communion

I like to serve communion.  There is something so basic, so real about it.  If you have ever fed somebody who was truly hungry then you will know what I mean.

Everybody comes to the table differently.  Some come full of enthusiasm and excitement, while others come slowly, reluctantly, if at all.

Some who come know exactly what to do; where to stand, when to take the bread and the cup, and. most importantly,  when to sit down, Others have no idea what they are doing or what comes next. They look like deer caught in the headlights, waiting for me to do something.

Some people become very social around the communion table.  "How have you been?" they whisper as they reach for the bread.  Others are quite solemn, looking at nothing and no one as they contemplate the body and the blood.

Some who come to the communion table wear their hunger on their sleeve, while others keep theirs tucked away in a pocket or a purse where no one can see it. But it is still there.


Sometimes, when I am at the communion table, I am reminded of the time I was asked to help out in a food pantry in Mexico.  The pantry was held in a little church in one of the most desolate areas of one of the most dangerous cities in Mexico.  When we arrived, people, perhaps in the hundreds, were already lined up outside, waiting.  Men, women, old people, young people, infants stood in the sweltering sun, hungry, longing to be fed.

When we had finished laying out the food on tables in front of the altar as well as along the walls of the sanctuary, -the doors to the church were thrown open and the people were invited to enter.  Some made their way around the room as though they knew exactly what they were doing; others entered slowly, reluctantly as though they had no idea how they got there or what they were to do next. Some of the people chatted noisily in a language I could scarcely understand while others simply smiled their thanks.  Some cried; while others laughed.

I am convinced that what happened that day in that little church was no less communion than the service we hold in our church every other Sunday.  And it is not because we gave out food or even because we were standing around the altar. It was communion becuase all of us, servers and served alike, came hungry with our hands and hearts open, longing to be fed.

"Do this," Jesus said, "as often as you will in remembrance of me."