Daily Devotion

Gearing up for Pentecost and our chance to gather in a new way to share the Lord’s supper, I am reminded of a time I received the Lord’s supper in another unique way.

It had been a week since the 2010 earthquake in Haiti and the group I was traveling with had just arrived in Santo Domingo in the Dominican Republic. Our evacuation plan began straightforward, but after our stay at the refugee camp, then several nights spent at a UN designated safe structure, a precarious day-long boat trip, a night’s stay in a half-constructed hotel, a long walk, a short ride on the back of a couple scooters, a long bus ride, and an afternoon negotiating airline tickets for a dozen people back to the States at the Santo Domingo Airport, my traveling companions and I were finally walking into a hotel to spend the next few nights waiting for our flights.

We walked into the hotel and were quickly given our room information and told to take our time, clean up, and meet back in the lobby so we could sort out dinner. After taking a MUCH needed shower and putting together the cleanest set of clothes I could, I returned to the lobby to find that our group leader (a pastor who was leading the trip) was receiving a plate of buns and a wine glass filled with red wine from hotel staff.

I was immediately struck by an overwhelming sense of comfort and warmth. I knew right away what was about to happen: We were going to have communion! After the long week of challenging experiences, and ever-changing plans, we were going to take a moment and remember again who we are and who our God is; to remember the words said by our teacher to His disciples in a time of great uncertainty. We were going to hear again that our God offers God’s self for the sake of a world in need. Our God sets a table in the most uncertain of times, and sometimes in the strangest of places, and says, “Come. Taste and see.” 

The warmth I felt was the invitation to break bread again with all the saints who were undoubtedly present with us at that hotel dining room table. The folks I had broken bread with as a child who had long since passed away, my family, my ancestors, the first disciples, saints of past, present and future were breaking bread with us when those words were spoken. In a time where nothing felt normal, everything felt foreign, and strange, the table was set and I was invited home again. Given for you. Shed for you.

These are strange times. Uncertain times. But the table is still set. The promise is still secure. Taste and see.