The Means of Grace

My father died on a Monday. The day before we were in church. For some reason Dad was sitting on the back pew of the balcony. It was a communion Sunday.  My father was raised Episcopalian by his mother who came from England. I can still remember my father's posture as he approached Eucharist. He was old school ... high church. He also had been taught that it was necessary to be in a right relationship before approaching the altar/table.
Part of the turmoil in the weeks before his death included quarreling with my sister. Dad had not behaved well. Sitting on the back pew of the balcony suddenly reflected the distance between himself and the Lord. It became apparent that dad was not going to receive communion that morning.
I was in seminary.  While watching the pastor [a fine man] serve ... for some reason ... there was something out of order ... my seminarian sensibilities were miffed.  I chose not to receive communion. I stayed on the back pew with my father.
The next day Dad died. In the heartbreaking days of preparing to bury my father, I realized I had missed an opportunity to receive the grace of God.  I realized that I should have implored my father to go and kneel at the throne of grace and partake the blessings of the sacrament.
So often pettiness prevails. So often we deny ourselves what we need most.
It is Sunday morning thirty-five years later. In a while I will be speaking about seeking shalom through covenant community/koinonia.  I will offer the loaf and cup. I pray that no one will deny themselves (for any reason) this sacred means of grace. Come, Lord Jesus, come!