The Eve of World Communion Sunday

Should I yell "STOP!!!" or should I hop around, kissing everybody on the cheek, singing "Thank you, Jesus, Thank You" ??? I came through the door of my condo in from a walk about 10 minutes ago, with Jim Bennett, pianist playing a beautiful simple arrangement of the hymn tune for Hal Hopson's text for The Gift of Love on my Ipod. I was thoroughly into my own head, and pretty much happy, though winded just a tad. The moment I stepped through the door, I saw Caleb's girlfriend Rose in the kitchen, her brother Vincent in the kitchen, and Cana coming down the hall about to go in to the kitchen. Caleb was also in the said kitchen making cappuccinos although he was having difficulty locating a space on a counter to sit down the cups, for the kitchen counters were/are covered with everything from a George Foreman grill to three rather large plastic containers of cookies I baked last night (new recipe---Chips Galore--very sweet) to the George Miller clock that fell of the wall this morning to the trivet I received at Jurisdictional conference in 2000 with the words "The Ageless Story for a New Century." And what permeated the entire experience was the sweet, luscious, well played, extremely loud piano in the very close by living room, being played by Jake McDonald, friend of Caleb. Jake told just now that this piece is from Lizst entitled Sonetto a la Petraca"-the middle movement. Jake and Caleb had just come from playing pool in the complex's party room...thus the pool cue on the table, in a cue case, not belonging to either of them, but to another friend-of-Caleb, Michael, who left it here three weeks ago.

Funny thing, it did not make me crazy, all this movement and sound, all these coffee spots on the cabinets and dishes all around (though it would have been/will be nice if/when the clean dishes were/are put away so the latest new ones can be loaded). I decided it was better to, if not hop around, at least blog on the scene. This is not unlike several nights over the last couple of weeks, except I haven't had the pleasure of Lizst until this evening--the friends Cana and Caleb have brought; an unkempt kitchen, and lots of life. This condo was built in 1965, and I truly doubt these walls have ever felt so much sound, seen so many dishes in use at one time, and entertained this many 16 to 20 year olds since the last vertical blind was put in back then.

One of the outgrowths is that I do not ever quite know how many will be eating supper here--I used to worry about having enough. I told myself ostensibly that I didn't want to short any guest here his or her supper, when in fact, I may have just wanted, part of the time, to know there was enough for MY family. I, the rich (?) young (???) queen here, stopped worrying quite a long time ago about this, and began to know that my supper neighbor is basically anyone within the the walls when it's ready. That's okay. The table will be ready, and all may come.

As I thought about all this, I remembered a dream I had when Barry Woodward, a pastor in the former Missouri East conference, died too soon several years ago. Barry was a former British Methodist pastor who spoke stridently year after year on the conference floor about social justice for all. He had big gray bushy eyebrow, a great voice, loved the Wesley hymns and who, as I recall from the hot days at the Field House at Central Methodist (then) College, wore sleeve garters

.

As I said, I had a dream a few days after his death. In the dream, there was a table before me, so large I could not comprehend the size, at which people were sitting. I was standing behind the backs of those people as they faced the table. Barry was sitting at the table, which was constantly expanding as others would come to it. Except Barry turned around, and with much love in his voice said, "it is not yet your time" and smiling, turned back around to the table--the Heavenly Table where we will feast at His table forever.

Barry told me it was not yet my time, but, in a way, it is. Each evening when the scattered hungry come from the east and west and north and south (okay, just from the north and south, where the bedrooms and patios are) and I receive the joy of feeding them. For me, it is a foretaste of glory divine each evening when the food goes on my knock-off Saarinen kitchen table and is gone in a twinkling of an eye. I blog tonight and say to our Lord "Thank you, thank you, thank you."