Communion

The ornate pillars curl pebble by pebble into a golden archway. Before today, my grandfather's funeral, I have never been in a Catholic church. I'm twelve. The structure is gothic--open, full of light. The sun floods through the stained glass, bathing the pews in red and blue stretches of warmth. I could ball my body up in them like a cat, soaking in the rays.

The priest speaks and allows our row to stand, and we step up to receive communion. I reach for bread in the father's hand, and he moves it away from me. I feel like a dog licking peanut butter off its nose. I snatch at it again. He pulls back and shoves the bread into my mouth, deft as a pterodactyl swooping in to feed its squalling, just-hatched baby.

We must be able to joke about communion, because we must be able to speak about its truth. Christians often treat communion very seriously because it is serious. However, it is more than that. The truth of communion is weighty.

The living and death and body of Christ are heavy, as five smooth stones slung over our shoulders, weapons for battle. They are the stones we rest our heads on as Jacob at Bethel. They are the stone Jesus would not turn into bread, because he needed God more. They are the stones thrust at us for our sins. They are the stones we throw.

The truth of communion is this: every time we eat together, we are to remember who Christ is and the way Christ moves in our lives--in our needs, in other people, and in our joy. The remembrance of Christ must be as common as bread, and as necessary.

"Give us today our daily bread." We know this line. It says "I need; please supply. I trust; give enough."

This past summer, I learned to bake my own bread. No one realizes how beautiful and funny bread is until they get their hands into it. I chuckled or hummed as I made it, smoothing out the dough and preparing it to rise. I wound up with flour on my clothes and sticky hands, and I was pleased with my work. I was proud and thankful every time I ate it, like something had bloomed from the palms of my hands.

I approach communion like I do homemade bread, with a little more repentance. I take the bread and cup with humility and a spirit of learning. I take with a spirit of come, Lord Jesus, come.

Christ, turn our hearts of stone into bread so we can be useful. Let us take your life and body for their truth and significance, remembering you for your beauty as well as your sacrifice.