What if communion were leaving my turf (like Jesus did) and attending a church full of people that look, talk, think or act differently than me? Do this in remembrance of me.
What if communion were holding onto hope, no matter what? Do this in remembrance of me.
What if communion were earnestly and painfully examining my privilege right now, this day, this moment, and not just talking about it, but actually taking steps to steward/abdicate/share it? Do this in remembrance of me.
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Words: Christena Cleveland
Image: Jim Kast-Keat
Music: Podington Bear
