Holy Communion

  They move as one, shuffling, scuffing shoes on the floor, leaving subtle marks that they lived that moment. To remind the janitor that they were there, and he'll acknowledge the trace of their existence before buffing it  gently away.
  Each worshipper gathers in his seat, facing forwards, eyes and heart lifted towards the cross that presides over it all, a good luck charm, a token, a reminder of why each came. Holding high their voices in humble offering, they give back to God in holy adoration. Feeble, airy, deep, melodious, out of tune. The voices rise as individuals, yet join in swelling harmony as they make their way towards heaven. First filling the air around them, cavorting in joyful dances around each worshipper, then flowing out through nooks in the brick wall and crannies in the wooden ceiling to frolic among the clouds in cold star light and then go soaring up to their maker.
  A longing, a begging, a wish to be filled. Joined together in joyful communion. Different in every possible way yet connected by the Holy Spirit that weaves together the body of Christ and stitches our souls, heals our hearts, threads our thoughts, mends our meditations.
  We pour ourselves out as offerings, transparent and breakable, bathed in humility and the tears that cascade down our faces. We are one with Christ, we are one with each other.
  This is His body, broken for you.
  This is His blood, spilt for you.
  And in that moment, we cry for faithfulness, forgiveness, fortitude.
  Father, hear our prayer. Do not forsake us in our time of need.
  This is our cry. This is our plea. This is our holy communion.
 
 

Smile For Your Public

There are times when I worry it’ll fall off. And I clutch it hard with my tongue, clinch with my teeth, growling, willing the smile to stay there. But sometimes it struggles away and all I can do is leave it, broken and splintered, shattered at the side of the road like a car mirror, in a million tiny shiny pieces. I worry that others will turn, smile on their face, and notice what I’m missing. They’ll flip their smile upside down. Social protocol calls for a frown in concern at my predicament, or perhaps in dismay or disgust.

Ravenous for acceptance, I try to form a smile. Lips of satin silk. Teeth made from pieces of broken china white and blue. Bits of a beer bottle green as the clouded sea. A doll’s painted porcelain finger. An ivory whalebone necklace from someone I loved long ago. Fur from the lucky rabbit foot. But the smile is an imposter, a counterfeit, a fake, a façade.

Those who care enough to notice are not easily fooled, yet they speak nothing. How can they? Forming words might tear the fragile paper mache smile plastered on their own face.

I worry that I’ll grow emaciated. Without a smile, I am unable to feed on others welcoming affirmation. One day I’ll do something dreadfully drastic.

Like…

Lurking, lunge, leap.

Lacerate someone’s smile.

Lick clean the blood.

Lay the smile on my own face, smearing blood and bits of flesh in the process. But the smile won’t stick, and try as I might I can’t make it stay, and I’m crying, and the tears mingle with the meaty mess mashed upon my face.

It hasn’t come to that yet. By God’s grace.

But it has come close. The desperation I feel that mutters, still stutters its words, causing me to shudder as each thought putters through my brain.

Lies: That without a smile, I will be disregarded and distrusted and disgraced and disvalued. My value lies in how much fun others have when they are with me. My worth is reflected to me in their own smiles. My smile is my mask I hide behind and the reason others want to be with me.

And though I know these truths to be lies, I cannot lose my smile. Not even let it slip for a second. Constant upkeep, constant wear. Grip it tight, others value it.

 Sometimes, though, it’s so hard to hold onto.