Observations on Communion

A week ago, I met with our Confirmation class and let them ask me questions—always a somewhat nerve-wracking experience for those of us who like to have some level of control! But this small group of boys asked a lot of really good questions! One of them asked me what I enjoy most about being in full-time ministry.

That's a good question because it's so easy to focus on the things that drive you crazy. It's easy to remember the critical notes, the negative comments and the ways others assume they know your job better than you do. But when they asked the question, I didn't have to hesitate. The answer has been the same for twenty-six years. I love serving communion. I always have, and I hope I always will. There is nothing, to me, that typifies and exemplifies the grace that God gives to us than the act of serving communion. In our tradition, that's because everyone is welcome—even those with whom I may have had a disagreement this week, even those who have disappointed God (including me!), even those who may not today know which way is up. All who love Christ or want to love him—I offer that invitation every single time we come to the table. And every single time it is a joy and a high honor to serve these reminders of Christ's body and blood.

So yesterday, as a part of the Confirmation service, our Confirmands helped serve communion to the congregation. And part of me couldn't help but stand back and observe. What is it about this corporate act that warms my heart and gives me grace?

The first person to receive communion yesterday was one of our special needs individuals. In fact, he could hardly wait to take the bread and the cup. When I turned around from the altar to come down the stairs, he was standing at the foot of the steps. That's not the normal way we do things, but who cares about normal when someone is that eager to receive the body and blood? There was such joy in him as he took the bread and dipped it in the juice. (I've had people tell me you shouldn't receive the bread and the cup until you completely understand it, but if that is truly the case, that pretty much lets out the disciples at the Last Supper. No one was more clueless as to what was going on than they were. If we wanted until we understood it, we would never receive. Let's be people of grace!) All are welcome.

It's always interesting to hear the way people respond as they receive the bread (which is what I'm usually serving). Some say, "Thank you" (presumably to Jesus, not to me, because I didn't die for them). Some will whisper words of praise. Some are eager and some are hesitant. Some keep quiet with their eyes closed and others feel the need to tell me details about their life or comment on the sermon. When I was younger, some of that used to irritate me. "Can't you honor this holy moment?" the seminary-trained theologian in me wanted to shout. But I get it. And I recognize that Jesus is in the midst of the mundane. Every moment is holy, whether we're holding the bread of communion or drinking coffee in the lobby. Every moment of our lives is holy, and so every part of our lives can be brought to the table. Every moment is welcome.

Never, in my twenty-six years, have I used all of the communion elements that were provided. There are people who worry about running out; I'm not one of them. In fact, I would love to have a moment where there are too many people who want to receive! The "leftover" elements on the altar ought to remind me (and frequently does) that there are yet those who have not welcomed Jesus into their lives, who are not part of his church, who are not yet at the table. All are wanted.

What do you see, feel or experience when you come to the communion table? How does God extend his grace to you in the bread and juice?