I grew up with the Lord’s Supper as a staple in worship. I have no memory of the Church assembling on Sunday mornings without passing the trays. I can remember asking my mother why I could not eat the crackers and drink the juice. She explained that the bread and wine were for Christians to remember Jesus, and I wasn’t a Christian. I also remember asking why we ate the crackers first, and she enlightened me with her rich theological response, “We always take a drink after we eat something.”
I remember one time in Tillamook, Oregon how the person serving the Supper accidently passed out the juice first. Before passing the bread, the guy who prayed ask God for forgiveness for doing the Supper wrong.
When I was a teenager, my dad led the Sunday night Communion service. The members who missed Sunday morning were invited to come forward and sit on the front pew. Dad said one single prayer for both the bread and the cup before serving them. I don’t remember anyone ever questioning the procedure.
When I got my driver’s license, I was asked to take Communion to an elderly lady. While I cannot remember her name, I remember going to visit her. With the portable Communion box, I prepared to give her the bread and cracker. The moment of offering the Supper was the first time I felt uneasy about what I was doing, but I didn’t have an understanding for the Supper to properly ground my belief. I had already taken the Lord’s Supper at the worship hour, so I didn’t have to take it with her, right?
When I went to college, I spent my breaks at my brother’s house in Nashville. At the time he was highly involved in two ministries that occupied much of Sunday. Since he was my ride, I’d go with him to worship, then to a local nursing home for worship, then to the local jail for another worship. We celebrated the Supper at the assembly. When we went to the nursing home, we broke bread with the residences, even helping them break the bread and drink from the cups. When we went to the jail and worshiped with the inmates, we broke bread with them as well. It started to hit me. What if I refuse to break bread with my brothers who were in prison? What if I told them, “No thank you, I already ate”? Would my actions have created distance and possibly even shamed them and left them thinking I was better than they? If we’re invited to eat at someone’s home, do we refuse?
So over time my experience has led me to some conclusions about the Supper. First, if Jesus is hosting the meal (it’s the Lord’s Supper), then I’m sitting with him at his table. It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve eaten that day, I’ll eat once more if I can eat with Jesus. Secondly, if anyone wants to join us, I’ll not be the one to stop them. I’m not the host, Jesus is. If they’re taking it in a wrong way, so have I and Jesus never stopped me. I’ve spent most of my adult life with a legalistic and judgmental approach to the Supper and Jesus was patient with me. I can extend that same grace to others. Thirdly, our tradition and practice enforces an individualistic view of the Supper never intended by Jesus nor the Apostles. While the meal is a community event, we’ve convinced ourselves that the meal is between an individual and God (a common misunderstanding of 1 Cor. 11:28).
I’m glad that the Lord’s Supper is a staple in worship. I anticipate our times together with Jesus at the Table because it’s more than a meal.
Soli Deo Gloria!
(i.e. only God is glorified!)