This rhythm went on for a couple of years, but eventually, much to the delight of the gentle pianist, the staff moved the piano to a nice room adjacent to the main area. Doris simply would not make that short commute of just a few feet, despite our greetings and invitations, and over time, she grew more withdrawn. This week, however, she surprised me by coming into worship just as I was making a short introduction about the ministry to the new residents who had gathered with us. She stayed for the service, and yes, she did take communion. We talked afterwards, but she did not reveal what propelled her to suddenly make that journey from one room to the next. I cannot tell you what sort of internal terrain she had to cross, or what compass she used. A dream? Pain? A sudden sense of longing to once again take part? I may never know. However, I do know that once we have taken communion, we will always feel the beckoning invitation to return to the table again. It may take us awhile, even years to make the trip back. However, God patiently sets the table with great regularity, and Christ vigilantly waits at the door for our return. Blessed be. We can find our way home.
And the world cannot be discovered by a journey of miles, no matter how long, but only by a spiritual journey, a journey of one inch, very arduous and humbling and joyful, by which we arrive at the ground at our own feet, and learn to be at home. —Wendell Berry, The Unforeseen Wilderness
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