October 3, 2021
St. John’s United Church of Christ, Union, Illinois
1 Corinthians 11:23-26[1]
The celebration of the Lord’s Supper is the signature act of
the church, the gathered community of Christians. Different traditions use
different terms for this sacrament. The Lord’s Supper is a common way to refer
to the act of remembering the last meal of Jesus with the disciples. Eucharist
comes from the Greek word meaning “thanksgiving”. Mass, the term used by Roman
Catholics, refers to a Latin phrase meaning “dismissal” or sent out in mission.
Communion, the term we most often use, comes from a Latin word meaning “to
share in common.”
When we celebrate Communion, we remember the meal that Jesus
ate with the disciples in an upper room in Jerusalem the night before the crucifixion.
We remember the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus, and the promise to us
of eternal life. We symbolically gather around a table to eat a meal together. Though
we may call it an altar, it is really the Table of Christ, and the table
belongs not to the church, but to Jesus.
As we know from the scriptures, the bread and the cup
symbolize the body and blood of Christ. When the bread is broken and the juice
or wine is poured into the cup and lifted up, we are reminded of the costliness
of Christ’s gift of life and love. By sharing in the meal, we take part in the
crucifixion and resurrection of Christ.
All Christians celebrate Communion, though the manner and
understanding of the celebration vary. Some see the meal as a memorial, remembering
the Last Supper Jesus shared with the disciples. Others see it as a sign or
symbol of Christ’s presence in the bread and cup and in the congregation. Some
believe that the bread and wine are transformed into the actual body and blood
of Jesus.
In the meal itself, some churches use individual cups; some
use a common cup. Some use small cubes of bread; some use unleavened bread or
wafers; some use a whole loaf of bread. Some congregations serve Holy Communion
in the pews; others invite worshipers forward to receive at stations. Around the
world, and even just withing our denomination, there is a wide range of
practices.
We offer grape juice along with wine for a couple of
reasons. The Temperance Movement of the early 20th century opposed
the drinking of alcohol. This movement eventually led to the passage of the 18th
Amendment to the United States Constitution, known as Prohibition. Though
Prohibition was repealed by the 21st Amendment, many churches
considered the switch to grape juice to be a good thing. We offer both wine and
grape juice so that children may participate, and so that anyone who is an
alcoholic may participate. The gluten in wheat bread may be dangerous to people
with celiac disease. For this reason, some churches offer gluten-free bread
during communion.
Christian denominations differ in whether non-members may
receive Communion. For the first several hundred years, non-members were
forbidden even to be present for the ritual; visitors and were dismissed
halfway through the Liturgy, after the Bible readings and sermon but before the
Eucharistic rite. Roman Catholic and Eastern Orthodox churches practice closed
communion under normal circumstances. Some Protestant communities also exclude
non-members from Communion. As a young person attending worship with a Catholic
friend, it felt really contemptuous to not be able to take communion.
Most Protestant communities, including the United Church of
Christ, practice open communion which is not limited to members, though some
require that the person be baptized. Some congregations, like ours, offer
communion to any individual who wishes to commemorate the life and teachings of
Christ, regardless of religious affiliation. We call this the open table.
So, enough lecture. I want to tell you about some special
celebrations of communion that I remember, and I hope that you have one or two
that you remember as significant, also.
The first that I want to tell you about comes from
missionaries in West Timor, Indonesia. In a small farming village, Karen and
her husband John attended Gethsemane Church, part of the Evangelical John Christian
Church of Timor. It was at the Gethsemane Church that Karen and I first had
communion ‘round the cross. In that church, several long tables were arranged
in the shape of a cross—about four tables long, with a table on each side of
the second table to form the arms of the cross. Candles were placed down the
middle of the cross, as much to keep the flies away from the bread and wine as
to symbolize the light of salvation. One large chalice, filled with terribly
sweet wine, and a whole loaf of bread resting on a tin platter were placed at
the head of the cross. Trays of small communion glasses, filled with the same
wine, and trays of de-crusted white bread cut into cubes, were placed between
the candles.
