Living alone has its ups and its downs.
And the downs fell hard last week.
With the whole sheltering-in-place in isolation, plus being separated from my kids and church family, I felt distant and untethered.
As I sat eating yet another meal . . . alone, I could feel myself sinking deep into shadows. But then, mercifully, I recalled our Lord’s invitation. He tenderly said, “Come.”
Then the lyrics of a worship song echoed across the mist, “Come to the table.”
God came near, to commune in fellowship with His people.
I remembered: I don’t ever dine alone.
The remembrance of that truth washed over me—and I felt personally and profoundly seen. I felt loved.
I was comforted, in that moment. And overwhelmed by a sense of the Lord’s mercy. It was all I could do but softly, and yet sweetly, weep.
When I sit by myself in front of the computer each Sunday, as I “go to church” during this pandemic, I imagine the members of my BH family. And as I partake of the Lord’s Supper, I visualize them joining in the holy communion. Even though we are not physically assembled, in the same building, we are still taking it together. We come into the Lord’s presence, are joined together by the Spirit, in celebration and worship, as one. Therefore, I have never felt alone in doing so. Again, this is another tender mercy.
The Lord’s invitations—to come and to dine—are extended to all. No matter what state you’re in. Whether you hunger or thirst. Are elated or dejected. Come as you are . . . from wherever you are.
Most especially, if you are feeling alone or isolated, I urge you to reach out—to the Lord and His disciples. Don’t remain in shadow. Or sink further into the enemy’s pit. Rather, come into His light . . . and feast.
The invitation is really real—and so is the blessing.