The Sweet Taste of Communion
As I watched folks line up to take Communion on Sunday, I got to thinking about three other times in my life where the experience of Communion really stands out to me.
The first is my memory of my mother’s prayerful posture when she returned to her pew after taking the bread and wine in the small Catholic church I grew up in. I’m pretty sure this goes back to some of my earliest memories in church. She would return to the pew, kneel, and cover her face with her hands as she prayed.
That memory became even more precious to me when I joined the United Methodist church my husband grew up in. After some hesitation on my part and some helpful conversation with the pastor I was able to settle into the reality that the Methodist table is God’s table, open to everyone, including this divorced, “lapsed” Catholic who was living with the man she would eventually marry. That church had a communion rail and the first time I knelt and received communion, I realized that my hands must have recalled on their own that early memory of my mother’s posture, as they seemingly instinctively covered my face as I gave thanks for the gift of resurrection.
Not long after we joined First UMC, Elgin, TX, the Wednesday evening service, which had been fairly quiet and contemplative livened up quite a bit. The after-school program had really taken off and most of the participants stayed for supper and a worship service. The kids really looked forward to Communion, practically rushing to the communion rail to take in the sweet bread (King’s Hawaiian, to be exact) and the juice. Week after week, my Wednesday evening respite was made all the better for their eagerness to get to the communion rail.
Of all the Sundays I’ve been to Berry church since my cane and I met up with you in Winnemac Park, this was probably the largest number of folks receiving communion ahead of, beside, and behind me. So, thanks, Berry and Big Shoulders friends, for being “in Communion” with me in this place I call home.