birds of a feather... friends of a feather

The white car pulled up in front of our house and Fran got out. We came out and hugged all round before we came back inside. It had been some years since we had actually laid eyes on one another. We were pew buddies at church, our sense of the absurd kicking into gear at the most inopportune times, leaving us shaking with silent (mostly) laughter, until we could regain control, then descend into giggles again when we caught each others eye. I taught her two children in Sunday School and loved them. They gave me as much pleasure in friendship as their parents.
Our catching up conversation, accompanied by pictures, quickly morphed into Velveteen Rabbit quality sharing. Our worn and tacky places, the spots where we are broken, some healed, some not, were offered up in the communion that comes when true friends, who can say anything to one another and it will be alright, do. Our joys and sorrows, our struggles, our family stories were the melody of the conversation song with a descant of giggles and laughter as we drank the bottle of wine Fran brought as a peace offering. Fran knows her wine and I found myself drinking a mighty fine red wine(Herederos del Marques de Riscal Elciego Rioja Reserva 2003). I don’t usually like red wine but I drank that wine with gratitude and laughter, two perfect feeling accompaniments for communion.
I sometimes wonder how our observance of communion would be if we used the best wine money could buy, like the water Jesus changed into wine at the wedding... if we laughed and like Carol’s grandson, made silly faces at one another as we came down the aisle... if we held up all our worn and broken places to be inspected and tenderly embraced by loving hands...if we got a little giddy on the fine wine of grace and gratitude for the gifts of body and blood poured out for us... if we could shed tears for one another’s sorrows and offer our bodies as wailing walls standing strong in the midst of great grief... if we could pour out our blood and laugh and giggle as we, like children taking blood oaths, share the red wine of life with each other, sacrificing our lives for each other.
Here we all be, sinners all, gigglers and weepers, funny faces and sorrowful faces, young, smooth faces and faces as old as Methuselah, some whose voices soar and stay on pitch and some who croak along in joyful noise, those who run freely and those who walk with canes and roll in chairs, fat, thin and in-between, meat eaters and vegetarians, all welcome at the extravagantly prepared Table of God. What we each need, sits on our plate. What we do with the gift of the table is up to us. We can choose to sit and eat or like Judas, rise and leave early before the Velveteen Rabbit times begin.
I am so very grateful, so unspeakably thankful for all the friends in my life who are a living communion table for me. Friendship, true friendship, is such a rare and fine wine indeed. I am also grateful for the ritual of communion, the remembrance of the body and blood of Jesus. This person lived here on earth as a Son of God, came as a baby boy and grew into his manhood just as we all grow into our adult bodies. This one named Jesus sat with his friends, shared a holy meal and bared his soul to his friends knowing his death was close at hand. In spite of this knowledge, or maybe because he knew, he chose not to run away but to stay, to wash the feet and eat the bread and drink the wine. This ritual sustains and feeds my soul in the company of other believers. Friends of a feather who flock together, gathered around in remembrance of all that was and in hope for all that is yet to come. Amen and amen. You wanna drink the wine?
In memory of Heather who died this week after nineteen years of life, surrounded and held by the loving arms of her family.