Reflections on Communion

Reflections on Communion

In lieu of a sermon last Sunday, (because of the projected storm) we held a "Bible study" around a table of goodies and hot beverages.  It was an experiment, but seemed to go extremely well, and those who gave me feedback appreciated the experience.

I believe strongly in opportunities for us to hear each other as members of one community, and this sort of event gives us that chance.  I get to know my dear congregants better, and they get to know each other better too.  We laugh together, and we become re-humanized in each other's eyes, dispelling any false perceptions or thin layers of fear or judgment that may have settled over some relationships.  It makes things "shiny" again.

So I opened the topic of the meaning of communion. I particularly encouraged any questions, problems, or difficulties anyone might have.  This was the time to air them.  I started by describing my own experience of being taunted for being a "cannibal" by a former Christian.  I had myself always had a bit of discomfort with the "eat my flesh", "drink my blood" language, and this mockery brought that discomfort to the surface for me.  I could explain that I saw it as a metaphor, and that I believe Jesus and the disciples also understood it that way, but if someone wanted to mock, there was only so much defense, because the language is undeniably there.

Besides, if she needed to mock, that was not my problem so much as my own inner discomfort was, and my need was to come to some peace and resolution inside myself.  Her journey is and remains her journey.

"What has your journey with communion been like?"  "How do you understand it?" Were the questions I asked those gathered around the table.  We then went around the table giving each person a chance to respond.

I would like to share some of the observations and insights that came up, in case they add to or inform your own relationship with communion.

No one else had ever considered or been challenged by the "flesh and blood" language nor the idea of cannibalism.  All of the other eight participants, three of whom had not been raised Swedenborgian, had considered the language metaphorical.  One described it as meaning that we must "walk the walk" and "live the life."  Many nodded their heads in agreement with this comment.

One woman (from a minister's family!) said with breathtaking honesty that she had never understood what the communion was about and had a hard time finding meaning in it.  This lightened the room immediately, as it gave everyone permission to admit not understanding, if that was their experience.

One observation that I shared that seemed as helpful to the listeners as it had been to me, when I encountered it (and which came to me from Rev George F. Dole, my predecessor), was this:  That when Jesus commanded that we "do this in remembrance of him.," He was eating a meal with his friends.  He was not kneeling in a special spot in a special place at a special time with a special little piece of bread and little sip of wine.  He was sharing a meal with His friends.  He was communing with them socially and spiritually.

Rev George had observed that the two elements that we consider sacraments---communion and baptism--- are also two essential daily acts necessary for our physical well-being---eating and washing.  Perhaps it is more the remembrance of Him in the most every day and mundane acts that is where the sacredness lies, not in specialized little rituals in specialized little sacred moments.  This has tremendous resonance with me, and seemed to feed many around the table on Sunday as well.

Another person observed that she felt spiritually fed by sitting and conversing over a "meal" such as we were doing almost more than attending church feeds her.  I had to point out that enjoying a meal together is what communion is.  That the preciousness of the bonds built during this sort of "communion" between and among us is what makes it meaningful.  This is what we treasure, and this is why it is sacred.  For me, it illustrates how the sacred has always been "right here, right now" in every day moments.  It is always present, and not meant to be kept in a "sacred" box and brought out only on Sundays.

I know I appreciated this change in our ritual.  It will not happen often.  But I suspect I will do this again. Perhaps once a year I will invite a "communal" gathering with discussion over a meal rather than formal worship.  I like the idea.

What has your journey with communion been like?  How do you understand it?

May you find peace and growing wisdom as you journey forward this week.

Pastor Alison

Drink Deeply

"We all must hold the cups of our lives.  As we grow older and become more fully aware of the many sorrows of life - personal failures, family conflicts, disappointments in work and social life, and the many pains surrounding us on the national and international scene - everything within and around us conspires to make us ignore, avoid, suppress, or simply deny these sorrows.  "Look at the sunny side of life and make the best of it," we say to ourselves and hear others say to us.   But when we want to drink the cups of our lives, we need first to hold them, to fully acknowledge what we are living, trusting that by not avoiding but befriending our sorrows we will discover the true joy we are looking for right in the midst of our sorrows."  Henri Nouwen

I have been avoiding feeling the sadness of the accumulated losses of my past several years.  It usually takes the support of friends for me to find the courage to face the despair and loss and sit with these feelings.  But there is a truth in what Nouwen says.  There is a way to sit with them.  it does involve befriending my sorrows.  This is not to become a perpetual victim, nor a sad-sack that keeps the pain front and centre.  

There is a way between ignoring and obsessing.  

There is a way to hold the sorrow beside the joy, without either cancelling out the other.  Instead, each brings a depth and texture to what becomes a magnificent pairing.

May I come to drink the cup of my whole life, the bitter and the sweet, the tangy, the rich, and the smoky, the light and the dark.  May I trust that ALL of my life in its blending is perhaps becoming a fine wine, with depth and texture, perhaps bitterness or edginess, but balanced with sweetness, earthiness or dare I say, a chocolaty note? 

If indeed we can and must embrace all of our story, then there is a way that even this drink, this cup of life with all its tones, is delicious and worthy too.  Perhaps it is my palate that needs maturing into a greater appreciation.  I have indeed found some of life's greatest joys in the midst of the darkest moments, as Nouwen suggests.  So I am finding my courage to sit with the darker notes again.  And I lift my cup to you, that we may drink deeply life beside each other in friendship, appreciating the richness, and allowing all the flavours to speak.  

Peace and blessings,

Alison