Somewhere along the line in church history we started to treat communion as a solemn, individual thing to be done in church services with soft music playing in the background to provide an atmosphere of silence and introspection. Many well-meaning churches still practice communion in this way and while there may be evidence for them to change, status quo says many will not ever give second thought to this practice. However, as I have spent some time studying church practices and the history behind them, this was one that always bothered me. When you look back at the early church, you never see them practicing communion this way. It was always reverent. It was always solemn and holy. But it was also always surrounded by a meal and the church and community and praising. It was not this individual thing done in five minutes at the end of a church service. It was a celebration and a remembrance of the body of Christ that was broken for them.
As one author writes, “Communion is not an individualistic matter; it is a body matter. We commune as a body; we come to the Lord’s table as a family. This truth is bound up in the biblical symbol of the one loaf and the one cup. “Because there is one loaf,” Paul writes, “we, who are many, are one body, for we all partake of the one loaf” (1 Cor. 10:17, NIV). This body dimension of communion tells us something about the mood of the meal as well. Communion is often taken in a somber mood of dismal introspection as we focus on the death of Christ. But could the proper context be one of celebration? If a shared meal were part of our communion together, it would seem so. We read in Acts that the first Christians “broke bread in their homes and ate together with glad and sincere hearts” (Acts 2:46). Communion was an occasion of sharing with the saints and celebrating the forgiveness found in Christ.” (Mattison*)
Last time I checked, a sip of grape juice and small cracker did not constitute a meal. And rarely does the practice of communion spark excitement in me. Usually I am annoyed because it means church is going to go longer than normal. I know this is not the right response, but I am probably not alone in this feeling. However, I went along because who am I to challenge age-old church traditions. Even if those traditions may be based not in scripture, but in simply that-tradition. Until last night.
My small group and several other small groups part of my church got together for a meal and….communion. Instead of doing it on Sunday mornings, the church philosophy is to do in communal settings. Such as last night. Let me tell you, it was probably the least silent communion I have ever had. It seemed like there was at least one kid for every adult in the room. But we gathered, ate, sang, and shared communion in community. With babies, kids, and people from all different walks of life. We worshipped together and broke bread and spent the evening remembering the precious blood spilled for us on Calvary. You can argue it was against tradition or that it is un-biblical, but I will tell you, that communion had more meaning than any I have partaken in over the past several years. As I looked around the room, I saw a group of people devoted to Christ and devoted to each other. It was a family. They are the people who have your back, that encourage you, that help you grow, and that push you to a more intimate relationship with Christ. And they are the people who will share a meal and communion with you in the same breath and view as a holy intimate event.
I believe this is one thing that sets my little community apart. That makes it feel like a little more of a community and a little less like a church. While I am thankful for the Sunday morning worship and teaching, I was humbled and convicted over the heart of the people I saw last night. The heart that says “I am here for you” and the heart that desires to see God reach people who may not have ever given Him a chance. It’s part of why we do communion as a community and not as a part of our service. And its part of why I have become so instantly drawn into a group of people on the surface I have little in common with. I may not be married with kids, I may not be a long time resident of the west side, and I may be years younger, but when you meet at the cross, those things simply do not matter. The things that do were evident last night. And perhaps now I may argue that this is how communion should really happen. In community. At the level ground of the cross. Beside people you live life with. Not strangers you sit by on Sunday morning.
