Watching Sheep and Clouds

The patriarchs of the Old Testament were herdsmen. They moved their livestock from field to field, valley to valley, sat on rocks watching for predators.

When the incisor shorn grass became too short... another valley, another field, another hill.

They would have spent time watching clouds drift across the sky... time to play a musical instrument, time to think... time to pray.

Yesterday we had communion at church. It isn’t something we do every Sunday, and it isn’t something we do the same way each time.

It is something I take seriously.

Everything about the service was thoughtfully focussed on what communion means. The selection of worship songs. The short meditation given by our pastor. The couple of songs which ended the service.

The communion itself... I am moved by the memory...

Communion yesterday was a little unusual.

Time.

It may have been about twenty minutes... I don’t know, I lost track. We spent time at it.

I went to one of the tables offering the tiny crackers, tiny cups of juice, and knelt and prayed.

I prayed it all... confessions, thanks, concerns, joys, sorrows... There was no rush... no one waiting for me to get out of the way, no one reaching toward me to pass the plate, no one else at all... except those kneeling beside me, their own prayers drifting from their hearts, mingling and rising with mine.

Time didn’t matter. Just as it doesn’t matter to Him; every moment is forever.

When my heart was ready I opened my eyes and reached for the elements. I took them gently... felt the bit of bread between my teeth, reminding me of how His body was crushed. I’m always a little uneasy at this point, the symbology of my partaking in His death... When the last of it was swallowed, leaving a slight dryness to my mouth, I took the juice, reminding me of the mortal blood which provided life to a mortal body, a small human shaped vessel that carried the spirit of the creator of all things. My mouth moistened, refreshed.

Yesterday’s service offered me a moment to quiet my heart, to listen to what was roiling about in my head, and to let it settle in the small act of accepting my part in His sacrifice, and claiming my place in His adopted family.

This Friday is our monthly 24 hours of prayer, and I have my hour reserved. I will have that opportunity again to slow down, reflect on my heart, my faith, my life.

We pack so much into our lives. And technology, the subject I teach, the tools I routinely use, does not give us more time but rather speeds things up so we are expected to do more in less time.

I called about some questionable charges on a credit card Saturday. A machine took my information, gathering dates, account numbers, insuring I was who I said I was... and when the computer using the recorded voice of a human being was finished, it tossed all that data onto a bank employee’s terminal. The poor woman seemed so concerned that I have a good experience talking with her, and asked many times if I was satisfied, if there was anything else she could do, all read from a clearly articulated script... I felt sorry for her.

She was, is, a cog in some corporate machine, serving other machines who do the busy work of preparing customers to speak efficiently to another human.

I felt sorry for her. I made sure every answer I gave, every question I asked, was couched in terms that told her I knew she was a person, that I cared that she was helping me.

That brief time in church on Sunday... that service dedicated to dedicating our present lives to the Lord, was rich in the one thing we too easily spend without thinking: quiet moments.

I’m grateful that for a little while, I was like a shepherd on a hillside, able to spend time enjoying the Lord, pausing to think and pray.