Communion Sundays: Feast or Famine?
a sermon given by Steve Johnson
on Sunday, May 6, 2007
At The First Parish in Lincoln
Click here to listen to this sermon
All are worthy. All are welcome.” — First Parish Communion Service
READINGS:
Because today’s sermon is about the meanings of communion, our first reading this morning is from the “Invitation” to the First Parish in Lincoln’s own communion service, authored, we’re fairly certain, by Roger. It’s an affirmation of the inclusiveness of our ritual and its central themes.
All over the world, and in many different faiths, the sharing of bread and wine symbolize hospitality, friendship, and remembrance. And although we pass these symbols to each other on silver trays, bread and wine were chosen in the first place because they were inexpensive and available at every market in Palestine. This is an egalitarian sacrament, with deep roots in both the Jewish and Christian traditions, and there is room here for all of us – and for all of who we are.
[At the Last Supper, Jesus] … asked the men and women with him that evening to remember the kind of world they had all dreamed about. A world in which we realize that we are all related, all sons and daughters of God. A world in which peace comes first because all life is sacred.
That dream is in our hands now, and these symbols are a way to remember it. You are welcome to take part, or not, as you wish, and this invitation includes any and all of the children who are here with us.
The second reading today is taken from the fourteenth chapter of the Gospel of Mark. As we all know, having just celebrated Easter, a lot happens in this chapter. In the 60’s my stepfather edited a book titled “Show Me the Good Parts,” a roadmap to some of the racier bits in world literature. If there were a guide to the “good parts” in the New Testament -- “good” as in “significant” -- Mark 14 would surely make the cut. By verse 22 Jesus has come to Jerusalem, reminded us that the poor shall always be with us, predicted that he would be betrayed, has in fact been betrayed, and Jesus and the 12 are now sitting down to what Jesus knows will be his last supper, knowing what awaits him on the morrow. Mark writes:
And as they did eat, Jesus took bread, and blessed, and brake it, and gave it to them, and said, Take, eat: this is my body. And he took the cup, and when he had given thanks, he gave it to them: and they all drank of it. And he said unto them, this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many.
The First Parish in Lincoln’s communion service tells us that the sharing of bread and wine symbolize hospitality, friendship, and remembrance. Mark, in his Gospel, tells us that the elements are Jesus’ body and blood, which will be shed for many. So which is it? Or is it neither or both these things?
In the communion tradition I have a confession to make. When Roger asked me if I would give a sermon this spring I voluntarily chose a communion Sunday. For a Humanist this amounted to a self-inflicted hair shirt, the rock of Sisyphus, and a trigonometry exam all rolled into one. Why would I take on such a task? Had I lost a substantial wager with Dwight? Was it a Mephistophelean bargain gone terribly wrong?
No, I bellied-up to the communion table because for at least my first five years at the First Parish, I – like so many others then and now – was always “washing my hair” or otherwise “unavoidably engaged” on communion Sundays. What did Mark’s tale of the Lord’s Supper mean to a non-Christian in the pews?
Today, May 6th, was to be a communion Sunday but the church calendar was switched around and we did it in April. This was actually fortuitous because those of you in the pews who get sweaty at the very thought of the bread and the wine no doubt wouldn’t be here today if it were a communion Sunday. The Lord works in mysterious ways.
Are we as a congregation conflicted about communion? A couple of years ago the deacons conducted a survey of those in the pews. Many of you remember, I’m sure. On a random Sunday we barred the doors and handed out the pencils and you pronounced your ambivalence about communion quite clearly. A lot of us said we loved the ritual, a lot of us didn’t, and a lot just weren’t sure. Among the things we said were: “I wish it were every Sunday” “Skip it” “A lot of fuss and muss but don’t know what to suggest for change” and “It sure takes a long time.” In my summary for the deacons and the Parish I wrote: “Loved by some, disliked by others, ‘just fine’ with most, communion is that practice about which we agree to disagree.”
No one was really surprised. We come from a multitude of religious traditions and our beliefs reflect it. In that same survey a third of us said we were raised Episcopal or Catholic. Another third were raised Congregational, Presbyterian, Methodist or Lutheran. And the rest of us were like Mowgli raised by wolves, that is to say all over the religious map.
