Pop Goes The World
One Sunday morning I was sitting in a pew with my grandm other at Tr inity United Methodist Church when I saw that the word Communion in the church bulletin.
“Oh, we’re having Communion today?” I asked.
“Yes, child,” was probably her reply.
“Oh, good,” I said. “I’m a little hungry!”
Now, Nanny must have had a good outcome from her Haley’s M-O that morning or surely she would have swatted me with a rolled up copy of The Upper Room for saying something like that. Instead, she just said in a very scolding tone, “Communion is not for hunger. We take Communion to remember Jesus’ sacrifice on the cross.” I’m sure she continued that sentence in her head with “you weird child, you.”
Well, I never again associated Communion with snacking. I think after that I swore off grape juice entirely.
In the Methodist church, we don’t have wine with our Communion – we have grape juice, and you can thank the Temperance movement for that. Given the fact that Methodists are the most caffeinated of the Protestant religions, I’m surprised fresh brewed espresso wasn’t incorporated into the ritual. No church service was complete without a coffee hour following the service.
When I was growing up, Communion was taken at the altar of the church where we kneeled on cushions around a semi-circle. The women of the church cubed sandwich bread and placed it on a goldplated platter, and the grape juice was poured into tiny glasses that looked like they were imported from Lilliput.
At some point the church tried using wafers instead of bread. As I recall correctly, the wafers were a short-lived replacement. They had the consistency of index cards and tended to stick to the roof of your mouth if you didn’t consume them quickly enough.
I’m not sure when the practice of gathering for Communion around the altar was discontinued at my church. The little glasses of grape juice were eventually shelved, possibly because the dishwasher in the kitchen that had been in operation since the Eisenhower administration finally gave out and washing those little glasses by hand was just too time consuming.
This past Sunday the church observed the sacrament of Communion, which now is more a breaking of the bread ritual with each congregant pinching a bit of bread from the loaf and dunking it in a chalice of grape juice.
I’m not sure how Communion was handled during the COVID-19 crisis. I know some churches used Communion kits that are like little sacred Lunchables with a sealed cup of grape juice and a wafer.
I have been largely absent from my home church for most of my adult life but I have always considered Trinity my church. When I heard that the church was celebrating the 100th anniversary of the construction of the church building, I knew that I had to be there. And it was such a golden day. Sitting there in the beautiful sanctuary bathed in the glow of the sunlight coming in from the stained glass window gave me such a sense of peace and I felt loved, protected and safe from all the world’s troubles. I also felt a bit ashamed for being away for so long, but each welcome back hug I received convinced me that I was not being judged. I have made a resolution to be better about attending church. When I want to reach for the snooze button on Sunday mornings, I remember the words of the Rev. McKinley Williams at the most recent Palm Sunday processional: “If Christ can rise from the dead, you can get out of bed.”
Though Communion practices have changed over the years, one fact remains – anyone is welcome to come to the table and partake of the rite at my church, even someone like me who has missed the past 1,000 Sundays or so.
