Friday 27 March

It's Day 12 and like any other Friday, we gather with friends to celebrate Sabbath, this invitation to stop our own striving, our own attempts to figure things out for ourselves. Instead, we take on this inner posture that is strikingly counter-intuitive: we rest and we lean in to the One who acts on our behalf.

Our times are very informal, as befits any good Friday evening. And we have the habit of taking communion together around the table (I realise this might sound strange to those from a formal Christian tradition). I love this gift of rehearsing our shared story in such a tangible, physical way. I relish this invitation to metabolise the reality of God and, as we swallow bread and wine, to be infused with the grace we so desperately need.

Our particular way of offering and receiving these reminders of Christ's life is to pass the elements from one to another around the table. As I receive from my neighbour, we look into one another's eyes and he says, 'Remember the King.' Ever since we joined in this practice, I have often found myself tearing up at the strength of this simple reminder to REMEMBER. In the midst of ordinary and distracted living, or when experiencing loss, or as we pass through turmoil, it is powerful to remember the true story of which we are part. And to remember the King of it all.

Since we aren't able to be together during these Fridays of confinement, we have been meeting over Zoom. Instead of passing the cup around the table, we take it in turns to speak the name of someone in the group, then wait for them to ready themselves by dipping bread in wine. As best we can from three different households, we hold one another's gaze and speak these words: Remember the King.

Three little words whose inside, as C.S. Lewis said, is bigger than its outside. Held within these words is an epic drama that tells us what is most true about us. More real than what we see on the news, more real than the conspiracy theorists direst predictions, more real than the experience of loss and disequilibrium inherent in these days of fear and isolation, more real than consequences to employment and economies ... this story of which we are part is the long and convoluted story of the King being made known. A King who is redeeming all things to himself and who is at work to bring about redemption even now.

Tim and I have been listening to a song of Andrew Peterson's, more or less on repeat. It seems so very fitting for these times. If you have a couple of minutes now, please do listen to this beautiful and heartfelt prayer.

Do you feel the world is broken? 

Do you feel the shadows deepen? 

But do you know that all the dark won't stop the light from getting through? 

Do you wish that you could see it all made new? We do. 

Is all creation groaning? 

Is a new creation coming? 

Is the glory of the Lord to be the light within our midst? 

Is it good that we remind ourselves of this? It is. 

Does the Father truly love us? 

Does the Spirit move among us? 

And does Jesus our Messiah hold forever those He loves? 

Does our God intend to dwell again with us? He does.

Is anyone worthy, is anyone whole? 

Is anyone able to break the seal and open the scroll?

The Lion of Judah, who conquered the grave. 

He is David's root and the Lamb who died to ransom the slave. 

He is worthy, He is worthy, 

Of all blessing and honour and glory,

He is worthy of this, He is!

If anything feels true right now, it is that all creation is groaning. When we get still enough, when we quieten the voices of news and social media, we become aware of the wordless ache of the world for healing and wholeness. This is the groaning Paul speaks of to the baby Roman church, when he says:

The creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed. For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but ... in hope that creation itself will be liberated from its bondage to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God.

We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption ... For in this hope we were saved. 

Do you wish that you could see it all made new? Is there an ache somewhere deep inside you, an ache that is without words? Then I have three little words for you: Remember the King!