Bread of Blessing, Grapes of Grace
The solemn-faced usher held the gleaming brass communion plate with both hands as he slowly, deliberately made his way up the center aisle of the church sanctuary. At that time my family attended a “Bible believing” church that had roots in both the Presbyterian and Methodist traditions. Although I was only ten at the time, already the Lord’s Supper had become a familiar part of my Christian life.
On the first Sunday of every month, the elders in their dark suits would rise from their seats after the younger children had been excused for “children’s church.” Gathering at the altar rail, they received communion together, then rose to distribute the small cubes of Wonder Bread and vials of grape juice to the rest of us. Each time the pastor explained that this was to signify the body and blood of the Lord, broken for us.
I can still recall holding my breath as old Mr. Fee, communion plate in hand, stopped beside my family’s pew. Praying that I wouldn’t drop it, I slowly lifted a tiny plastic cup from its little brass nest. So far, so good. Then, holding the grape juice with one hand, I grasped the edge of the plate with the other and oh-so-carefully passed it to my eight-year-old sister, who had just started taking communion with the rest of us. In big-sister fashion I watched to make sure she didn’t drop the plate as she passed it to Mom, or drink her juice before it was time.
Finally the last row was served. “This is the blood of the new and everlasting covenant. Drink ye all of it,” Pastor intoned. The entire congregation lifted their little cups, gulped, and placed the empties in the small wooden holders next to each hymnbook rack. A holy hush filled the room. Even my three-year-old sister, who never wanted to go to children’s church, stopped squirming and sat still and wide-eyed. Clearly, something important had just happened.
The blood of Christ is a central element of the Christian tradition. Its life-giving, sin-cleansing power is a holy mystery that each church expresses a little differently. Lutherans believe that in the moment they receive communion, they receive the body and blood of Christ. On the other hand, Presbyterians and other denominations believe that the elements only “symbolize” the body and blood of Christ. There are also variations in form: in some churches, any baptized believer is welcome to participate; in others, only those who belong to that tradition may partake. Some churches use grape juice, others wine; some use tiny pieces of bread, others use leaven-free wafers or “hosts.” In some churches, communion is a regular part of the worship service; others serve it less frequently. However, in every church it is a vital part of a believer’s life, a time to meditate upon the life and death of Christ, who asked us to eat and drink “in remembrance of Me.”
I experienced this diversity firsthand fairly early in my spiritual journey. By age twelve I had learned to play the organ well enough to be hired as the church organist for a little Lutheran church nestled in the hills near my home in Hamburg, New Jersey. This church introduced me to the beauty of liturgy and the grand majesty of Martin Luther’s hymns, which celebrated the blood as our source of life, received by faith.
O Lord, we praise Thee, bless Thee, and adore Thee,-- “Oh Lord, We Praise Thee” by Martin Luther
In thanksgiving bow before Thee.
Thou with Thy body and Thy blood didst nourish
Our weak souls that they may flourish:
O Lord, have mercy!
May Thy body, Lord, born of Mary,
That our sins and sorrows did carry,
And Thy blood for us plead
In all trial, fear, and need:
O Lord, have mercy!
A few years later, I befriended the daughter of the pastor of the local Assemblies of God church in my hometown, and began to attend their Sunday evening services. At first I was a bit taken aback by the exuberance of their worship, but I could sense the Holy Spirit at work among the people in that church. Soon I was raising my hands and clapping along to the music with the rest of them. It was here I learned about the protective power of the blood of Jesus, which covers and shields us from the arrows of the enemy and enables us to draw into the innermost chamber of the Holy of Holies, the very throne of God.
Would you be free from your burden of sin?-- “Power in the Blood,” by Lewis E. Jones
There’s power in the blood! Power in the blood!
Would you o’er evil a victory win?
There’s wonderful power in the blood!
There is power! Power! Wonder-working power
In the blood of the Lamb
There is power! Power! Wonder-working power
In the precious blood of the Lamb.
Some time later, I moved to Senegal, West Africa. That year I attended the only English-speaking church in the area, which happened to be Baptist. Once again their music led me to consider the deeper mysteries of the God who loved us enough to die for us. Week after week, the service ended with an “altar call,” for those who needed to come forward and get right with God. Each week we sang verse after verse of “Just As I Am.” The simple words of the song, sung prayerfully and at times even tearfully, caused us to remember the awful price Jesus paid to restore us into fellowship with the Father:
Just as I am without one plea,-- “Just As I Am” by Charlotte Elliott
But that Thy blood was shed for me!
And that Thou bidst me come to Thee,
Oh Lamb of God, I come, I come.
It wasn’t until I became Catholic, however, that I experienced the life-giving graces of the Eucharist, the consecrated hosts in which Catholics believe Jesus is truly present “body and blood, soul and divinity.” To Catholics, communion is far more than a symbol or memorial service. It is a sacrament, a visible sign of an invisible reality and a source of grace in the life of a believer.
During the months I attended preparation classes prior to joining the Catholic Church, I was told that I should not receive the Eucharist until I had been confirmed as a Catholic Christian. Those months of “spiritual fasting” were precious; during that time I experienced what it means to hunger for the Lord. When at last I approached the altar at that Easter Vigil, I had a newfound appreciation for the abundant graces that the Lord extends to me even — and perhaps especially — when I am most unworthy of them.
Lord, I am not worthy to receive you,
But only say the word and I shall be healed.
For the first time in nearly a year I approached the altar, received the host and reached for the chalice. “The blood of Christ,” the Eucharistic minister reminded me.
“Amen,” I replied. As I brought the cup to my lips, the tingle of the wine tickled my throat and warmed me through as I carefully handed it back and returned to my seat. Crossing myself, I knelt and thanked God for leading me to this place. As if in response, a familiar verse came to me with startling clarity: “I am the bread of life; he who comes to me shall not hunger, and he who believes in me shall never thirst” (John 6:35). As a child I had understood that receiving communion was a solemn and holy moment; as an adult I came to understand why: In receiving this bread of blessing, I had received the Lord himself.
Copyright 2001 Heidi Hess Saxton -- All Rights Reserved.
Heidi Hess Saxton is the co-author (with Kim Boyce) of Touched by Kindness. For an opportunity to purchase the book, go to www.Christianbook.com. For more information about her, go to her Website: www.christianword.com.
Originally published December 07, 2001.
