for a rainy day would have been helpful, and yet, family and church and commitment gets you through things you didn’t want to go through.

1988:  This was a period of tremendous highs and tremendous lows. The previous summer Brian’s mother died, bowling us over with unexpected grief.  I grew large (really large) with child and in January we became parents for the first time.  Katie was six weeks old when we celebrated a new mom on the Hahn side, Jan, who brought great joy to Fred and to all of us.  Three years later, Rebekah joined the family.  We learned that parenthood, for us, was a great life-changer, a powerful magnifier.  I believe there was no experience of our married life that altered us more as human beings, challenged us to love more deeply, and forced us to come face to face with our sins and weaknesses.  But, on top of that, what blessing! We are so grateful for our girls.



1993:  We didn’t know it then, but we were on the verge of something big.  The next 12 months would see us leave our hometown and church of 12 years, change jobs, and pack up for Abilene.  In fact, one of our most memorable anniversaries occurred in 1994 on moving day (I say “memorable” as in “terrible” but we lived through it!).  After being separated for three months and selling the house, the stress build-up overflowed.  I remember sitting in the bare living room, eating pizza and watching L.A.P.D. chase O.J. Simpson through the streets of Los Angeles, while we both fumed.  But once again we learned about the faithfulness of God!  We had friends who actually drove with us to Abilene to help unload.  Once here, God provided a church family that loved us and helped raise our kids and has been with us through thick and thin.

It’s funny because the years since moving to Abilene have gone by in a bit of a blur.  School activities, piano lessons, road trips, holidays, births, deaths, baptisms, proms and graduations…this is the stuff and substance of a full life! And, in the midst of all those things, Brian has been right there by my side, steady as a rock, balancing out the crazy up and down that is me.  He is thoughtful (flowers “just because”), helpful (turning in to Chef Fred), fun to be with (movies! monkeys! back roads!) and patient (so many stops for photos!).  There is never a moment that I doubt his deep love for God, our girls, our extended family, and me.  What more could a girl want?

We were both given a great gift – we had parents and grand-parents and great-grandparents who modeled the sacrificial love of godly marriage before us.  For better or for worse, richer or poorer, in sickness and health, victories and stumbles – they’ve walked through these things and shown us the way.

I hope and pray that, by God’s grace, we will live that truth over our next 30 years together. Happy anniversary, Brian - I love you!