Friday, April 2, 2010

Pour Out

It’s easy for me to lose track of time, of days, of events.

While nothing about my days are consistent, I do find myself in a routine of managing the day… when to take my meds, what to take, figuring out if I need to rest or to move, deciding what I can do later based on what I’m trying to do in the moment. It’s different every day, but it’s my version of a daily routine.

And the world keeps going on outside my bubble. I watch the news in the evening and discover we had a warm weather day. I talk to a friend on the phone and hear about changes around town and activities that are starting for their kids. I ask about the next weekend’s plans and discover… it’s Easter. And discover, yet again, the date has gotten away from me.

Yes, I can definitely lose track.

In years past, Easter would never have escaped my attention because I would have been serving at my church. I would have been helping with liturgy planning, practicing music for the many Holy Week services, some years even sponsoring members to join our church in the sacraments of Baptism and Confirmation on Holy Saturday.

We’d plan for the washing of the feet on Thursday night. I would be overwhelmed by the sound of hammering nails during Good Friday services as we would sing “Were You There.” And, while some would complain about our three hour sunset services on Holy Saturday, I would often find the time going by too quickly as people would step into our baptismal font to be immersed in the waters of baptism. The three days leading up to Easter Sunday were what helped give that Sunday Mass its meaning.

I loved serving at all of it.

As I sat here thinking about it today, thinking of how being taken out of the routine can leave me not knowing which weekend Easter falls on, it occurred to me that Holy Thursday, Good Friday, Holy Saturday and Easter Sunday should be treated as days that could fall on any week of the year. I should be ready… in servant mode… so even if the day snuck up on me I would be ready to celebrate His resurrection.

I can be praising, honoring and preparing for that day every day. I can always find ways to serve. That was my focus this Lent, as I talked about being aware of acting as His hands and feet. Some days I did well… others, not so much. But one weekend, as I was joining in my friends’ church services online, I got a new perspective on how important it is to be a servant.

They were preaching on the story of Jesus’ first miracle, when He changed the water into wine at the wedding. The part of the story I never really thought about before is that the guests didn’t know about the miracle, but the SERVANTS did. They trusted this man who told them to fill their jugs with water, and they trusted when they were told to pour the liquid into the waiting cups of the guests.

They trusted Jesus. They served others as they were instructed to do. And they saw the miracle of something plain and bland turning into something colorful and rich. Jesus could have performed the miracle of turning water into wine, but no one would have known if there was no one to serve it to the people.

When we are servants, we see the miracles.

When we serve, the miracles are poured out to others.

We are water. We become wine in the moment we serve. We are unqualified, but He qualifies us if we step out in faith.

This man, this son of God who was sacrificed for our sins… who walked the long road with thorns on His head and a cross on His back… this man who humbled Himself to serve with His life as an offering for the sins we had yet to commit…

He did all of that so we could live.

He took the water of our lives and made us wine. He turned us from something bland into something colorful and rich.

And the only way the world will know about it is if we choose to be His servants. If we choose to pour out the miracle of His resurrection to those who are thirsty, waiting with their empty cups.

I will lose track of the days this year. I pray I don’t lose sight of my role as a servant. He sacrificed too much for me to not pay attention.

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