This past Wednesday evening, we walked to church for our semi-annual Communion. Ben pushed the stroller with the babies while I followed. We arrived a couple minutes early–early enough that I could glance surreptitiously at the shoes of the women standing around talking in the sanctuary.

Every shoe I saw was black.

There are things I still don’t know about the conference our church is a part of. I didn’t grow up here–what is just church culture and what is church practice? I try to be inconspicuous and blend in–not a very difficult thing usually… until I can’t find my one and only pair of black shoes before we walk out the door for Communion. Being minimalist has some shortcomings. 

“Do you think it’s okay if I wear my cream colored shoes to Communion?” I ask Ben. “I don’t know what else to do!”

My husband is as clueless as I, but, oh so comforting. “I’ll just tell him (our bishop) that you’ve been a rebel ever since your youth.”

“And I’m only now becoming brave enough to show my true colors.” I roll my eyes.

My true colors, yes, like shoes that are cream colored except where they aren’t anymore, because I picked them up second-hand and that several years ago. My true colors–as in a suitable dark navy dress with a sedate black sweater contrasting sharply with my footwear.

I can be philosophical about these things, though, so I let it go–other than my unusual absorption with the shoes on the feet of my sisters’ in Christ. Other than a brief and nonsensical pondering, while sitting in the service, about whether I am guilty in the eyes of God for taking Communion in cream colored shoes.

We sing one of my husband’s favorite songs–the words rising and swirling around us as the day darkens outside the stained glass windows and the saints on the ceiling look down on the Mennonites gathered inside the once-Catholic church building. “Arise, my soul, arise, shake off thy guilty fears, a bleeding sacrifice in thy behalf appears…”

Halfway through the song, little Ellie, sitting beside her Daddy on the bench, scoots closer to the edge, and turns her milk cup upside down, her chin tipped towards the ceiling as she slurps, and suddenly, before either Ben or I can catch her, she topples off the bench and lands with a clatter, nearly face planting on the floor under the bench in front of us. Her wail partially drowns out the song, as her daddy bites back a grin and scoops her up, snuggling her close beside him again. He pats her comfortingly until the wails quiet.

“With confidence I now draw nigh, and ‘Father, Abba, Father’ cry.” The church sings on as Ben and I grin sheepishly at each other over the top of childrens’ heads. 

The time comes to take the bread. Teddy is sitting relatively peacefully with a girl in front of us, friendly young man that he is, but Ellie is mad that I handed her off to go get the bread, and wails angrily while I am supposed to be reverently partaking of the emblem. I partake anyway, hoping to hear a holy thought through the din.

She goes up with me, when it is time to get the grape juice, and this time sits quietly on my lap as the company of saints bows their head and sips…

And this time, a thought whispers through my fuzzy head, past the shoe worries and the crying baby worries. We do show the Lord’s death till He comes. 

It is like a sigh of relief: I am not partaking unworthily. I am choosing, right here, in the middle of my imperfect life to reach out and take the nail-scarred hand that reaches out to me. This is why we take communion–to remind ourselves of His death for us in the middle of the life where we need His grace. To remember to be grateful. It is not to declare myself perfect, but to remember that He can make me sinless. Even here, where I sit in my second-hand cream colored shoes and dark navy dress. Even here, where I am responsible for crying children who like to disrupt every solemn moment.

If I fall off the church bench, where my fellow members sit, feet encased in black, singing solemnly with the voices of angels, it is okay. He is able to pick me up and set me among them again and place a comforting hand on me until the anxiety is all gone. 

“With confidence I now draw nigh, with confidence I now draw nigh, and ‘Father, Abba, Father’ cry…”

P.S. I still don’t know where my black shoes are! If you find them–please let me know! 😉