A Resurrection Meal

It started out as a rather “ordinary” Easter morning. It was the morning after our Saturday night Seed Group. We got up, hurried to get ready, and headed off to visit a church. But we had the time wrong, and were early. VERY EARLY. So we headed off to Dunkin Donuts for breakfast.

Perhaps it was our feeling of discontent, a holy restlessness that opened our spiritual eyes to the world around us. Perhaps it was the chilliness of the Florida morning, that heightened our senses to where He might be working. Perhaps it was Him Himself, working in us, whispering to us, prompting us to lay down our ordinary for His extraordinary.

We prayed, there in the parking lot. Prayed for the lost world and for the “least of these”. Then we bought donuts. A dozen. And coffee—10 individual cups. Enough cream and sugar to go around and individual bags for packing completed the ensemble. With the feast prepared, we headed out.

In Florida, people often hawk their wares in the middle of the road, especially if it’s a large road with a center island. It’s a place where they can set up shop, and often those with money will hire those without to stand there in the sun, holding signs for condos, promoting events and businesses, and selling newspapers.

And of course, on this early Easter morning, they were there, bundled in layers because of the chill, shivering slightly and holding up the newspapers. 50 cents for the St. Petersburg times.

We went to them, pulling up next to the island and stopping, and rolling down our window. We told them we wanted to share God’s love with them on this Easter morn, and gave them a bag packed with coffee and a donut. Not much, nothing fancy. They smiled and thanked us, and we drove off.

10 bags, 10 donuts, 10 coffees, cream and sugar. Not the usual makings of a Resurrection meal. Yet somehow, I felt as if I’d shared in a feast greater than the many far grander, with far more accompaniments.

We never got to church Easter morning—but somehow, I think we were the Church, and allowed to be at least a small part of the nail-scarred hands and feet of Jesus to some of the “least” in our community. And perhaps, those we shared with felt His touch and presence as well. It was, indeed, a Resurrection meal.

~Pastor Hope