That day just more than a third of us characterized ourselves today as Christians. Only 10% described ourselves as UUs, another eight percent as Humanists. Others declared for Agnostics, Buddhists, Pantheists, Sufis, and many hybrids. Many are “Still Searching.” I’m one of the hybrids, more or less a Humanist but with respect for Pantheist principles – hence the choice of this morning’s responsive reading, from the Tewa Indians – and a deep regard for Christian belief, although I am not a Christian.
So back to the question – what is the message we take away when we share the bread and the grape four Sundays a year? Well, as the Neighboring Faiths Class knows – and by the way, we are so glad you are here with us today! – religious rituals have the significance we give to them. Well, duh! What does communion mean for us at the First Parish?
Some of the answer to that question can be found in the many histories of communion, with which whole libraries are filled. I’ve attempted to create the two-minute Cliff Notes version for this morning. And although religious studies was my concentration in college, if you really want the facts you should ask Claire, whose Masters thesis at “the university on the Charles that must not be named” on the subject of UU communion, includes a terrific treatment of the subject.
Matthew and Mark, whom we believe to be the earliest Gospels, paint a cryptic picture of that last supper. The Second Reading says that Jesus tells his disciples only that the bread is his body and the wine is his blood “which is shed for many.” Only some years later does Luke add to the story the element of remembrance, that the rite is to be performed in “remembrance of me.”
John, whose Gospel came much later and is historically suspect, overlays the tale with mysticism and strange talk. Elaine Pagels in her wonderful book “Beyond Belief” (which has been the subject of classes at the First Parish) tells us that:
“Although John omits the story of the last supper itself, he does say that Jesus told his followers to eat his flesh and drink his blood – a suggestion that, he says, offended ‘the Jews,’ including many of Jesus’ own disciples. [Quoting John 6:35 …]
“Jesus said, ‘I am the living bread which comes down from heaven …whoever eats of this bread will live forever; and the bread which I shall give for the life of the world is my flesh.’ The Jews then disputed among themselves, saying, ‘How can this man give us his flesh to eat?’
Where did John get these notions?
Ambiguity is everywhere. There is no evidence that the event Mark describes was a Passover meal – the elements of the Seder aren’t mentioned. It could have been just a simple Sabbath supper. What we do know is that the simple ritual of sharing bread and wine was continued by the disciples after Jesus’ death.
Communion continued in what became the Roman Catholic Church but did not become uniform until the Reformation. Carl Seaburg, a UU minister, tells us in “The Communion Book” that by the mid-1500’s: “… the [communion] ceremony became a performance to watch; the theme of the communion was changed from Thanksgiving to one of sacrifice … and the wine was no longer given to the communicants but only drunk by the priests.” It was only then that the doctrine of transubstantiation really came into being – essentially a bloodless reenactment of the crucifixion, an act of sacrifice in which the bread and wine are turned miraculously into the substance of Christ himself. For Protestants there was no agreement about the precise meaning, but many denominations retained the rite.
Fast forward to the New World, where communion came to New England on the Arbella with Governor John Winthrop and the Pilgrims in 1630. Following in the traditions of John Calvin the Pilgrims viewed communion as a spiritual banquet for the soul. But it was not without risk. For at least 100 years many or most ordinary parishioners avoided it. To take communion and be found by God to be unworthy was potentially a one-way ticket to hell that many were unwilling to purchase. Into the late 1700's even few who were baptized and eligible were willing to partake.
Fortunately, in 1773 the Universalists weighed-in and the sky over the communion table brightened. In 1782, Judith Sargeant Murray, the wife of a pioneering Universalist minister, penned a Catechism in which she maintained that communion should be open to all – none should be excluded. She wrote that the communion meal symbolizes the many being gathered into one. Many grains, she wrote, are gathered together into one loaf just as the scattered individuals of humanity are gathered together into one God. Many grapes are pressed together into one drink, just as the spirits of the human race become one with God. She was clearly a woman ahead of her time; sadly, perhaps even ahead of our time.
Out Lincoln-way the Unitarians were – you guessed it – marching to a different drum. In 1832, Ralph Waldo Emerson preached a famous sermon in which he explained why he would not continue to administer the rite, arguing that the Gospels did not support a perpetual remembrance of Jesus in this way. His congregation felt otherwise and Emerson quit. But communion continued in varying forms in both the Unitarian and Universalist churches into the present.
