Liturgy: “Learning How to Eat”

What is the King’s Liturgy? King’s Liturgy defines our experience together as a Christian community. It outlines the rhythms we celebrate with the Church at large: Scripture readings, Sabbath habits, and celebration of Holy Days and historical events.

This Week’s Lectionary Readings
Psalm 122 
Isaiah 2:1-5
Matthew 24:36-44
Romans 13:11-14

This week’s liturgy is contributed by Bearden Coleman, Associate Professor of English and Film:

On a Sunday morning earlier this year, I shuffled up the center aisle of my church toward the communion table. Just moments before the pastor had read aloud the scriptures you read today.

“Take, eat; this is my body broken for you.”

This part of the weekly service is always a bit of an ordeal. I know the moment calls for reflection and repentance. But as my wife and I wrangled our two kids into the line of congregants and up toward the table, introspection of the spiritual sort was out of the question. I was mainly hoping our parade up the aisle didn’t cause a scene.

All to say, I was a bit tense and grumpy as I approached the common loaf and common cup. And it was at this moment that I noticed the gentleman (a friend of mine, in fact) ahead of me in line tear off an absurdly large piece—more like a hunk!—of bread from the loaf in our pastor’s outstretched arms.

Inside, I flinched. I found it selfish and lacking in decorum. Tacky. I remember thinking, “He doesn’t care if there’s any left for those at the back of the line!”

When my turn came, I pinched off only the smallest sliver of crust from the loaf, quickly drank the wine, and headed back to my pew with my kids in tow.

Sometime later I thought, “He took that chunk of bread as if he were actually hungry.”

And then later I thought, “Maybe he hadn’t eaten breakfast that morning. It was like he was trying to satiate his physical hunger with the symbolic bread.”

And still later I thought, “He seemed awfully, even unabashedly, happy about his big hunk of bread, too!”

So here’s the part where I admit I have some hang-ups with communion. Call it baggage. Call it what you will.

Of course, my judgment of my friend stemmed from my unexamined past experience. In the Baptist church I was raised in back in Arkansas, communion (or “The Lord’s Supper,” as we called it) involved the tiniest, dime-sized wafers of bread and cups no bigger than thimbles filled with grape juice. We took the Lord’s Supper, maybe, four times a year, not weekly like in my current church.

Thinking back on taking the Lord’s Supper in my childhood church, I remember it always being a very dour occasion. There was a good amount of anxiety and gloom surrounding the whole thing. First, the pastor always told us that if we took the Lord’s Supper with an “unclean heart” that we were committing an unpardonable sin (This alone was enough to send a young boy like me scrambling to uncover some secret sin in my heart!).  I also remember that after we would pass around the trays of wafers and cups of juice, we each— as discreetly as possible— ate and drank in silence, heads bowed. Finally, there was always the old Baptist hymn, “There is a Fountain Filled with Blood,” that we sang out in the most mournful of tones before quietly (we were told to leave in silence) spilling out of the sanctuary.

I distinctly remember standing on that sidewalk—the taste of the sweet juice in my mouth and a spiritual queasiness in my chest.

Is it any wonder I judged my friend on this recent Sunday morning? I judged him because I still don’t fully grasp what it means to eat the bread of life Christ offers. No one had ever really taught me. And I was hungry.

I am hungry.

As I reread this week’s scripture, I am reminded of the naked neediness implicit in my friend’s actions at the Lord’s Table. I am also reminded of his joy in receiving nourishment.

This week, I’m going to ask God to teach me to eat.

“Take, eat; this is my body,” Jesus says.

Next Sunday at church, I’ll take the full portion of what I need at the communion table. Like my friend, I won’t care what others think because this time I won’t leave hungry.

Join me.