By Peter W. Marty
Elements of the Lord’s day
That interesting meal The feast no money can buy, no person can fully comprehend
I
f you knew absolutely nothing about the Christian faith and entered a ser- vice of worship this Sunday, one element of the experience would almost certainly baffle you. The meal. What the bulletin in your hand labels the
“Lord’s Supper,” “Holy Communion” or the “Eucharistic Meal” is likely to appear to your eyes as nothing more than a strangely cultish something-or- other with very stingy portions. Where are the helpings? Are these people kidding themselves? Did the chef not show up? All I see are some miniature shot glasses. What does that gigantic cup have in it anyway?
At the outset, you heard the pastor mumble some words about eating and drinking. But is this all there is? The spread you see unfolding bears little resemblance to the pepperoni pizza and root beer you put down in front of the TV last night.
The bulletin says this meal is “holy,” but if that is supposed to mean “spe- cial,” where is the specialness? Your stomach is growling for a succulent meal. No menu is posted. No aroma is evident. Figuring that you must be missing something obvious, you re-read the fine print in the bulletin. There you find that the Lord, whose identity remains a complete mystery to you, is said to be “in, with and under” the bread and wine. You see the pastor lift that big fancy cup high in the air. You figure she must be looking to see if Christ is playing hide-and-seek underneath. Nope. It turns out there is nothing under there. The ritual continues. More words and gestures follow. Welcome to the meal that no money can buy and no person can fully com-
prehend. Your discomfort and bewilderment grow as you realize that the wor- shiper standing next to you knows every liturgical word by heart. Anxiety begins to course through your veins. The temperature of your face rises appre- ciably. You unbutton your shirtsleeves to cool off. There, beneath the fabric, you feel your forearm flesh. Just like the man beside you who just confessed his imperfection along with everyone else, you sense some common ground. Here are two imperfect people, both with skin—sinners side-by-side. Sin is the unfortunate bargain that goes with being human. You’ve heard of
this bargain before. In trying to connect the dots, you wonder if this peculiar meal might address the sin in you. Unfortunately, the welcome-to-communion wording in the bulletin isn’t
as welcoming as someone thinks it is. The statement feels like a screening device disguised as friendliness. Which worshipers meet the approval crite- ria, and which ones need to get in a little more required learning? You worry that your biblical ignorance may cost you a seat at the table. You become fear- ful that newness to the world of faith may be a depressing minus rather than an exciting plus.
Many of our awkward attempts to welcome people to this sacrament of grace are grounded in serious intent. No one wants to play lightly with the riches of God. This meal is special. It has its origins in betrayal, sacrifice, love and last things.
What we
need to be clear about, however, is that the sig- nificance of this “feast” has nothing to do with our knowledge or intellect. Its power does not rest upon some success- ful completion of fourth-grade commu- nion instruction.
So what kind of words might engen-
der a meaningful welcome to all who are nervous about receiving commu- nion? I don’t have exact words to rec- ommend. But what I would call the “Ricky Test” may prove helpful for set- tling on language that is more graceful than graceless.
Ricky must be in your congregation, or at least in the one right up the street. He is that 28-year-old “kid” who has never lived a day without cerebral palsy. Twisted in his wheelchair like a high altitude bristlecone pine, Ricky hasn’t spoken a word of discernible English his entire life. Yet he communes every week. Never misses. Who in their right mind would pass over him? The server touches a bread wafer into the wine and gently places it on Ricky’s tongue. He smiles proudly. Ricky has found his place at the table. There must be one for you there also.
Marty is a pastor of St. Paul Lutheran Church, Davenport, Iowa, and a regular columnist for The Lutheran.
This meal is special. It has its origins in betrayal, sacrifice, love and last things.
March 2013 3 Ninth in a series of 10
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