It was not until the 1970’s that the newly merged UU’s renewed their interest in communion, and not until the 80’s that there appeared a UU booklet with multiple communion services and sermons. And we’ve been experimenting with it ever since.
For many UU’s, communion tends to represent three central ideas: thanksgiving, remembrance and commitment. And it can involve many different elements, most famously the UU “Flower Communion,” of which there are no less than five versions in Reverend Seaburg’s “Communion Book.” Here at the First Parish our “re-gathering Sundays” in September are communion services in which we bring and share with one another water, soil or rock from our summer odysseys, geographical and spiritual.
But even more common in communion services in all the faiths is eating and drinking – the universal human experience and an important form of worship. By way of example, the UU “Communion Book” includes an apple communion, a bread and honey communion, a rice cake communion, and even a maple syrup communion. Perhaps we should expand our communion menu? Where’s Jasper when we need him?
But back to the question: What is the meaning of communion for those of here at the First Parish?
For Christians among us it may be Calvin's meaning: "…a spiritual banquet, with Christ himself attesting to be the life-giving bread, upon which our souls feed unto true and blessed immortality." For others it surely symbolizes something more catholic (small “c”), perhaps those themes of thanksgiving, remembrance and commitment. It may be the plea for forgiveness that we hear in “Let Us Break Bread Together” – “Lord have mercy on me.”
For those here today who have never set foot in the sanctuary on a communion Sunday here’s a small snapshot of what happens, which may help demystify the unknown.
After the “Invitation,” bits of which you heard in the First Reading, there is a lovely responsive reading, which begins with a variation on Judith Sargeant Murray. It reads:
Minister: We share bread because bread is a staple of life, and because as many grains of wheat are formed into one loaf, so many people have come together here as one congregation.
People: As we pass this bread, may it remind us that there are people who are hungry and who need our help.
Minister: We drink wine to remember the deep mystery of the story we share as a people of faith.
People: As we pass this wine, may we remember all those who thirst.
Minister: On this day we come to celebrate the living Spirit of God in the world, which surprises us, questions us, forgives us, and now invites us to this table.
People: We come to make peace.
Minister: The friendship we share this day is sacred.
People: The stillness we share this day is sacred.
Minister: I know that I am worthy. I know that I am welcome.
All: All are worthy. And all are welcome.
The bread is then distributed to any who wish to participate. There’s absolutely no obligation, and many do not. (No one takes notes.) It’s typically a big round loaf, for which we often have Don Bienfang or Barbara O’Neil to thank. We seldom finish it – although we came worrisomely close last month – and we often find the deacons and ushers finishing it off in the kitchen after the service.
We then pass the wine (or in our case, only the finest grape juice) and once all have their cups, the minister says: “Let us drink this in remembrance and in thanksgiving, and in celebration of the faith, in all its forms, that is so alive here in us, and among us.” Those who are participating then drink, and the cups are placed in the cup racks in the back of the pews – bet some of you wondered what those little holes were for – with a magical staccato click, click, click.
And then there is this very special closing prayer of remembrance:
“May we join our hearts in this sacred covenant: to remember all who have lived and died and shared this world with us, to forgive, freely and completely, all who have wronged us; and for those whom we have wronged, may we seek their forgiveness and make amends. May we remember and honor those of every faith who have sought truth, and pray for the grace and strength to work until bodies are broken no more, until the practice of peace in this church, in this town, and in this world have joined all the families of the earth. May we all join in saying – Amen.”
Claire writes in her thesis: “What [we] need is a Holy Communion, where the sanctuary can be filled with the silent, heartfelt knowledge that all feel lonely, all feel sorrow, all feel joy.” I think this church does that.
As you’ve probably gathered by now, I’ve come to terms with communion at the First Parish. It speaks to my beliefs on many levels – remembrance, forgiveness, thanksgiving, and peace. And if I have to wade through a bit of John’s mystical blood and flesh to get there, that’s my cross to bear, a small price indeed.
Some years back on a communion Sunday, Roger reminded us that it was George Burns who said: “The secret of a good sermon is to have a good beginning and a good ending and to have the two as close together as possible.” While I’ve certainly violated the last of these precepts, in the spirit of communion at the First Parish I know you’ll forgive me.
May compassion be our compass, joy our strength, and peace our passion, now and always.
Amen