The beginnings of communion

Mark was moving expeditiously, gracefully down the aisle, doing that tray-passing thing many church “servers” (men only, of course — see the end of this post on that point) do.  During communion, you know, it’s supposed to be efficient and “decently and in order” and quiet.

As Mark neared our row to hand us the tray of “bread,” my 3-year-old son — very quietly, because he is a good boy — waved at Mark.

And Mark waved back.  (And I was so glad he did, rather than fearing any propriety police who might be glancing his way, presuming he should be more staid and “proper.”)

Communion is, after all, multi-directional.  Communing with one another is included as we commune with Deity.  As our son comes to understand this special thing we do in Christian gatherings, it seems to me that a relational, smiling reach from person to person is appropriate and even exemplary.

Communion Meditation (b) 1/15/2012: King Jesus

During the time of the formation of our country, George Washington is reported to have had the opportunity to become “king” of the burgeoning nation.  It is said that he knew there was only one King—Jesus—so he declined the offer.  Other people of the land apparently confessed the same ideal:  in a 1774 report to King George, the Governor of Boston asserted, ”If you ask an American, who is his master?  He will tell you he has none, nor any governor but Jesus Christ.”  The pre-war Colonial Committees of Correspondence soon made this the American motto: “No King but King Jesus.”

George Washington seemed to know what most haven’t known.  When we displace God on the throne of our lives, the outcome will not be so good.  But when we put God on the throne by our personal allegiance, we put ourselves in the best possible position for godliness and align ourselves with the goals of His kingdom. . . .

It’s an election year in our earthly country.  There are lots of concerns.  You have yours, and I have mine.  But Christians must be exceedingly more concerned with the goals of our eternal country than with those of our earthly country.  In short, it is Jesus’ Kingship — His rule and reign — that demands our primary, our transcendent allegiance.  After all, we are, first and foremost, citizens of God’s Kingdom.

This is a radical idea, but when you think about it, it makes sense—God’s coming to earth and loving unlovable humans in the first place was also revolutionary.

Maybe our American ancestors knew the best way to start a revolution.  The motto “No King but King Jesus” is pretty revolutionary—and probably, just as much so within institutional Christianity.

As we once more proclaim His death through the drinking of the juice that symbolizes His blood, we are once more saying to Him and to each other that we believe He is King and that He is set on His throne at the Father’s right hand, waiting to return for His bride (us).  We are proclaiming His life, His death, and His resurrection until He comes again as King.  As we take these little cups in our hands this day, we are expressing that we know that He is the Savior, that He is ruling, and that He is the gracious, truth-filled, loving Redeemer.  He loves beyond any of our pathetic capacities to understand love, yet He does not require our complete understanding.  Our devotion is all He asks.

Take the world, but give me Jesus.  All its joys are but a name.  But His love abideth ever, through eternal years the same.

Take the world, but give me Jesus.  In His cross my trust shall be, till, with clearer, brighter vision, face to face my Lord I see.

O the height and depth of mercy! O the length and breadth of love!  O the fullness of redemption, pledge of endless life above!  – Fanny J. Crosby

Communion Meditation (a) 1/15/2012: Your Love

From a song inspired by a speech (and later, a book) given by Max Lucado:

Your love is faithful, pure, and true —
Reaching for me, no matter what I do.
I will not ever comprehend
How You can love Your children to the end.

Your love is constant ev’ry day.
Here in Your arms, no need to run away.
You love me just the way I am.
(But) all of my sin is taken by the Lamb!

BRIDGE:
Your love does not come and go;
Your love will never ebb and flow.

CHORUS:
And you love me far, far too much just to leave me here where I am.
You want me to be just like Jesus.

“Your Love,” (c) 1997 Brian Casey/Encounter Music

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Jesus loved in the purest, most radical way.  And that way was not the way of acceptance with no cost.  His way was the way of astounding grace that shows, first, unconditional acceptance and charity … and then, Jesus’ way of grace and truth inspires in the pure recipients of the love the most heart-filled, devoted followership.  We are compelled by His life and by His sacrifice to be His disciples—1) to requite His love, and 2) to follow Him.  What we’re about to do in the “Lord’s Supper” is one very important way we can say “My Jesus, I Love Thee, and “More Love to Thee, O Christ.”

