There were moments this past Sunday in worship when I was moved to tears. I’ve heard a lot of pastors say that it is hard for them to worship in their churches on Sunday mornings, and sometimes that is true for me. But most Sundays there is something—a hymn, a prayer, a choir anthem, a children’s message—that moves me to worship. Somehow, God finds ways to break in on my life, even when I’m worried about the sermon or anxious about visitors feeling welcomed.

This past Sunday, God was breaking in all over the place. Maybe it was because I wasn’t preaching and was in a better place spiritually to receive and be led. Maybe it was the cumulative effect of all of those powerful meditations from Henri Nouwen that we’ve been reading in our Lenten devotional guides. Maybe it was because the Sunday School lesson I had been preparing all week was focused on the crucifixion and all that Jesus endured on the cross. Maybe as I prepared to ask others what the cross meant to them, I was pondering that same question for myself. Whatever it was, I found myself moved over and over again as we worshiped together.

The Chris Rice song that Trish Kaberle sang during the Offering has been on my heart for days now: “Weak and wounded sinner, lost and left to die, O, raise your head, for love is passing by. Come to Jesus. Come to Jesus and live! Now your burden’s lifted and carried far away…Sing to Jesus! Sing to Jesus and live!” And the powerful anthem that the choir sang knocked me over: “My God, I love Thee; not because I hope for heav’n thereby, nor yet because who love thee not may eternally die. Thou, O my Jesus, thou didst me upon the cross embrace; for me didst bear the nails and spear, and manifold disgrace…Then why, O blessed Jesus Christ should I not love Thee well? Not for the hope of winning heaven, nor of escaping hell. Not with the hope of gaining aught, nor seeking a reward, but as thyself hast loved me, O everlasting Lord! E’en so I love thee, and will love…solely because thou art my God, and my eternal King.”

All of this emotion was gathered up as I stood at the communion table and said the words of the liturgy: “He humbled himself and became obedient unto death, even death on a cross. He took upon himself our sin and death and offered himself…” For us. For you. For me. Sometimes we all need reminding that God did this…for each one of us.

The lyrics of the music and the words of the liturgy can so easily become routine and hollow for us. We can sing things and say things without really paying attention. But somehow all of these things this week reminded me of God’s love for us. Jesus offered himself up, he went through the worst torture that human beings have ever designed, because of love. He loves us that much. He loves you that much. He loves me that much. How can that not change us?

My prayer this week is that each one of us, at some point during this Holy Week, will remember that love. I hope we will feel it and know it. I hope we’ll recognize that this story—of Jesus’ arrest, flogging, crucifixion, death and resurrection—is about us. It is for us. Take some time this week to ponder the cross. Allow it to reach into your life. And may all of us allow the love of the cross to change us forever.

Have you ever heard the term “thin place?” Apparently, the ancient Celts believed there were “thin places,” where the veil between this world and the next grew thin, places where heaven and earth nearly touched, places that felt especially sacred and inexplicably holy. Even though the term was first used by people in pre-Christian Ireland, we Christians sometimes borrow the term to talk about our own experiences of God. Whenever we get a glimpse of the kingdom of God, whenever we feel God’s presence beyond words, whenever we experience a glimmer of the holy, we might say we have witnessed a “thin place.”

I think I’ve experienced some “thin places” recently. On Saturday night David and I went with Anne and Dave Hook to hear the Nashville Chamber Singers’ Christmas concert. (We ran into a few other church members there, which makes me think we need to start a fan club!) As we talked later about the concert, Anne described how certain moments during the concert felt like “thin places.” When the voices in the choir struck a stunning chord as they sang of Gabriel’s announcement to Mary, or when the sopranos sounded like one voice as they sang of the wonder of the shepherds in Bethlehem, the kingdom of God felt close. We were somewhere between heaven and earth. We were almost suspended in time, hanging in a “thin place” as the music of eternity held us up.

I experienced another “thin place” on Sunday morning. It happened during the 11:00 service at the communion table. We had begun the Great Thanksgiving and the music of the piano flowed underneath us. Then I spoke the words of the liturgy: “when we turned away, and our love failed, your love remained steadfast.” I was overcome with the grace and faithfulness of God. Even when we turn away, even when our love fails, God comes to us. God keeps loving us. God keeps pursuing us.

And as the liturgy continued, I found myself caught up in the vision of God’s kingdom, “that day when justice shall roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever flowing stream, where nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore.” This vision of God’s kingdom, and the feeling that we all are part of it, nearly took my breath away. This is what we’re waiting for during Advent. This is what we’re preparing for and hoping for. The kingdom of God in all its fullness is coming. The day of the Lord is drawing near.

God surprised me there at the communion table this Sunday. God drew close in a way I wasn’t expecting. I hadn’t done anything to prepare for communion. I’d worked on the sermon, but that part was over and all I had to do was to read my part in the liturgy. It was already printed. I didn’t have to think about it. But even when I wasn’t prepared, when I wasn’t expecting it, God showed up and opened a window into the eternal.

Maybe that’s the grace of Advent. God’s coming doesn’t depend on our readiness. God is coming into the world, ready or not. Our job is simply to stay awake and keep our eyes open so that we can recognize those “thin places” and recognize Christ when he comes.