Always There

On retreat, I study from outside in the darkness of a cold fall night the backlit by effect wooden carved plaque of the well-known scene – Jesus and his followers.

It too is night, although you wouldn’t know it from the carving.

It is the last night.  It’s supper time.

And there he is – unknown among the 12 – he is always there – Judas.

He is always there.

As I spy inward through the glass, that is the thought that lingers.

Judas is always there.

It is a present-tense thing, isn’t it?

Whenever we gather, there is the reminder of the perpetual presence of the saints, the communion that exceeds time and space and bids all enter, bids all welcome.

If he is always there, then is he not always here?

And if he is, is that not a sign of enormous hope?

I think so.

The God of the present tense stands, sits, reclines, into all our presents and bids us welcome and we are always there – there, at the beckoning place – present in The Presence.

It argues, I think, for grace possibilities beyond my imagining.

And I am awed.

He is always there.

For All the Saints

I met the great cloud

one Easter Sunday long ago

as the old man retired

came to preside at the table

I not yet official enough

not yet seasoned enough

not yet ready enough

to do – word proclaiming

is one thing – table serving

quite another

and with a bit of a shaky hand

and tremulous voice

he told of his anticipation

standing there every time

where he was sure his

mother and sister

long gone from earthly things

would be – waiting – for him

and they would dine together

as they used to do

I have never forgotten

that moment when – in

story-telling – the table

came alive for me

and I knew so many already

there I was so glad to meet

again and better here

at this table where

we could meet when

on the same side of the veil

we so often could not

and I was glad