The Christ in Me and
the Christ in You
Acts 2:42-47 and
4:32-35
Some of my favorite moments in church have centered around the sacrament of Holy Communion. There was the time in Texas we got to the point in the service when I was to unveil the elements, I took the covering off the bread to see, not the flat piece of shortbread customary at this church, but a large, circular puff. I made the mistake of thinking to myself, “This is going to be trouble.” As I said the words of institution over the bread, “On the night that Jesus was betrayed he took bread, broke it…,” the puff shattered in my hands and crumbled between my fingers. I continued the words of institution, “…took bread, broke it, and it really broke!” Well, everyone chuckled…and I got the giggles. It was like being in elementary school and your friend does something funny that only you can see; I could not stop laughing to save my life.
Well, in this church was a matriarch whose sense of humor had been surgically removed by doctors. As I tried to compose myself I looked out and saw her sitting on the right; she was shooting ice darts at me with her eyes. I quickly looked away. I decided to look to the choir, for all choir members are church lifers who have seen it all, surely they could provide some moral support. Alas, it was the children’s choir, who were in hysterics at the sight of their pastor having the giggles. No help there. I looked to the left searching for an adult to give me strength. My eyes affixed upon the sister of the woman who had baked the bread, who was laughing so hard she was crying because she knew it was her sister whose bread had crumbled and wasn’t she going to have fun razzing her little sis’ about it. I decided to look down at the table. After three minutes and forty-two seconds (the length of silence on the audio tape of the service), I was able to slow my breathing, get it together, and finish the sacred ritual where the joy of the Lord had certainly descended upon everyone (well, everyone except the matriarch).
At this same church in Texas I participated in an outdoor communion at Mo-Ranch retreat center. The worship committee person assigned to bring the elements forgot the bread and juice. I told her not to worry, that we would get some elements from the dining hall the next morning at breakfast. Well, the only juice they had was orange and cran-grape; we went with the latter. And the only bread like substance they had was a big as Texas sized cinnamon roll layered thick with cream cheese icing. It was the congregation who was giggling that time as I broke the bread and uttered the words of institution, concluding with the invitation, “Friends, come taste the sweetness of our Lord’s love.”
At another church in Texas I participated in a men’s retreat that was visited by the Holy Spirit of God in a powerful way during an evening communion service. Our leader, a retired Marine top sergeant, was tough as nails on the outside and soft as butter within. When he broke down giving his testimony at the communion service, something within each of us men broke loose and the Holy Spirit poured out. I remember being astonished at the sight of 80 Presbyterian and Methodist men, some of whom had lost all decorum and were standing on top of the pews, singing “I Looked Up” until their voices were hoarse.
One of my family members was serving as an acolyte at his Episcopal church’s new sanctuary dedication. The bishop, of course, was presiding over the sacrament because this was a big deal in the life of this church family. Ordinarily, communion ware at this church was crystal, and every acolyte knew which bottle held the water for washing the priest’s hands and which bottle held wine for drinking. Ordinarily, the acolyte’s job was easy. Ordinarily, when the priest held out his or her hands before touching the elements, the acolyte would pour water over the priest’s hands. This was no ordinary service. Because the bishop was present, the church decided to use the fancy communion ware, the stuff reserved for special occasions, the silver ware. Also known as the bottles acolytes can’t see through. When the bishop held out his hands, my relative looked at the two silver bottles before him and…guessed…and…poured wine over the bishop’s hands in front of God, the congregation and his shrinking into the pew parents. Not to worry, though, the bishop merely leaned over a whispered, “That’s wine. Try the water.”
I like the way these stories convey the spirit of our communion. Literally, communion means “with or in – union.” When we observe communion, we are in union “with Christ, with one another and with all people whom God calls to himself.” The early disciples depicted in Acts were a “communion community,” not just in terms of being together but in terms of being together in Christ. That is, the early disciples shared all things together because they shared the one thing that really mattered: Jesus. They were, quite literally, a communion of saints.
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When the Apostle’s Creed says that we believe in “the communion of saints.” Many people hear this phrase and immediately think of the sacrament. This is both good and bad. Bad because to believe in the communion of saints means far more than acceptance and practice of the sacraments. Good because the sacrament is the primary, corporate expression of this belief. So what does it mean to say that we believe in “the communion of saints,” and how does the communion of saints refer to communion?
Let’s begin answering the above questions by addressing the sacramental question: what is really happening in Holy Communion? Christians have agreed since the beginning of the church that Holy Communion was instituted by the Lord Jesus during his last supper the night he was betrayed (Luke 22:7-23). Christians have agreed that observing this sacrament, the command of the Lord Jesus, is central to the practice of the Christian faith. But Christians have disagreed, often violently, about what is actually happening during the sacrament.
