Workman and Growing Fonts

Go figure.

I had been there before -- the local retirement home. We huddled together in the community room for Eucharist and our monthly get together. We haven't been meeting together like this for very long, and I will be the first to admit that we are still growing to know each other.

Our past meetings were seeped in that new relationship feel. I struggled to find my place in the worship space and I think they struggled to see me as their celebrant or their pastor. They still miss Audrey, they log for Ellen, and they still do not know me.

But this time something different happened. Over the course of the past month, I had taken the little list of prayer requests that I had accumulated at our Ash Wednesday service and prayed through them each day. I couldn't remember who made each prayer request, but I could pray them anyway. I had also given up on the tattered worship booklets and produced new ones with a larger font size.

The difference was palpable. It was as if some unseen force had reached down and turned up the volume on our shared prayer. We were together. We prayed together.

For our brief time together we were the Body of Christ in that place.

I wouldn't have missed it for the world.