I worshipped at Asbury First UMC this morning in Rochester, NY. I’d been here all weekend helping their youth ministry vision for the future through a staff transition. I was SO busy in my moments that I almost missed the God moment.
Rumor had it that Communion Sundays run way long at AFUMC. I had stuff to print out for the YM mtg after church, so I planned a quiet escape before communion was served. I needed to move things along so I could beat it to the airport before the impending snow flurries. I had things to do and I could get communion next week!
So there i was, waiting to bolt. The Words of Institution had been spoken, the liturgy was being sung and I had my coat in hand ready to dart out the side door as soon as the choir moved.
And then it happened.
A homeless man started down the aisle from way in the back. He was making a beeline to the altar rail. All eyes were on him because no one else had moved yet. The elements were still being distributed. It was too soon!
But he was anxious to get there. He was excited. He wanted his piece of Jesus and so when the pastor whispered “we’re not quite ready,” he said, “that’s ok, I’ll wait.”
In this formal, high-church, liturgical setting, a homeless man was served first. Society’s last went to the front of the line and I was privileged to witness it.
I can’t tell what outnumbered what: the smiles or the tears among the many watchers. But I knew I wanted me some of whatever the homeless man was having. I was fed like I hadn’t been in awhile.
And I almost missed it.
(And still made it thru the snow to BUF)