Butterfly Funeral

We followed in quiet as Thor led the way to the cemetary- his face blacked by the butterfly's wing dust. War paint we called it. There was only the sound of our footsteps on the dirt road to break through the silence and the heat. Beneath the oak in the old cemertary we laid the fragile creature to rest. Sam said a few words over the open grave before I smoothed the dirt over. The grave was marked by a birds feather and three sticks. We proceeded back to the house and Marcee read Psalm 23. Amen.

Communion

The Church is a community, not one you hand pick, but more like a family you get stuck with. As I served communion this morning and looked into the faces of the congregation it really hit me that this was a reason Jesus wanted the "Kingdom". All gather together. The 95 year old who has been attending the same Church on the corner all her life, the woman with the wayward husband, the dairyfarmer, the corporate worker, the seeking college graduate, the 2 year old with an attitude. All gather at the Lord's Table, all may receive communion, all are equal.