Hosanna

I sat in the back row during church today. I was in a skit that day, so I planned to leave during the last song of the "worship" portion to make my way toward the front, so that I'd be ready when the band and singers left the stage.

The ushers were passing out communion, and the worship team was singing "Hosanna." A middle-aged gentleman walked up and asked if the seat two spots to my right was taken. I told him it wasn't, and he gratefully sat down. I could see the plates holding the elements of communion being passed in the rows ahead of me, and the worship team was singing the chorus: "Hosanna, Hosanna, Hosanna in the highest."

The man continued to speak, though:  "I was sitting over there," he said, indicating somewhere on the right side of the room, "but a group of people sat down next to me, and the stench was so bad that I couldn't take it. I know we're at church, and we love everybody, but the smell was just so bad I had to move."

I imagine maybe a group of homeless people came in late and sat next to him. Not a shocking event at my church. Suddenly, this moment that was supposed to feel worshipful didn't feel that way at all. The communion ceremony that was about to take place, in part honoring our unity as a body in Christ, felt just a little bit tainted and false.

I thought about all those times when I was a kid and someone--child or adult--would sit next to me, look at my face and then...go sit somewhere else. Or turn their back to me. I thought about how I'll never feel beautiful because of all these moments piled on top of each other that told me who I was and who I would always be. I thought about how smelly people and I might be alike in that way.

An usher came by and handed me a plate of "bread" (i.e. a wafer smaller than my pinky fingernail). I took it and passed the plate to the man, trying to think of a retort in that moment. Something witty or profound. At least something you'd see in a crappy made-for-TV movie. Anything.

I took a small cup of generic grape juice from another plate, and the worship team was surging into the bridge of the song at this part. I came up empty, offering nothing more than a repeat of the only thing I'd said to him:  The seat was empty, take it if you want it. I didn't know what else to say.

Hosanna, as I have learned from the last few Sundays, is a declaration to God meaning, "Save us, NOW." It's an urgent plea.

Hosanna. Save us Christians from sending people the wrong message about how Jesus loved people. It's impossible to share the gospel with people when you're sharing the wrong one.

Hosanna. Save us from physically taking communion but denying the meaning and purpose.

Hosanna. Save *me* from ever making a child of God feel unworthy, because I know what it's like to feel that way.

Let's all work on it together.