The communion rail lay empty
Except for a crumb and a remnant of juice.
Her dried, cracked hands were cleaning
With rag and some water – wiping the dirt loose.
It was a monthly ritual,
The preparation that no one saw.
The cutting of bread
And pouring of juice – a table for one and all.
She had come these Saturdays
For, oh, so many years.
The dedication she had given
Through blood, sweat, and tears.
It didn’t seem to matter
She wondered if anyone was saved.
Her life had been lonely
Since her husband had been put in the grave.
She cleaned and she wiped
Making the wood shine in delight.
Rambling in thought,
With Satan she put up a fight.
He had attacked her spirit
Taking her doubt and starting to spin.
In the loneliness of life
She felt he was beginning to win.
A tear formed in her eye.
Dropped to her cheek and onto the floor.
She knelt before the altar
And began to explore.
The words would not come
But a prayer she continued to say.
“Help me my God.
I need to feel your presence this day.”
And then without sound,
She felt a wind and sense of God’s love
She opened her eyes
To see to the cross standing above.
It reminded her of lessons
Some forgotten from long ago,
Of how Jesus was lifted
To a place we will all go.
Calm entered her heart
And suddenly her doubts were washed away
Tears flowed in torrents and more.
Forgiveness had come and there was nothing else to say.
She picked herself up.
And continued with bread
And filling the cup.
It did make sense,
It was meant to be
A life of serving
To help others be free.
(Inspired by Psalm 5:1-8 and Luke 7:36-48)