The Body of Christ

This morning, Caleb and I traveled to Community UMC in Columbia for the 50th anniversary celebration of the congregation. The three and a half years while I was there as pastor (Jan '97 to Sept '00) were eventful, to say the least. At the church, we decided in the first few months I was there (early 1997) to chuck the idea of building on land that the church had purchased, and instead to buy the old "Silvey Insurance Building," a very VERY large contemporary building with 5 "pods" that I believe each measured 7200 square feet, with an additional VERY large basement. What an experience. Also while I was there, the church sold both parcels of land that it owned (the old church and the land that had been purchased) and had a $1 million dollar capital campaign. Although the learning curve was quite steep for me (!) around all of this, the lay folks were extremely knowledgeable and patient and taught me a great deal.

Personally the 3 1/2 years were not very pleasant while I was there, also to say the least. My sister was murdered in her home in Carbondale; we lived through the arrest and the trial of her killer; Philip and I decided to divorce, and we had planned to make the announcement during the same week that my sister died; my mother's death the month before we were moving to Kansas City; less tragic but not pleasant were the fact that the transmission went out on my old Toyota wagon on the way down, one day, to the trial; it was really worthless, and I had to buy a new car with no trade in. And today, Lynn Barnett reminded me of the day THAT car was stolen out of the parsonage garage. No kidding. Not to mention the divorce, falling in love with another wonderful man, and breaking up with him. Not really 3 1/2 years that I would intentionally ever live over. Even though, all told, there was grace, as well, at every turn in all of this, here and there, enough to recognize God's presence in the midst of it all. That grace was found in our mother who refused to ask for the death penalty for our sister's killer, saying that we would be no better than he if we were to ask for his life; the car rental place in Belleville Illinois who gave me the rental at half price that morning the transmission went out when they hear who I was (not a UMC minister, but that I was the sister of that woman in Carbondale who had been murdered); the member at Community who handed me $1000 check the Sunday after the transmission went out for a new car; Lynn Barnett, who came and sat with me in my living room when I tried to get my head around having my car stolen out of the attached garage to my house. Oh yes, and the all-expenses paid trip that the church gave me to Saint Simon's Island (my first visit) after my sister's death and after the impending divorce was announced. And then there was this....

The Sunday I returned to lead worship after my sister's death was the first Sunday of February 1998. The epistle lesson for that day was I Corinthians 13, and it was communion Sunday. I think I must have done okay with the sermon (I really don't have too much memory of it) but I do remember Holy Communion. We were in the new building by then, and "making do" with altar furniture. We did have a rail up, all the way around the chancel area, and usually about 40 people could come and kneel at a time. I would always start at the back of the area, to the back of the altar and pulpit, with the bread, and a lay person or our deacon would serve the cup. We almost always served by intinction. That day, as I turned and walked to the back of the chancel where I was intending to start to serve, as I bent down to serve Mike Troyer, an active member of the church and an SPRC member, along with his wife and children, something very disconcerting happened to me. I forgot the words. I always say the words. I had said the words literally thousands of times over the then-twenty + years of my ministry..."the body of Christ broken for you..." but I forgot them. I could not remember what to say. And though it must have been just a few seconds of quiet there, Mike knew me well enough, and realized what was going on, and looking up at me from the rail where he was kneeling he said to me, as I handed him a piece of the bread, "the body of Christ, broken for you, Susan."

Amen