There was a self-imposed dress code: white shirts and
blouses, black skirts and trousers. Congregants dare not arrive late for
communion; and, when it was time to begin, the doors would be closed and they
would sit quietly in a sea of black and white, meditating on sin and
redemption. With silent instructions from elders and deacons, congregants would
quietly rise and gather around the cross, until the cross was encircled by
worshippers. They were invited to sit with a hand gesture by the pastor.
A Bible passage was read, the words of institution recited
to bless the sacrament, bread eaten, and wine drunk. Then the first group
returned to their seats while the rest of the congregation sang a hymn and the
next group took their seats around the cross. The ritual and words of
institution remained the same, only the Bible passage changed with each round.
Karen remembers grumbling more than once about the amount of
time this drama required as the congregation grew over the years. Towards the
end of their time at Gethsemane Church, before several branch posts became
full-fledged congregations, she remembers counting the rounds of worshippers
around the cross—nearly 25 rounds that required a three and a half-hour
service. Even now she remembers the sweat running down her forehead, arms, and
legs; the loss of concentration; how singing in unison became a welcome
reprieve from the words at the table that had become monotony as the hours
passed.
One communion service Karen remembers with poignant clarity.
She and John were amongst the last to arrive so that the only remaining seats
were “front-row” close to the cross. As they waited for their turn, she began
paying close attention to those who passed in front of her as people found a
seat at the cross. There were dirty trousers frayed at the end, with cracked
heels and calloused toes splayed over the tip of worn flip flops. There were
elegant heels and the latest style in skirts. Some skirts were held closed at
the waist with safety pins; leather were shoes polished to a shine. There were
jackets and ties; frayed and dirty collars; all black and white, black and
white passing in front of her, denoting the vast economic divides within that
one congregation.
There were moments of intimacy, sitting side-by-side,
shoulder-to-shoulder around the cross, to face each other across the divisions
of class. The ritual crossed divisions through an act of symbolic common redemption,
theologically intended for solidarity. Though she doesn’t miss the hours of
sitting in a hot sanctuary with slowly-rotating wall fans that didn’t work half
the time, she does miss the meaning, freedom, and ethics of true Christian
community.
One memory I cherish of celebrating communion was as a
leader of youth at a retreat event in Colorado. Having spent a weekend at camp,
we gathered for worship. Our theme was from John 21, when the disciples had
gone fishing after the crucifixion of Jesus. A man appeared on the shore, and shouted,
“Have you caught any fish?” They answered him, “No.” He said to them, “Cast the
net to the right side of the boat, and you will find some.” So they cast the
net, and now they were not able to haul it in because there were so many fish.
The leader of our service led communion in silence. First,
he reenacted the scripture, silently casting the net, then hauling us in. Then,
he mimed a gathering around the table. He took the bread, silently breaking it
and offering it to us. Then he took the cup, held it to his side to indicate
the wound in Jesus’ side, then gestured that we should share it among us. We
passed the cup in silence all around the circle. Imagine, a group of teenagers
sharing the Lord’s Supper in perfect silence.
Finally, I remember a group of friends gathered at what must
have been a Conference meeting. We were spending the night in the church,
sleeping on the floor, because that was the cheapest housing option for the weekend.
A woman who had been recently ordained led our small group up to the balcony
overlooking the sanctuary. We sat on the floor, sharing stories of what we had
been doing with groups of adults or youth in our churches. After a time, we
grew quiet. Kelly produced a loaf of bread and a bottle of wine, hidden behind
her, and in a moment of silence and awe, we passed the bread around, breaking off
pieces to eat. We passed the bottle – this was pre-COVID – and each took a swallow.
No one left that balcony with dry eyes.
Not every meal is communion. Not every glass of wine is
sacred. But there are moments, sometimes unexpected, when the sacred comes in
like a rush of the wind, and you know that the table is no longer yours, the
bread is not common any more, and the wine is sacred. You remember, I’m sure, a
moment when you knew the Spirit was present, and Christ was the host at the table.
The disciples didn’t know at first what was really happening. But whenever two
or three gathered in the time that followed, they recognized the risen Christ
in the breaking of the bread. Amen.
[1] The
scripture quotations contained herein are from the New Revised Standard
Version Bible, copyright © 1989 by the Division of Christian Education of
the National Council of the Churches of Christ in the U.S.A. Used by permission. All rights reserved.
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