The day before Christmas, having slept 4 hours because of pushy dogs, I stood on a cement floor all day at work, feeling upset by a conflict with a fellow employee. When I got home I was greeted by a mess of chicken grease that had overflowed the crockpot, pooled on the counter, and spilled down the cabinets, the footstool, and across the floor. I cleaned it up and flopped down exhausted, ready to veg out in front of the TV for a while before dragging myself to our Christmas eve communion service. Kimberly had a different plan.
She wanted to have family prayer with singing, reading, and sharing before we went to church. I was okay with religion at our house or God’s house, but was too tired for both. I needed some down time, but she needed to prepare her soul for the service. What kind of man would block his wife’s spiritual needs? So I yielded. After supper, she lit the candles, turned off the lights, and cued up the music, and like a good husband, I sat and pouted. After the music and reading, Kimberly shared personally while I tried to stay awake in the dark, which was the least I could do… I mean, it was literally the least I could do (huffing would have taken extra effort).
I was very generous with my silence during prayer and on the way to church, rounding off the corners of quiet with a few words to keep her at bay so I could stew in peace. Nothing messes up a good case of resentment so much as having to explain it to someone else, especially someone reasonable. In the pew I quietly complained my way through the boring homily, the artless choruses, and the tiresome liturgy. Then communion. Go meet God, ready or not. Suddenly the sermon and songs seemed to complain about me–the question after all is not about a sophisticated form, but a sincere heart–and by that measure, the artless always win.
God does not force Himself on us–He comes as a suckling baby and ends up nailed to a cross, living his life as a penniless wanderer. He does not wow us with splendor or scare us into submission, but opens His heart to us with gentleness and vulnerability. Instead of overriding our weakness, He comes to share our weakness, to be one of us, to understand and empathize and breath grace into our brokenness.
Most of my life I used the Lord’s Supper to torment my soul into compliance, using the death of Jesus as a bludgeon rather than a salve, as though communion were a celebration of the giving of the law rather than the giving of His life. But tonight, instead of telling me, “Your resentment is bad, stop it!” God says, “your resentment is a sign of pain, let’s try to love and listen to that hurting heart of yours.”
Together we rewind the evening’s tape. I am tired. I need rest. Kimberly needs prayer.
“Stop right there,” He says. “What happens next?”
“My needs are less important, so I have to deny my own needs,” I answer. I think about it for a minute. “Actually, that is the cruel message I have heard all my life–that my needs are not important enough to matter, and if my needs don’t matter, then I don’t matter. No wonder I feel hurt when I’m forced to deny my needs.”
“Were you actually forced?” He asked.
“No, but I know it’s what you want, so I have to do it.”
“So you feel that I care more about Kimberly’s needs than yours? Actually, you feel as though I consider everyone’s needs as more important than yours, that you are last in line, and that I therefore care least about you and your feelings. That is heart-breaking! I want you to know that I care more about you and your needs than you could ever imagine. You are precious to me, uncountably precious. The resentment you feel right now is just your heart standing up for you against those lies that say you don’t matter. And I’m here to tell you that you do matter, that you matter supremely to me. That is what the cross really means which you celebrate now in communion. I welcome you, resentment and all. Come, Let me hold you!”
After that it was easy to slip my arm around Kimberly as we knelt together at the communion rail. In the deep affirmation of God’s love, peace flows into our hearts and relationships. We are loved. That is all that matters.
Janathan Grace Reflections 