Perceptions from a Pewboy

It’s good to be home.

Our trip abroad was replete with experiences of wonder, laughter, and discovery. It was beyond anything that we could have anticipated. God is abundantly good.

Thanks for praying for us in our travels.

One of the highlights of our journey was an excursion to the catacombs in Rome—the expansive underground network of tunnels and tombs in which the early Christians buried their dead and called boldly upon the name of the Lord. The profundity of seeing the ancient Christian symbols painted on the walls of the catacombs left me breathless. Seeing a fish on the back of an automobile is encouraging. Seeing a fish painted by Christ-followers during an age of brutal persecution, however, is nothing short of awe-inspiring.

During a momentary lapse of concentration in the catacombs, I allowed myself to become separated from Tara and the rest of our excursion group. I had stayed behind to take an extra long look at some of the images and symbols on the walls. When I caught up with people, I soon realized that I had rejoined the wrong excursion group. (There were four or five different groups in the catacombs at the time.) Realizing my mistake, I quickly left that group in order to search for Tara and the others. The result, of course, was that, for about 3 minutes, I was lost in the catacombs.

Come to think of it, that would make an interesting song, wouldn’t it?
“Let me be lost and found in catacombs of grace,
Listening to echoes of martyrs whose witness we trace…”

During my…uh…lostness, I stumbled upon a mass being held in one of the tombs—a common occurrence in the catacombs. Given the catacombs’ holy history, priests are permitted and encouraged to help their people to worship in the various chambers of that hallowed ground. That day, I stood at the door of that particular chamber and watched as the priest broke the bread and lifted the cup, speaking those familiar words of institution: “Jesus said, ‘This bread is my body broken for you…This is cup is my blood shed for you and for many for the forgiveness of sins.’” I quietly moved just beyond the door, out of sight, but not out of earshot. I leaned against the cold wall of the tunnel and listened as fifteen Christ-followers feasted on the Bread of Heaven and the Cup of Salvation. Tears welled up in my eyes as I pondered the significance of what was transpiring. Nineteen hundred years ago, our spiritual ancestors spoke words of faith and hope in those dark chambers, believing in their hearts that, in Jesus Christ, death is never given the final word to speak. Nineteen hundred years later, disciples are still gathering in those same chambers, calling upon the name of that same Christ, honoring the witness of the martyrs, and feasting upon the life-altering banquet of God’s grace.

I eventually caught up with Tara and the others. Naturally, Tara asked where I had been. I explained that I had been simultaneously lost and found.

As I prepare myself spiritually for World Communion Sunday, I find myself focusing upon the image of those spiritual pilgrims in the catacombs, celebrating Eucharist. As the people of Central Highlands Church taste of the bread and the cup this weekend (three times!), my prayer is that we will sense the presence of the saints and martyrs who have gone on before us; who have bequeathed to us a rich legacy of faithful discipleship; and who are now feasting at the heavenly table—an eschatological banquet that we foreshadow every time we commune.

Blessings upon all of you as you make ready for the Lord’s Supper. May it be a genuine Eucharist for you and your people.

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