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Commune with Me
I know it’s been so long since you’ve done this, so I’ll be gentle. I’ll step up to you, to the table we’ve set with love, with intention and with so much tenderness. You’re quivering with anticipation… perhaps even longing?… for something that you’re not even sure of what it might be.
“Come now,” I coo to you, as you move closer to me. “Come here to me, sweet one. We’ll join together in this experience.”
You shudder, and sit beside me. “You sure we can do this?” you ask me, “It’s never been like this before…”
“Yes, beloved. It’ll be like nothing else: moving together and still holding up everything we know as sacred, remembering the story we share, calling in energy reverberating through the centuries…” You’re nodding, biting your lip.
“We’ll taste what it can be like.” I keep going, “We’ll invoke the name of the Divine. We’ll together vision the future possibilities of who we can be… mmmmm.. It’s the most beautiful. Join me?”
You nod, almost too small to see. “Yes, Ma’am, I want that. So very much.” Ooof. Every time you call me that, my whole body throbs in response. I reach out and touch your thigh with the tip of my finger, trailing upwards along your leg, as you lean closer to me, a small moan escaping your lips.
I let you lean in to kiss my lips, but just before you get there, I pull away and raise an eyebrow, smirking. The want is written all over your face… for my kiss, my touch, what I’m about to share with you in connection. You look at me with the most beautiful puppy dog eyes. “Please!”
“Not yet!” I hold the largest grin, “it’s not time!”
You whimper.
“Oh dear one… no fear. We are not alone. The Holy is with us in this place. Surrounding us in grace and love and connection. You know this?” I ask. You nod.
I continue in prayer: “One who is Holy showers blessings upon us… One who is older than time and above time; as close to us as breathing, and as distant as the farthest star; one who created us in our precious uniqueness and with the capacity to love so very deeply; one who calls us ‘Beloved!’ and ‘family,’ ….this one is here with us in this place, and blesses this bread and this wine with abundant love and grace.”
communion2
Your breathing intensifies with each statement, as does my own. Holding my hands up and intertwining my fingers with yours for a moment, we begin to tell the story together, as ancient as our faith and as relevant as this day:
That night. With his intimates… all those He called “Love”… there was a meal. They shared together. They ate, they drank, they sang. They told stories of what had come before: all the miles they walked, all the people they’d touched in healing, all the nights they stayed up far too late in affectionate embrace, sharing in divine love.
Pulling my hands from yours, I caressed the bread before us.
That last night, with sadness and love pouring from his eyes, he reached across the table to lift the bread.
Blessed it. Broke it. “This is My body. Broken for you.”
I tore the bread in half, crumbs falling onto the floor.
They didn’t understand at first… but it grew quiet, recognizing importance.
He passed it along, his eyes lingering on each of his loves’, his hand touching theirs for just a little longer…
They ate.
You inquisitively looked at the wine and I nodded as we continued…
He reached and took the cup raising it, smiling softly and sweetly and almost singing the next: “This is My blood. Poured for you, and for All people.”
Keeping eye contact with me, you poured wine into the chalice.
The love poured forth from him as he sipped and passed along the wine, offering abundance.
We know now, what is to come next for him. And I know you suspect what is to come, next, for us, for me and you.
I take up the bread broken and lift it to your lips, lingering with my fingertips on your sweet mouth. You open your mouth to take it, and let each intentional bite linger. Similarly, and with no words now, you bring the element to offer it to me. I smile and taste the bread of heaven.
You lift the cup and speak, “This cup, for you, Ma’am…” I drink down precious potential and drops of hope for the brighter future: where all God’s beloveds may commune. Mmmmmmmm… Yes. Divine.
Licking my lips, I, in turn, lift the chalice to you. “Dear one, this is holy love.” You turn your face upward and let me serve you, for once, letting droplets of wine dribble into your mouth and down your chin a bit.
Setting down the cup, I lean in and kiss away the wine which has spilled, planting kisses on your chin, your lips… and then your forehead. I take your face in my hands and look into your eyes.
What Thanksgiving! For all of this! For the way in which we can share in this simple and sacred moment, and for all that is to come… for communion and connection and potential and possibility. For intentionality and sex and faith that penetrates all aspects of our lives. Setting aside the elements, I lean into you, pulling you close.
Your mouth meets mine, my hands wander to your back, holding you tightly against my chest. I move from where I’m sitting so that my legs rest over yours, straddling you, and sitting on top of you. My breath rages, my spirit sings, my body throbs… “Come to me!”
And in this moment, you do.