Communion When Union Isn't Possible

Renee Grems is a member of the Open Worship community. As we prepare to celebrate this Communion Sunday apart for the first time ever, she offers this reminder of what the act of taking communion is really about. 

I grew up Catholic, and communion was a weekly sacrament. The mystery and the majesty were purported to be in the transubstantiation. The consecrated elements - the bread and wine - only LOOKED like food. Once a proper blessing and prayer was spoken, these became the ACTUAL body and blood of Christ.

As an adult I became Methodist (and would today tell you that I am Method-ish) . The mystery and the majesty, as explained by Pastor Bill on World Communion Sunday a few years back, was in the COMMUNION; that we were sharing the table not just with those kneeling next to us, not just those in that service or at that church or even that denomination, but with ALL the "saints of the church". Those who came before us. Those who will come after us. Those in far away places.

Maybe the mystery of communion is both these things. I am the body of Christ. When I take the elements - the bread and juice - they become part of me. They feed me, literally. They become the actual body of Christ IN ME. And when we celebrate communion together, we remember those who laid the foundation of our faith, those standing or kneeling with us in that moment, and those who seek to be welcomed.

Gentile or Jew, servant or free, woman or man, no more.

One bread, one body, one Lord of all;

One cup of blessing which we bless.

And we, though many throughout the earth,

We are one body in in this one Lord.

I try to remember this on the first Sunday of the month when I dip the corner of my bread into the chalice of grape juice: my faithful grandparents and my brother, now "saints of the church;" my friends who worship differently; my family, five states away.

When I really feel like I'm celebrating communion, though, is with my toast and coffee on Saturday mornings. Per family tradition, I print the New York Times Crossword and wrestle with the clues, knowing that my brothers in Minneapolis and Medford, my parents in Cornucopia, and Gramma Rockers in glory all join me at the table.