Last night on Maundy Thursday we gathered as the broken and the blessed.

On a Thursday night as the world swirled around us, we paused for a time and remembered a story of which we are an ongoing part.

We acknowledged how badly we need each other.  There is no purchaseable gimickry that can replace the warmth of the Holy shared face to face, hand to hand, heart to heart.

We participated in remembering the story of Jesus and how it was he gathered at table with his heart folk.  We participated in owning our own sometimes inability to allow love to touch the vulnerable places of our being.  We thought a bit about how pride keeps us from allowing ourselves to be tended in the ways taught to us by our faith.  We knew in that time that we are broken and we are blessed by coming together and feeding each other the stuffs of attention and compassion and bread.

For all the natterings about relevance surrounding the institution of church, I say: come to dinner.  Because for an hour or so last night, the lonely were held, the tired tended, and the seeking found.  All because we paused and fed each other the bread of life.  Our love, broken and blessed as shared meal was conduit of the Holy.  Truly, we shared bread for our journey.  And it was good.