His Blood On My Hands

We have small, intimate Communion service on Wednesdays at my church. Something about taking time in the middle of my week to stop and remember the Why and the Whom behind what I do and who I am. I love taking communion. It’s so…bodily.

I found out today why we are really supposed to cup our hands to take Communion. It’s humble, yes. But the real reason is to do what my mother always did when she fed me something that might drip on her good rug, it’s so that when you dip your bread in the cup there is a hand underneath to catch the drip before it hits the carpet.

And then…you kneel at the rail. And you have the blood of your Savior on your hands.

What a tangible sense I had today of the guilt of my soul. “Your blood, Lord, is on my hands.” I cannot deny it. It was damp and sticky.

But it made my washroom experience truly a magnificent moment. “Child, I have washed away your sin. Go and sin no more.”

I am so grateful there is a Communion service every week.

About wlebolt

Life comes at you fast. I like to catch it and toss it back. Or toss it up to see where it lands. I do my best thinking when I'm moving. And my best writing when I am tapping my foot to a beat no one else hears. Kinesthetic to the core.

Posted on September 12, 2012, in Uncategorized and tagged , , , , . Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.

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