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We’ve recently joined an Episcopal church, which came as a
bit of a surprise for us lifelong Baptists.
But there is something about the liturgy and the evening service of this
particular church that drew us in. I
love that communion is the heart of the service and that it takes place weekly
(instead of monthly or quarterly like the churches in which I grew up). And instead of ushers passing golden trays of
stale wafers and plastic cups of grape juice to those saved and baptized
members of the congregation, in this church we all come forward to receive the
elements and share a common cup. It is
open to all, and there is a special joy in watching tiny children toddle up to
the priest or stretch out their hands from their perch in a parent’s arms to
take a wafer. There is a welcome in
seeing smiling faces as they pass by and in hearing the words of blessing, “The
body of Christ”, “The cup of salvation” shared again and again. The kids want to sit in the front so that
they can be first in line, and even though I’m more of a “back row Baptist”,
I’m just glad they are eager to be part of the service.
This week, as we filed back into our pew, Maryn showed me
the wafer that she had not yet eaten.
She held it up, broke it, and whispered to me, “The body of Christ,” and
I knew that God was there, in that moment, in that bread, in the grace of a
child who is learning faith through imitation.
The mystery of faith can’t be any more real than this.
After the church family shared a meal and the children and
adults separated for Christian education programs, I joined other adults back
in the sanctuary to talk about the primary meal that connects us as Christians:
Eucharist, the Great Thanksgiving. The
priest, who is as new to this church as we are, shared his thoughts on the
sacrament of communion, saying that in our gathering around the communion
table, we “are given a model of how all other meals should function, as an
opportunity of grace.” I had to smile as
he started off saying, “Whether Baptists, Catholics, anything in between, or
nothing, we are naturally sacramentalists.”
While I’ve been struggling to reconcile a new conversion of sorts, it
was a reminder that it may not be as big of a shift as I make it out to be. We are all branches of the family of God, and
all humans seek meaning in the ordinariness and mysteries of our lives.
I took notes so I could continue to ruminate on the
sacramental theology that was shared by Rev. Eric Long (quotes are
reconstructed to the best of my memory and notes):
“In the sacraments, God uses the stuff of life to bless our
lives. God breaks in and shows us the
depth and possibility of life. God gets
our attention and offers [God]self.” I
learned that communion is based on the Emmaus story, when Jesus’ disciples are
walking on the road to Emmaus after his crucifixion and a man joins them and
asks why they are troubled. They tell
him what has happened, not knowing that it is the resurrected Christ that walks
with them until they stop to eat and he gives thanks and breaks bread, just as
he had done at his last meal with them, when he had told them his body would
also be broken for them. They remembered
and they knew him in the breaking of the bread.
Just as my child, who shows little interest in church, still knows Jesus
in the breaking of the communion bread.
“God uses the physical to touch and bless us. This is what we refer to as sacraments. Jesus is the greatest example…God became a
physical being and entered our world, our stories. He took his body, gave thanks for it, and
broke it. He did not hoard the gift, but
shared it with us. In communion, we
literally take Jesus into us, receiving him, and trusting that he will help us
to become who God says we are.” We trust
that we can be full in our empty and broken places and that grace can transform
us into who we were created to be. “The
act of communion becomes a sacrament only as we join together in community,
remembering who we are (not self-made, disjointed individuals, but made one in
our baptism).” In the brokenness of our
world reflected in the bad news shared in the media, in the division of hatred
and polarization, we are sorely in need of this reminder, this challenge to
gather together like a dysfunctional family around the Thanksgiving dinner
table. We may not ever agree, but we can
learn to listen to one another as we seek to live together in peace and work
together for justice.
On a smaller and more personal level, I couldn’t help but
think about how often family meals are a great frustration in our house, yet
communion, the model for all meals, is the highlight of the church service for
my children. How can I shift from the
stress and frustration of my own expectations and provide space for God to be
present and offer grace? What if in saying grace (when I remember to do so),
I actually expected Grace to show up?
What if I invited Jesus to be present and believed that he was with us
in the breaking of bread together?
What if I could see all of my struggles, my joys, my daily
endeavors (parenthood, career, relationships) as sacraments and give thanks for
them, offer them up for God to transform, and give them away instead of holding
on tightly in fear?
What if we treated all of life as a sacrament, an
opportunity to let grace enter our lives and transform us?
This Thanksgiving, I offer thanks for unexpected grace and
pray that it continues to show up in beautiful, mysterious, transforming ways. Come, Lord Jesus. May it be so.
