She smiled, nodding. “I have sister that eats flesh and blood, too.”
She seemed so proud, as we chatted on July 4th, to share this fact in halting English, about her sister.
My brain was shifting gears like mad, trying to follow.
We had just been sharing slowly, with care, about the 4th of July. An American celebration of our independence and freedom. Some she had never known before. Persecution and death had followed her people for their religion, their speech, places where censorship and brute force rule the day.
She was passionate about becoming an American. Even as she struggled with the English words to share with me. Trying to learn about our culture and holidays. Not to turn her back on her own, but to celebrate a place that saw her and her family as free human beings with certain inalienable rights.
Still scrabbling mentally from her graphic comment, I’m not sure I would have understood it without the Holy Spirit and the fact that our church does communion on the first Sunday of each month.
Communion. Eating the flesh and the blood. Shocking, maybe, but undeniable.
We do this in remembrance of the Savior that bore the torture, bled and died for forgiveness of my sin and yours. Not to die and be a martyr, but to rise, and living still, walk with us each day.
I asked her if she had any questions about Jesus or Christians and we continued with our halting words and unclear understanding of each others culture, religion and everyday lives.
I think comparison of our lives is a human trait that our sinful flesh turns to coveting all too easily. Yet, God did not ask that we not compare. I feel that He was asking us to be careful who we compare our lives to...
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