Come to me, all who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. Matthew 11:28

I am under the predisposition that all of life points to the glory of the Kingdom. No where should this be more apparent than in our worship. This past Sunday we had the opportunity to worship with a body who allowed the Beauty and Truth in the Liturgy to direct our hearts and minds toward God, the Father.

Anyone who knows me understands that I have a very strong opinion on the act of Worship. I believe it is a never ceasing act that encompasses all of our life. However, there are aspects, such as the sacraments, that you can only engage in corporately. In particular, the act of taking Communion has particular importance to me. For it is there that we feast on the Body and the Blood of our Risen King. And a feast it is indeed. It is no meager meal that consists of a flake of cracker and grape juice. It is a sensory filling feast of warm, wonderful bread and rich, full bodied wine. The fact that we live in such an affluent society and reduce the Body and Blood of our Lord to the cheapest of materials is a tragedy. But I digress. What I witnessed and participated in this past Sunday was a beautiful representation of the Gospel.

After the appropriate fencing of the table the body began to come down. One by one down came the sick, the lame, the depressed, the old and infirm, the young and athletic, children and infants, sinners all. But as they came down to partake of the feast there was hope in their eyes. Though many of their bodies had failed them, their Lord had not. He had come to prepare a feast for us all, and it was beautiful. It was good. Thanks be to God.

And Yet, and always just yet. . .

Life is hard right now. Very scary. Very stressful. The weight of an unforeseen, but very real load weighs down upon us. And yet, just yet, there is hope.

Blest be the God of love,
Who gave me eyes, and light, and power this day,
Both to be busy, and to play.
But much more blest be God above,
Who gave me sight alone,
Which to himself he did deny:
For when he sees my ways, I die:
But I have got his son, and he hath none.

What have I brought thee home
For this thy love? have I discharg'd the debt,
Which this day's favour did beget?
I ran; but all I brought, was foam.
Thy diet, care, and cost
Do end in bubbles, balls of wind;
Of wind to thee whom I have crost,
But balls of wild-fire to my troubled mind.

Yet still thou goest on,
And now with darkness closest weary eyes,
Saying to man, It doth suffice:
Henceforth repose; your work is done.
Thus in thy Ebony box
Thou dost enclose us, till the day
Put our amendment in our way,
And give new wheels to our disorder'd clocks.

I muse, which shows more love,
The day or night: that is the gale, this th' harbour;
That is the walk, and this the arbour;
Or that the garden, this the grove.
My God, thou art all love.
Not one poor minute 'scapes thy breast,
But brings a favour from above;
And in this love, more than in bed, I rest.

Evensong by George Herbert