A communion meditation

An elder statesman of the Restoration Movement—one who has lived through about half of its history personally—wrote of a story of surrender–of a specific account of Steve Jobs’s death on NBC’s Evening News with Brian Williams.  The report was that (and I quote)

Steve Job’s sister had revealed that her brother, while dying, said in an upbeat manner — and these were his last words – Oh, Wow!   He went on to repeat this interjection twice: Oh, Wow! Oh, Wow!    He was apparently conscious, lucid, and fully aware of what he was saying and what was going on. Here was the co- founder of Apple, the ultimate entrepreneur, and “the secular prophet” as the Wall Street Journal described him, who supposedly did not believe in any reality beyond this world, crying out affirmations of something transcendent. A cry of Wow!  is akin to a shout of Hallelujah!

… In a recent commencement address at Stanford University, he talked to the students about death, describing it as “Life’s change agent.” …

He also warned them against being trapped by dogma, which he saw as blindly following other people’s thinking. He urged that they be their own unique selves, follow their own dreams, and listen to their own inner voice, heart, and intuition. It was an appeal for an authentic and meaningful life. It was as if he might have urged them to be prepared to face life’s mysteries — the wonders that are beyond our reach — and to have the heart and mind to unashamedly cry out Wow!

Now, I would say that “Hallelujah” is a good deal above and beyond “Wow,” but I get the point here.  There is something beyond.  Something wonderful.  Something transcendent.  Something to be lived for beyond the present and the things right in front of our faces.

For us, that “Something” is a Who.  And that Who is the One we are called to give reverent attention to in the passage from Revelation—Jesus as the Worthy One, the Lamb without blemish, offered for us.  And this is the very One we are called to worship now.  It’s a redundant expression, but I’ll repeat it here anyway:  “Come, let us worship and bow down” … here … today.

. . .

“This is the Lord’s Supper.”  And in the Lord’s Supper we are called away to a reality beyond ourselves.  Yes, in a sense we are called to be fully present, right now, bringing ourselves as we are, with all our dirt and distractions.  But we are also called away from the observable into the realm of the eternal.  We are called to worship this Lord, this Jesus.  We are inspired not to regurgitate “thankyouforthesegiftsweareabouttoreceive” or some other memorized mumblings … but to express intentionally, consciously, lucidly, with the vision of the Lamb at the right hand of the Father rising in our spirits, “Wow.  Hallelujah!  Praise to God.”

It’s an opportunity to worship.  “This is the Lord’s Supper.”…

Maybe you remember the first time you communed in this way.  Maybe you can’t even remember the last time.  They have all been significant.

“This is the Lord’s Supper.” …

Perhaps a bit strange that we eat “supper” in the morning hours, and equally strange that the morsels and thimbles are the sizes they are.  Nevertheless, despite our tradition-bound handling of an important spiritual legacy, I’m convinced that in eating and drinking, we have a unique opportunity to be with Jesus in grateful adoration—in worship.  And in this communal love shown, we can please our Lord, Jesus, the Christ—who in an upper room near Jerusalem first did this with His closest followers.  “This is the Lord’s Supper.”

Context (yes … *again*)

Caveat lector: This is post # 776 on this blog.  That means I can wait till the next one to be really coherent, and this one must be viewed as short of perfect.  :-)

Context.  It figures in often to my thinking.  I was particularly proud (somewhat ironically!) of this post last month, which I think made a great point in a fairly succinct way.

Context.  It makes the difference in understanding others in casual conversation, in reading or seeing news reports and developing or changing a worldview, and in the study and performance of various styles of music.  When you see a syncopated rhythm in the context of Brahms, it’s interpreted differently from an identical-looking rhythm in Glenn Miller or Chicago.  (Who knew an art-music orchestra that plays Mozart and Prokofiev and Sibelius and Rimsky-Korsakov could also play Keith Getty and Tim Hughes contemporary worship music another day, and KANSAS rock accompaniments the next?)