The Roman Catholic doctrine is “transubstantiation,” or transformed substance, in which the elements of bread and wine are transformed into the substance of the body and blood of Jesus. The Lutheran doctrine is “consubstantiation,” or with substance (using the Latin / Spanish word “con” meaning “with”), in which the elements of bread and wine remain bread and wine but along with these substances are the body and blood of Jesus. The Reformed (Calvinist) doctrine is known as “real presence” in which the elements remain bread and wine but the real, spiritual presence of Jesus is present, although in ways that Calvin never fully defined.
Do you notice anything unusual about these doctrines? I do. First, they all believe the sacrament is important. Second, they all believe the ritual of breaking bread and sharing cup is somehow formative for Christian faith, experience and practice. Third, they all believe God is doing a wonderful, if mysterious, work through the gift of the sacrament. Fourth, they all believe that Jesus is present in and through the sacrament; they disagree on precisely how Jesus is present but that he is present is unanimous. Now my question to you, gentle reader, is this: should Christians fuss and fight over the 5% on which we disagree or celebrate the 95% on which we share a common faith? The doctrine of the communion of saints would say that our unity is far more important than our diversity, that the Spirit of God that is between us bonds us together far more powerfully than any theological argument can divide us. As my friend Dallas Scales says, “At some point, diversity must say ‘Amen’ to unity.”
The German pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer, in his book The Cost of Discipleship, says that we never really relate with one another directly. Rather, all Christian relationships are mediated relationships with Christ as the mediator. I never directly love my wife; always when I love it is to Christ that my love is given and through him shared with her. Therefore, the weak, fallible love that I can offer is redeemed and renewed by the grace of Jesus to become something worthy of sharing with my beloved. This is what St. Patrick and the Celtic spirit means when it prays such things as “May the Christ in me greet the Christ in you that we may share communion one with another.” To be truly in communion with one another, by necessity, means to share the Spirit of Jesus one with another.
*****
But, of course, the Creed speaks about more than “communion”; there is a second phrase: “of saints.” For Roman Catholic Christians, talk about saints may be quite familiar and comfortable. But how can Protestants talk about saints? Do Protestants believe in saints? Yes, they do.
To say the least, the word saint conjures up a host of images, from the saints in Roman Catholic churches, to Biblical characters, to those wonderful believers who have shaped our own personal lives. From the Biblical perspective, all of us are saints; anyone who believes in Jesus Christ is a saint according to the Apostle Paul…er, I mean, St. Paul (Ephesians 1:15). So what are saints? Well, saints are you and me, struggling to be faithful, not always obedient, doing the best we can Christians. Saints are those made holy by the grace of God in Christ, made holy by the continual outpouring of Holy Spirit in our lives. We are not holy because of what we do but because of what God is doing upon us and through us. Still, let it be said that, even though we are not saints because of our own holiness, yet does God desire that we become holy, literally “set apart” from the broken values of the world and for God’s service to that world. Indeed, the Greek word for saint, hagios, literally means “holy.” And it is in communion with others where we find the strength to be saints, to be hagios. It is impossible to be a single, solitary saint. Without the guidance, prayer and encouragement of others, sainthood slips away.
The saint who most eloquently conveyed this truth to me was twelve year old Katie in our youth group in New Jersey. We were talking about parents, and I was trying to convince the kids their parents weren't such bad people. Frankly, I wasn't doing a good job; none of the kids seemed too interested in what I had to say. Their attitude seemed to be, "Yeah, whatever, you're an adult. Of course you're going to say our parents are ok." But then Katie, young, honest, without guile Katie said in her thick as Turnpike traffic New Jersey accent, "Yous guys, you know, if I didn't have my mom, who would pray for me? And if no one prayed for me, what would happen to me at school? I'd be, like, nowheres." All of a sudden, the group's attitude changed. The clouds parted, the sun shone through, a ray of light brought understanding to those young hearts and minds. The other adults and I looked around silently, somewhat amazed, thinking to ourselves, "Way to go, Katie." And she was right: without our moms praying for us, where would we be? Without each other, without the communion of saints, we're, like, nowheres!
*****
My friend works jig saw puzzles on his dining room table. One time he bought a 500 piece jig saw puzzle at a garage sale. As he began to put it together, the picture became clearer, and he was about to finish when he noticed one piece was missing. Hurriedly he looked on the floor, in the box, on the chair, until the light dawned, and he realized why the puzzle was in a garage sale: it was a 499 piece jig-saw puzzle. The picture looked great but it would never be complete. The church is not the same when those whom Christ has called and gifted are missing; the picture just isn't complete. Let us never forget that we are people called into intimate fellowship to share our love and gifts: to share joy and even giggles together, to share the sweetness of our Lord’s love together, to share the awe and power of Holy Spirit together, to gently make everything alright when a young brother or sister in Christ messes up at the big ol’, big stinkin’ deal worship service.
May the Christ in me greet the Christ in you as we share communion one with another.
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