By the time I was eight years old, I had seen the communion plate pass before me hundreds of times. It was always followed with the words from Luke 22:19, “He took the bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to them, saying, “This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me.” As the organ played softly and a sense of solemnest filled the church, the congregation would partake of the bread in unison. It was followed with the juice and the words, “this cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you”. Drink it in remembrance of me. I was fascinated by the ritual, filled with complete wonder and sure that if I partook of the bread and juice, I would instantly be filled with answers to all my questions. It was magical, I convinced myself.
Sitting just a few rows back from the front of the church alone with my brother and sister, while mom sang in the choir and Dad served communion on the opposite side of the church, I knew this was my time. I was eager, filled with anticipation to partake of this special sacrament. I longed to be a part of something special. Just as the plate was to pass before me, I caught a glimpse of my mother’s eye and a quick jerk of her head, telling me “no.” It was subtle, but I knew she meant business. I didn’t understand but I let the plate pass by me. I remember her response so clearly when I later asked her why I couldn't take communion. She said, “It’s important for you to understand what it truly represents first.” It’s been a whole lot of years since then, but each Sunday (as our church and several that we have attended since offers communion weekly) I have pondered the question: Do I really understand the meaning, the significance of communion?
Out of fear of not understanding, I haven’t taken communion for a very long time. But two Sundays ago, that changed. It changed with the simple words from our Pastor. He said, “This is a time to remember His sufferings and to embrace His glory.” Simple, like I said. So simple it didn’t seem right or at least not enough, which caused me to go home and dig. I read for hours, skimming every book I had in my home library that touched on the subject. And what I was left with at the end of the night was two-and- half pages of notes that all said roughly the same thing, the same things I already knew, the same things I have read and heard about my entire life.
So the next Sunday, feeling a deep pounding in my chest that I have learned to take notice of, I heard God saying, “it’s time Beloved”. I didn’t make excuses. I didn’t hide behind my questions. I didn’t try to justify anything. I just went. Head hung low and tears spilling down my cheeks, I slowly walked to the front of the church to partake in the bread and juice. I walked back to my seat, sacraments in hand where I couldn’t help but to sob deeply. I buried my head in my lap and let God lead me through this.
My thoughts made their way back to the night of the supper, when Jesus spoke those words. Oh, how he must have trembled as he spoke, perhaps biting his lip from time to time to keep from sobbing as he tore the bread and poured the wine. How could he not, as He told the twelve about becoming our sacrificial lamb and making a new covenant with His people. The twelve hung on his every word, trying to comprehend what He was telling them, but it was out of their grasp, out of their understanding. Yet, they ate the bread and drank the wine, because they believed Him to be the Son of God and He told them to do this as a way to remember what He would do for them. I find great comfort in knowing the disciples didn’t quite get it but obeyed anyway because they longed to worship Him. The next day, they would understand that the wine represented the cup of redemption; which Jesus became, pouring out his blood, his life for the redemption, the rescue of man. We have been redeemed and forgiven. We have been bought with a price! A price that cost Him his life!
Sitting there sacraments in hand, seeing so clearly the picture Christ left for us of that night, being fully aware of my sinfulness, my unworthiness and knowing to the depth of my soul that He did it all for me, I inhaled the sweetest way I now know to worship and honor Him. I remember Him, what He did for me, embracing the gift of grace and forgiveness He has bestowed on me. I am amazed by His glory.
(I don’t know if I really had the understanding at 8 years old and my mother was right in making me stop, question and understand before partaking in the Lord’s Supper. I’m sure she didn’t think it would take me 28 years to figure it out. Nonetheless, she was right! Thank you mom for challenging me, which brought me closer to the Lord)
Eph. 1:7-8 “In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins, in accordance with the riches of God’s grace that He lavished on us with all wisdom and understanding.”
In looking for the lyrics to an old hymn I sung as a child, I stumbled across the lyrics below. They suit better than the ones I was looking for and mirror my heart completely.
I Stand Amazed
Written by- Marc Byrd
I bring You my heart
I bring You my praise
I bring You my broken dreams
I've lost along the way
I lift up my voice
I lift up my hands
I lift up the moments in my life
That I don't understand
And I lay it at the cross
Where I'm surrounded by
Your grace
And I marvel at the wonder of Your love
I stand amazed
I stand in awe
I stand forgiven in the midst of it all
Before You I bow
Before You I fall
Blessed Redeemer,
Sweet Savior of all
I stand amazed
I offer You thanks
I offer my life
I offer a sacrifice of praise
When I'm scattered by the night
For You are my shelter
You are my King
You are the risen Son of God
The Lord of everything
Now I'm standing at the cross
Where I'm surrounded by Your grace
And I marvel at the wonder of Your love
There is life in His body
There is grace in His blood
There is peace for the sinner
Given by God's grace
1 comment:
Buttercup - I actually read this two days ago, but held off on commenting on it because it is so powerful and moving. I needed to let it settle.
In reality, I don't think we will ever fully grasp communion this side of Heaven. For all we can come to understand of His sacrifice and torment, it is still not ever going to be the reality of a perfect God suffering the weight of all sin - or as someone said, and I paraphrase, The cross represents the Creator being crucified by His created.
Even to write these words is not to fully grasp it. That is actually one of the things that I appreciate about having grown up in the Lutheran church: it was the sense of formality, of sacredness, of sacrifice, of a set apart. I was fortunate: our pastor chanted the liturgy, which made it all the more powerful to me, because I connect through music. Yes, I know it's liturgy (a foul word in many non-denominational churches), but there was a real sense of "This is significant, this matters."
Not that it sounds like you lacked that this time.
The other mind blowing thought, which you reference by not referencing it, is that His sacrifice was individual. It was for you. It was for me. I think sometimes in the rush to fit communion in as part of the service, we don't near the time to contemplate that - nor are we actively encouraged to do so.
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