munching - the joys of communion

I was telling my Spiritual Director about my love for Communion one day. She responded in a very affirming way. “It is a special grace,” she said, “that you receive so much meaning from communion. Embrace that.”

Nouwen has such deep love for the Eucharist, even from childhood. I love that. The way he talks about it paints an Icon in my mind, like the Rublev Trinity. I am invited to the table where God is engaged in mutual adoration. I am invited into the circle. The inverse perspective folds me into the image; I am there, in the with-God life. It is plain to see why Nouwen would want to share the experience across denominational bounds.

When I was at the first residence for class, I loved taking communion every day. Rob Rife was like a picture of my own desire to devour the elements in their full meaning. I would watch him literally munch, with his great jaw working, the body of Christ. I always want seconds.

Like Nouwen, my love for communion with God and with God’s family is strong. I too want to commune with other traditions. Some of my most meaningful times have been celebrated with Episcopalians. I appreciate the hospitality they show in open communion inviting even a Pentecostal like me into the heights of liturgy.

The body and the blood

Tonight again we celebrated communion. On this retreat it will be a daily experience. How I long to make it more often at home. With the taste of the body and the blood lingering in my mouth, I wondered the grounds at Mater Dolorosa. I stood at a crucifix at the end of the hall. Jesus was at my level and almost my size. He looked to heaven, his "why" frozen on his lips. I could have embraced him had he not been cross bound.

I then made my way around the way of the cross, a pathway marking Jesus' walk to Golgotha. The stations of the cross were vignettes of statues. When Jesus fell, and lay under the soldiers blows or lay across the cross beam the half driven nail in his wrist, the soldiers hammer raised, I sorrowed for him. The taste of his bread and wine returned to my senses. I caressed his suffering face. I remembered him. I took him in. He became a member of me again, or rather I was re-membered as a part of his body.

Communion and rosary

Today and tomorrow, Elaine and I are in Lansing for District Council. We got up at five a.m. to get here (I just got up from a nice nap). We got a little lost coming into Lansing, with us both being tired and cranky that wasn't fun.

We joined the morning service in time for communion but not in time to be served the elements. As Brother Leach spoke about the significance of the body and the blood, I felt I was missing it. I reached into my pocket and pulled out my plastic rosary. Elaine gave me a look; she doesn't want the other pastors thinking I'm a catholic or something. I held the crucifix, clutched in-between my thumb and fist. There was something very moving about physically holding the suffering Christ. I guess that is some of the power of communion isn't it? I wept to feel him, not just the icon of him, but Christ himself suffering for me.