My Resurrection Story
By Cathy Mogus
Good Friday. I stared up at
my pastor in disbelief. How could he ask me to take Communion all by myself?
Didn’t he realize what an awkward position he was putting me in?
I shook my head and looked away.
I was playing the piano for my church’s special morning service.
I also sang a solo, accompanying myself, during Communion.
Customarily, the elders passed the wafers and juice to the members of
the congregation. But Pastor Greene, our new minister, had changed the
tradition for this particular meeting. He stood alone at the table, the
juice and a single loaf of bread before him.
“I’m inviting you to come to the table in families today,”
he told those assembled. “I want father and mothers to break bread
together, and with their children.”
Up until that moment, I’d been enjoying the service. I liked Pastor
Greene” s format. He read the scriptural account of Christ’s
death, and the congregation sang appropriate hymns between the lengthy
passages. There was special music and Communion. But when he mentioned
families partaking together, my mind suddenly wandered from the Cross
to myself.
It had been three years since my marriage fell apart. I didn’t want
the divorce, but it happened anyway. It was a shocking blow to our three
teenagers, who seldom saw their parents even argue.
The boys were now on their own, busy with college and jobs. My daughter,
almost 18, lived with me, but she had stayed home. Breaking bread without
them would be painful. I was glad I was at the piano. Maybe no one would
notice if I didn’t go up.
“If you are alone today,” the pastor was saying, “please
join a family or a friend.”
The church had been my biggest support after the divorce. I was fortunate
to have so many close friends who shared my faith. But how I missed my
family of five!
The center aisles filled. Pastor Greene prayed over the families and small
groups as they partook of the emblems together. I sang my song and continued
to play the piano softly.
The last person returned to his seat. The pastor left the table to stand
behind the pulpit for the closing hymn. No one seemed to notice that I
hadn’t taken Communion. I was relieved.
Then Pastor Greene looked at me. He smiled gently. “Cathy, I didn’t
mean to forget you,” he apologized. “Please go to the table.”
Tears filled my eyes. My face felt hot. How could he ask me to do that
in front of all these people? It was bad enough being alone without being
singled out!
“I’m sure someone will join you,” he coaxed.
Fred and Joan, good friends, stepped forward. I had no choice but to join
them. Tears ran down my cheeks as I fumbled with the bread and juice.
As soon as I played the last hymn, I grabbed my coat and almost ran out
of the church. I couldn’t get my VW Rabbit out of the parking lot
fast enough.
I drove to my favorite thinking spot, a beautiful beach near my home.
I stayed in the car and sobbed out my frustration.
“Why, God? Why?” I shouted. I wasn’t thinking about
the service anymore. I was having a pity part over the fact that I was
single. It seemed appropriate that it was Good Friday. I was dragging
my cross once more.
I tried to get a grip on myself. Wasn’t I the person who told others
that spring always follows winter? That the sun shines after every storm?
Was it really as bad as I was making it out to be?
If I looked truth in the face, I had to admit my life wasn’t dull.
In fact, I’d had some of the best experiences of my adulthood since
my divorce. The death of any marriage is ugly, but God has the power to
resurrect the hurting parties to new life.
“Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing
a new thing!” (Isaiah 43:18-19) was highlighted in my Bible.
I did have a resurrection story. People I hardly knew loved me through
the dark months following my separation from my husband. Old friends rallied.
They boosted my self-esteem and kept me emotionally balanced.
Being a homemaker most of my married life, I suddenly found myself on
welfare. Miraculously, the Lord opened the door for me to work in a medical
clinic, even though I had no previous training. Not only did it pay the
bills, but also it was therapeutic. I didn’t have time to feel sorry
for myself.
Twenty years of family life had taken its toll on my furniture and appliances.
I was able to purchase some new and used items. Redecorating my house
gave me a tremendous lift.
I’ve done some wonderful “firsts” like sailing, canoeing,
and joining a volleyball team. I’ve directed three Christian adult
musical dramas, and I’ve had opportunities to sing and speak.
Best of all, I’ve grown spiritually. I committed my life to Jesus
Christ as a small child, but I didn’t really comprehend the depth
of His love until my divorce. I’ve had to abandon myself to Him
over and over again.
As a result, I am a more compassionate person. I can now identify with
the lonely and hurting. I have a greater desire to introduce others to
the Lord’s unconditional love.
As I watched the waves gingerly lick at the beach on that Good Friday
afternoon, I made a decision. Somehow I would fling aside the cross of
self-pity and concentrate on enjoying the new life God was giving me.
His resurrection power would make it possible.
And it has.