Last night I sat in a candle-lit room –

the music unplugged and worshipful.

The lights were dimmed and the room was set up in a more intimate way.

We sat in the heaviness of it.

The burden of our sin he carried.

The weight of the betrayal from his friend.

It was a quiet, meaningful and rare type of moment.

I could hear the occasional rustling of paper from kids holding the song lyrics.

I heard sniffles and people shifting in their seats.

I could see their faces, and in some cases, their tears.

And they could see me.

Perhaps they saw me hold my finger to my lips to

remind my child that they needed to be still.

Or perhaps they saw my face when my son got up

from his chair to take communion on his own terms.

He didn’t need us to accompany him.

The sacrifice Jesus made was for him too

and he felt that deeply.

And so he went on his own.

Or maybe they saw my tears

and my brokenness showing through.

I was there because of the sacrifice made for me.

I was thinking about me and what Jesus gave for me.

However, in the midst of being seen,

in the midst of the little noises that

accompany a room full of people,

I was reminded again by the pastor’s words

that the way to honor Jesus’ ultimate sacrifice,

is to love as he loved.

To be seen, to exist – is supposed to also mean

that you are loved.

And I am part of that equation –

I am hands and feet.

His love through me –

a pouring out.

And so again, it isn’t just about me.

I should not be concerned about

saving a reserve for myself.

Jesus commanded us to live a life of community

on the night he was betrayed.

To give.

To serve.

First in my own home

and then to the world around me.

I can’t be afraid of failing.

Or of not being enough.

Or of making a decision that is

contrary to the world around me.

These are lies born of fear.

And I am to live from a place of love

and not out of fear.

I am called to love out of the unfathomable love

that has been so freely given to me.