The Joy of Communion
October 2, 2009 |
Every night, I ask my two-year-old son a question: What should we thank God for today? In the months we have engaged in this practice, Quinn’s thanksgivings have included noodles, his friend Lily and raisins.
One night during Lent, perched on my lap in the dark of his room, Quinn returned my question with one of his own: “I eat Christ?”
I was sure I had heard him wrong. So I asked my question again. “I eat Christ.” This time, a declaration. What a strange and disturbing thing for him to say, I thought. What are they teaching him in the nursery at church? I mumbled something about thanking God for Quinn, our family and our friends. I said, “Amen,” and Quinn responded in kind.
A few days later, he tried again. Same question, same response.
“I eat Christ.” This time, Quinn turned his palms skyward and placed his right hand over his left, in front of his heart. As if to emphasize his point, he added, “At church.”
He has been watching us.
Since he was baptized at six months, Quinn has attended church nearly every Sunday. Each week we have dutifully retrieved him from the nursery in time to join us at the altar for the Eucharist. We had never bothered to explain the practice. It wasn’t because we didn’t think he would understand. It was because we didn’t think. We were just doing what we always did.
Our priest had asked us, several times, to allow Quinn to take the elements. I had declined. I had visions of Quinn spitting out his Styrofoam-like wafer and having to scoop up the chewed-up goo and eat it myself.
The Sunday after our epiphany was different. We told Quinn he could take communion.
The sanctuary was peaceful. We rule-following Episcopalians were sitting quietly listening to the organ while ushers directed us. Quinn could not wait. He raced to the altar, palms facing up. He joyfully yelled, “I eat Christ, Mama!” He dodged our grasp and the amused members of the choir, squeezing into an empty spot on the kneeler. He stood on top of it.
“The body of Christ, the bread of heaven,” a priest said.
Quinn watched as she pressed the wafer into his palm. He placed the wafer on his tongue and said, “Amen.”
Each Sunday since has been the same -- the same joy, the same wonder, the same sincerity, the same abandon.
Did he learn it from me, or the congregation he has been carefully watching? I wonder. We adults, particularly the adults in the lives of a preschooler, are a “no”-saying sort.
No, you can’t squish Play-Doh down the vent. No, you can’t have another box of yogurt raisins. No, you can’t jump in a puddle when you’re dressed for school. No, you can’t shriek in the house. No, you can’t spray water all over the bathroom.
We like no. No gives us power and control. And we don’t reserve it just for our children. We tell our colleagues no, our bosses no, our parents no, our friends no. We lack time or energy or interest or money -- for more work or for more ideas. We bring no into our churches and our institutions. I brought no to my son’s prayers, when I assumed he couldn’t have understood enough to ask for communion.
But the joy of resurrection and of coming to the table is about yes. That is not to say we should let our children run into traffic or stick their fingers in light sockets. We shouldn’t say yes to every request for our time or every new notion. The “yeses” of resurrection and communion are about cultivating openness, imagination and gratitude for the presence of the Holy Spirit in our lives, without a predisposition to doing what always has been done and what is most convenient.
It is about a spirit of adoption and not rejection.
At Easter, we pray, “O God, who made this most holy night to shine with the glory of the Lord’s resurrection: Stir up in your Church that Spirit of adoption which is given to us in Baptism, that we, being renewed both in body and mind, may worship you in sincerity and truth.”
What would we experience if every week we came to worship, to the table, in joy? If we sang exuberantly, prayed with our whole hearts, let the power of love in God’s church wash over us? If we ran to and from the table, hands outstretched, hearts ready for this divine moment of grace and thanksgiving and community?
What would Quinn, all children, all seekers experience if they saw that unrestrained joy every Sunday when they watched us? Would it sustain their spirit of adoption, form them in a lifetime of passion for God?
Posted by Caryn Rivadeneira on October 2, 2009
Comments
Ah I LOVE this! What a beautiful picture of running to Christ with abandon, saying "yes" to his gifts and being thankful ("grateful" is the original meaning of "Eucharist"). We Evangelicals have done a good job of making Communion a somber and bleak affair, reflecting on our sin and knowing we really don't deserve it, but okay, we'll trudge up to receive it anyway.
Communion is not just about us and our "not-good-enough mentality"--it is about Christ IN us, as individuals and the church. This is why, in liturgical churches, the confession happens before Communion--that we may come in a spirit of thanksgiving, not of guilt.
Thank you, Kelly, for this great post. Peace to you.
Posted by: Bonnie M on October 2, 2009
What a dream! I find myself hoping that my son yearns to participate in the things of God - in worshiping him with such joy. More than that, I wish his abandon would be contagious.
"I eat Christ." Such raw words. I think I often separate myself from the reality that Christ taught us to eat his flesh and drink his blood. I focus on the remembrance, but I may be missing something. I'll remember these words this Sunday when I receive the elements.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Posted by: Leah on October 2, 2009
Beautiful!
I wish every one longs for Christ with the same spirit! I wish also my kids, much older, run to the altar to receive the Lord with longing and joy.
Yes, Communion is all about YES...Joy...Longing...Eagerness...Abandonment...
Praise the Lord!
Posted by: William Norman on October 3, 2009
Touching and poignant post - not just in all that is says about communion which is true and uplifting, but also in how we speak to our children. We are indeed a no-saying group, we parents... and our children are often the poorer for it. I have thought of this often and appreciate this tangible picture to help propel me to be more of a yes-saying mother myself.
Posted by: Susan A on October 5, 2009
Grace and peace to you, Kelly. Thank you for writing this. I think back on my own "first Communion", a tear-filled affair when I was 12 years old, when I finally understood the price Jesus paid to forgive my sin and offer me new life. I think back on it every time I receive the Sacrament in gratitude for what He gave when He gave his life for me.
You're right: far too often we as Christians make the Sacrament about us, how unworthy we are, etc., and lose our focus on who it's really about: Christ. If we could remember Him in it, and take the focus off us, we would be the better for it.
Posted by: Alison on October 6, 2009
Aii, Kelly! I eat Christ! We 'pentecostals' like to think we enjoy and 'celebrate' the Lord's Table, coming with anticipation at the dynamic wonder of the resources of Christ's death, resurrection and sure return, but Quinn's exuberance gives new meaning to 'coming as a child'.
Thanks so much for expressing this wonder and awe and childlike delight that brought tears to my eyes and I'm sure a great smile to Jesus' face.
Posted by: Armando on October 8, 2009
Aii, Kelly! I eat Christ! We 'pentecostals' like to think we enjoy and 'celebrate' the Lord's Table, coming with anticipation at the dynamic wonder of the resources of Christ's death, resurrection and sure return, but Quinn's exuberance gives new meaning to 'coming as a child'.
Thank you so much for expressing this wonder and awe and childlike delight that brought tears to my eyes and I'm sure a smile to Jesus' face.
Posted by: Armando on October 8, 2009
Many turned away from following Jesus when He told them that they must eat the flesh of the Son of Man and drink his blood (John 6:53-66). John 6:60 specifically says: "...many of his disciples said - this is a hard teaching. Who can accept it?"
I can understand how you felt, Kelly, upon hearing Quinn's comment, "I eat Christ." It was hard for people to accept these words from Jesus about eating his flesh and drinking his blood when He walked on earth as the Son of Man - and just as difficult now. The Holy Spirit has enabled little Quinn to freely desire and accept Christ that will surely remain with him throughout life. Thanks for sharing this beautiful story.
Posted by: Beverly on October 11, 2009