In the wilderness of Lent, we need nourishment. We need to know that God is with us and to go as far as to taste and see that goodness of relationship.

That is what communion offers. Or maybe it’s just some of what it offers. In the uncertainty of this moment in time, I hope that it might offer us the strength to keep going and believe in the promises of our faith. And when we aren’t sure how to claim that in words, music stirs us.

I wrote this hoping that there would be many voices that join into proclaiming this mystery. Don’t let the bolded text limit your invitation to add more voices to speak through the wilderness.

May the Holy One comfort you 
And fill you with their presence 
Look all around this wild place 
to glimpse the movement of such grace
May our eyes be open and hearts ready
To be filled with gratitude because we are never alone
We give thanks and praise for God is here
even in all that is uncertain.

The world began in chaos but you came close
and breathed love into the unknown,
inviting us to grow into your love.
We doubted your presence 
and wandered away but you always
kept us close to your heart 
feeding us with tiny morsels
of hope, like manna from heaven.
Nourished by your goodness,
the chaos diminished 
and we grew in compassion
and hope. Your presence fill us
and completes us so that we cannot
keep from singing our praise,

And yet, we come to this table
uncertain. We come with questions 
and doubts after being stuck between
here and there for so long. This wilderness
feels as if it has no end and
we need your strength and courage.
Nourish us again, O God. 

We come this table remembering 
how it happened once and hoping 
in this wild certainty that it will happen again.
How on one fateful night, Christ gathered
with his frightened friends 
to share in an impossible hope.
From that table, in the middle 
of all that was unknown, 
Christ took the bread and broke it.
He gave it to his friends and reminded them,
“This is my body which is given for you.
Do this in remembrance of me.”

In the same way, after they had eaten,
he poured the wine and blessed it.
Offering them each a sip of that hope, he told them:
"This is the cup of love poured out for you.
Every time you drink of this, do so remembering me."

In remembrance of that promise and that fellowship,
in the hope that we might be so nourished and restored in our faith,
we proclaim the faith we don't always understand:
Christ died.
Christ is risen.
Christ will come again.

Holy Spirit, come into this bread and this cup. 
Transform these ordinary objects
into holy food that will sustain us
through all that is still unknown.
Pour your grace upon us
so that we might not doubt
your presence with us.

This wilderness is overwhelming and we need your guidance 
to find our way into your promise. Embolden us to keep going 
in the words that Christ taught us to pray:

Holy One, your presence has been made real.
We have tasted your goodness
and drank in your love. Now, 
lead us through this wilderness
into the promise of your hope.
Show us your way, now and always. Amen.

I hope this communion liturgy might orient your place in the wilderness this Lent. If you use these prayers, and I hope you do, I hope that you will give me credit somewhere in your bulletin or worship slide by adding “created by Elsa Anders Cook from Cooking with Elsa (cookingwithelsa.org).

If you are not already a subscriber to News From My Kitchen, you might look for some more ideas on the wilderness over there.