Body and Blood

One of my strongest church memories from growing up in a Southern Baptist Church involves the way communion was served ... except it was never called communion, it was called The Lord's Supper (and yes, the words were always first-capped in the bulletin). Communion, or The Lord's Supper as the case may be, was only observed quarterly. Once every three months, we would be reminded that it was The Lord's Supper time. I distinctly remember the table at the front of the sanctuary with the words "This do in remembrance of Me" carved into the mahogany wooden front. I also remember the gleaming gold of the plates that held the wafers and the little cups of grape juice ... well, I remember the gold after the white cloth that covered them was removed. My dad was a deacon, and whenever it was The Lord's Supper time, he would get all dressed up in a suit and tie and sit on the front row. He and the other deacons would rise in unison, file up to the table, carefully lift the white cloth, fold it in the same manner every single time and place it carefully beneath the table. Then the preacher would read the same verses he read every single time, and the deacons would take the plates, turn as one and serve the wafers and juice to the people. Looking back now, I can't help but think how very ritualistic the whole process was ... and I also can't help but think that back then, I didn't get it ... I didn't get it at all.

After my divorce, my kids and I began attending an independent Christian church, and I recall how surprised I was to learn that certain denominations observe The Lord's Supper every Sunday ... except it's never called The Lord's Supper, it's called communion. And get this ... there was no white cloth covering the plates of wafers and juice, and each week, there was different Scripture; in fact, the meditation time before communion was delivered by different guys other than the minister. At first, I thought it was so weird to have communion every Sunday, and I remember thinking that it must lose any meaning it had and become nothing more than something you do when you go to church. After a while, however, I realized that it was just the opposite. For the first time in my life, I got it ... I got what communion really meant, and when I finally got it, I knew that I would never be able to pop the wafer and juice in my mouth again without giving deep consideration to the state of my heart and my relationship with God beforehand. And that's why ... that's why for a very long time, I didn't participate in communion.

For all the times I did eat the wafers and drink the juice, there are two special communion times that will forever hold deep, deep meaning for me. The first one took place as my kids and I were traveling back to Kansas City after spending a week with my family in Tennessee. It was early on a Sunday morning, and we stopped at a rest area at the top of Monteagle mountain. We sat at a picnic table, read some verses from the Bible, prayed and shared communion together ... a super special time with my children and with God for sure. The second time took place at a women's retreat where I was speaking. The ladies in charge of the event had asked me if I would serve communion to the women at the end of our final session on Sunday ... something I had never been asked to do before. As I went from woman to woman with the bread and juice, I wept. The emotion that tore through me came from the overwhelming realization, perhaps for the first time in my life, just how big Jesus' sacrifice for me was ... it was truly one of the most humbling experiences in my entire life.

I mentioned in last night's post that I went to church yesterday morning and that I would say more about it tonight. I could sum up the morning in three words ... It. Was. Hard. It took me a full 10 minutes just to get out of my car, and once I did, I came dangerously close to getting back in and going home. The service was different than any I've attended before, with the exception of one thing ... communion. As I listened to the woman speak who led the meditation, my eyes brimmed with tears as my mind raced back to the communion times with my children on the mountain and the ladies at the retreat. When the trays came to me, I waved a "no thanks" to indicate that I was passing on the wafers and the juice. Why? Because I know I'm not there yet ... I know that communion is about so, so, so much more than a small piece of bread and a tiny sip of juice ... I know who I am and what's going on in my heart and my head ... I know I'm not there yet ... I hope someday I will be, but I'm not there yet. 

Body and blood ... His ... so much more than wafers and juice, friends ... so much more. 

"And when He had taken some bread and given thanks, He broke it and gave it to them,
saying, 'This is My body which is given for you; do this in remembrance of Me.' And in the same way He took the cup after they had eaten, saying, 'This cup which is poured out for you is the new covenant in My blood.'" --- Luke 22:19-20