Sunday mornings are not for the faint of heart.

The alarm fails.

The oatmeal burns.

The clothes I set out the night before are covered in cat hair.

My children, who never have to leave the house before 10 AM, suddenly find it difficult to talk, or eat, or match shoes.  And I find it hard to think about worship when all of Sunday morning is one manic rush to get to a place of rest.

But all of the rushing ends in a sanctuary where Word and worship work to restore what has been broken, clouded, and marred.  There, a wedding feast has been prepared and set out for me by the Lover of my soul, the Groom who knows my weakness and understands my sorrow.

And yet He loves me.  He loves me when I’m harried and late for Sunday School and forgot to bring my tithe.  He loves me when I can’t worship because I’m thinking about the pipes freezing and the argument I had with the kids over toothpaste.

There, in the midst of all the shortcomings, He ushers me in to this beautiful mystery of grace.  Mercy.  Love unbounded.  He gives me a common meal to illustrate the uncommon affection between a holy God and His undeserving bride.

Bread, like a body, broken for me.

Wine, like blood, spilled out for me.

Hushed by the sacred, awed by the reality, I come into His presence, into His rest, to eat and drink of His goodness.

And oh!  How I need it.   I need it for yesterday.  I need it for today.  I need it for tomorrow.

That is the beauty of this day.  Those elements of bread and wine are not just a picture of what has been done for me.  They are a picture of what is being done for me day by day.  They remind me that I need Jesus.  They remind me that I have Jesus.

This is the body and the blood that was shed for me.  This is the covenant that brings me into a new relationship with God.  This is the adoption that gives me the rights to all the riches in the heavenly places.  This is power.  This is life.  This is rest.  This is all I need.

What a beautiful thing it is to start my week with this thought in my hands.