It's a beautiful something, that gift of remembering. So many things I do 'in remembrance of him.'
I have begun to think about how empty my days would feel if I had a checklist of tasks required to honor the memory of him.
Light this candle.
Look at this picture.
Follow this recipe.
Pour this cereal.
Fill this gas tank.
Listen to this song.
All of those carry implicit meaning for me, a natural memory. But they would quickly become meaningless if I considered them a mindless routine to ensure I had honored him.
I think of those words from Jesus: "Take this in remembrance of me."
I imagine his disciples and closest friends had no trouble at all - their minds were likely flooded with scents and sounds and tastes that brought him to the surface again and again. They couldn't keep from thinking of him over a meal of bread and wine.
Perhaps we have turned this tradition of Communion into an empty checklist, when all he asked was that we come together, eat, and remember.
"How odd would it seem to have been one of the members of the early church, shepherded by Paul or Peter, and to come forward a thousand years to see people standing in line or sitting quietly in a large building that looked like a schoolroom or movie theater to take Communion. How different it would seem from the way they did it, sitting around somebody's living room table, grabbing a hunk of bread and holding their own glass of wine, exchanging stories about Christ, perhaps laughing, perhaps crying, consoling each other, telling one another that the Person who had exploded into their hearts was indeed the Son of God, their Bridegroom, come to tell them who they were, come to mend the broken relationship, come to marry them in a spiritual union more beautiful, more intimate than anything they could know on earth."
~ Donald Miller