Maybe This Is Communion

There are no intermediaries between us and God.

Or Wisdom.

Or Divine Love.

Or however you understand the Sacred.

We are each invited into direct communion with the Holy—receiving love, comfort, guidance, and presence for our lives.

And this isn't just a beautiful idea.

I believe direct communion with the Divine is a core human need.

I think many of us sense a longing for this communion, even if we don't name it that way.

We might call it a longing for rest.

For stillness.

For connection.

For presence.

For peace.

For aliveness.

For purpose.

For belonging.

For love.

And it isn't just us longing.

The Divine aches to be in communion with us.

Sometimes what we experience as longing is that Love drawing us home.

What does communion with God actually look like?

I don't think it looks the same for everyone.

I believe God meets us wherever we are—in what matters to us, in what we're doing, in the language our hearts can hear.

I've experienced the unending love of God while receiving Communion in church.

I've experienced that same love after smoking marijuana and sitting in meditative prayer, simply inviting God into my awareness.

I've met God after stripping down to my underwear and lying beneath a mountain waterfall, allowing the cold water to awaken every cell of my body.

I've met God while floating in the ocean as a rainbow appeared overhead, held by the waves and sprinkled with rain.

I've encountered God in both of my births—both holy and wholly different from one another.

These experiences may sound extraordinary.

But I encounter God just as often in ordinary life.

In something someone says.

In a song lyric that won't leave me alone.

While dancing in my kitchen.

In my husband's arms around me.

When my preteen opens up to me.

When my baby laughs.

When a neighbor sits on my couch, strums her guitar, and my grief begins to pour out simply because she is fully present.

Sometimes communion looks like something unmistakably sacred.

Sometimes it looks like an ordinary Tuesday.

Creating space for communion

I also create space in my day to intentionally commune with God.

When I sit in the morning and whisper:

“God, I am here to be with You.”

When I meditate.

When I journal.

When I pay attention to what is unfolding within me.

When I lie on the floor and let my body be held.

When I notice my breath and remember that with every inhale and exhale I participate in the communion of all creation—the trees giving themselves to me and me to them.

When I imagine God and gently sense the Divine Presence.

When I hold sacred words in my heart and listen for how they move through my body, mind, and soul.

When I simply ask:

“God... what do You think about this?”

These aren't formulas.

They're invitations.

Ways of turning my attention toward the possibility that God is already here.

No one can have your relationship with God for you

This is the work I offer.

Not to stand between you and God.

But to create spaces where you can discover that communion has been available to you all along.

Because no one can have your relationship with the Divine for you.

And yet, we can learn together how to notice.

How to listen.

How to trust.

Maybe communion doesn't always look like we expect it to.

Maybe God is meeting us in more places than we realize.

Maybe the invitation is simply to become a little more attentive to the moments when something in us softens, opens, awakens, or feels deeply alive.

Maybe this is communion.

Maybe God is closer than we think.