Hasty Ritual

by Jeremy Weber

Oh, how hastily we partake of the blood sacrifice of our Savior, how hurriedly we consume the reminder of the incarnation of our God, and of his substitutionary spilt blood. How easy it is to swallow His death: our rightful recompense. What is the hurry? A moment’s reflection is quickly followed by a hasty ritual. With little time to remember, to reflect on meaning, has the meaning faded into a symbol, the action become a symbol of a symbol? Has communing with God been replaced by a purely physical act? Is the sacrament of communion devoid of communion?

I do not intend to point fingers. These thoughts occurred to me while I served communion tonight. This was my first time to assist in the distribution of the elements in a church gathering. Oddly enough, the last time I contributed anything to this blog was related to communion as well (see Surprised by Beauty a while back in the archives). Tonight we heard from a man who has known much suffering as a result of giving his life to Jesus. He was an outcast in his own village and his family, lived off the streets and has seen religious genocide first-hand. Hearing his story, of how his family believed that their ancestors demanded blood sacrifices in order for them to intercede for his family to God, and how, being introduced to Jesus, he easily understood the spilt blood of Jesus as the end of all other blood sacrifices, seemed like a tale of an ancient world, like the stories I’ve read in the Old Testament. And yet, there he stood, in the present, telling us an ancient tale that has taken place within our lifetime. By first grade, he was trained to perform the rituals involving the killing of animals to his ancestors. How real for him was this story of God becoming man, shedding His blood to put an end to empty rituals. How real he made it appear to me as he shared about his life, ripped apart because of his faith in God and somehow transformed into a beautiful new life of meaning, hope, obedience and purpose.

After the speaker had finished sharing his story with us, our pastor led us into a time of silent reflection, broken only by a meaningful responsive liturgy, reminding us of our brokenness. He moved easily into an explanation of the elements of communion, breaking the bread as a reminder of Christ’s brokenness, thereby creating a link between ours and His, suggesting the mystery of how His brokenness mends our lives. He then invited us all to continue in our act of communion with God by taking into ourselves the symbols of Christ’s sacrifice. With a hint of trepidation I took my position, holding the cup, trying to recall the words to say. The first person came up, and after hearing the first set of words, I effortlessly say: “this is the blood of Christ, shed for you.” What an honor, sinner though I am, to hold the symbol of my salvation in my hands, and to share it too. And how appropriate. What grace we are given.

This is when I noticed how quickly people were passing by, how precious few stopped for the teensiest moment before the elements and waited for the words to be uttered, words of significance, reminders of meaning. I cannot judge what was going on in anyone’s heart, but I can share what I observed. To me, there appeared to be a big difference between the meditative moments of communion that preceded and the physical expression of communion.

“This is the body of Christ, broken for you.”

“This is the blood of Christ, shed for you.”

Take time to acknowledge the meaning behind the elements, be attentive to the words spoken to you, the One who gave us everything deserves another second of reflection. Thanks be to God.