Sometimes, context is obvious.  If you’re in Vermont and you say “skiing,” you likely don’t mean water skiing.  Conversely, if you’re in Alabama or Oklahoma, you probably don’t mean “snow skiing.”  The question in Vermont is not “lake or mountain?”  It’s “cross-country or downhill.”  The question in Oklahoma might be “Is the lake too full of boats on this hot day? or maybe “Does my speedboat still leak?”

Context.  It also makes a difference in the study and consideration of God’s message revealed in scripture.  For instance, if you see “breaking bread” in the context of daily life and long-term patterns in Acts, written in the latter half of the 1st century, it probably doesn’t mean “communion table with formal procession and 1 Corinthians 11 and incantation-prayer and cracker bits and thimbleful of grape juice.”  Oddly enough, it probably means more along the lines of what coarse-voiced Mafia toughs mean when they say, “We’ll sit down and break bread together.”

The question isn’t some heavy, theological “transubstantiation or consubstantiation or no-substantiation?”  The question to ask is “What does this mean, in its historical and literary context?”  “What would the first readers have understood it to mean? (… and then and only then, “What does that mean for me?”)

Inhospitability, considered further (2)

Neither visitors nor regular members of a church should be guilted into contributing money.  I “contributed” toward this kind of guilt inducement last Sunday myself, and I repent.  This post continues from yesterday’s.

I vaguely recall that Tommy, a fellow leader at a church in Texas years ago, was of the mind to link communion and collection even more solidly and inextricably than most–by intentionally connecting 1) what Jesus gave to 2) what we give.  On the surface, this seems as logical as it is spiritual.  What could motivate us more to give money but a fuller realization of the fact that Jesus gave it all?  Strains of gospel songs waft over the Christian airstreams:

Jesus paid it all!  All to Him I owe.
Sin had left a crimson stain.  He washed it white as snow.

~ ~ ~

But drops of grief can ne’er repay the debt of love I owe.

~ ~ ~

Savior, Thy dying love Thou gavest me.
Nor should I aught withhold, dear Lord, from Thee.
In love my soul would bow, my heart fulfill its vow,
Some off’ring bring Thee now–something for Thee.

~ ~ ~

Why did my Savior come to earth and to the humble go? …
Why did He drink the bitter cup of sorrow, pain, and woe? …
He gave His precious life for me because He loved me so.

~ ~ ~

I led the immediately preceding song last Sunday, and I’m afraid it contributed to a negative kind of guilt induction.  Follow the line?  “He gave His precious life” naturally leads, at that time in the official Sunday proceedings, to “well, at least I can give 50 bucks like everyone else.” This is not what the Lord had in mind with communion … and He doesn’t appear to have had anything in mind at all with regard to the Sunday collection of an offering, since there is no example of, or instruction related to, such an offering.

Perhaps the worst of all is the song I have led around communion and collection in past years (many churches would call this song the “offertory”):

I gave my life for thee; my precious bled I shed,
That thou might’st ransomed be, and quickened from the dead.
I gave, I gave my life for thee.
What hast thou given for me?

The crowning glory embarrassment is in the final stanza:

And I have brought to thee, down from My home above,
Salvation full and free–my pardon and My love;
I bring, I bring rich gifts to thee.
What hast thou brought to Me?

See what we have here, in the words of this song?  Jesus standing there in front of our adoring eyes, having left glory, having died lovingly and sacrificially, and having re-ascended to glory, now imploring us, “I gave my physical life willingly.  I gave you the salvation of your souls.  This is a lot.  Can’t you give money to Me?”  (In our warped, legacy-ridden minds, the “Me” of the last line is somehow morphed into “church treasury.”  Please don’t overlook this parenthesis; it is really quite material to these thoughts.)

Does Jesus want our money?  Well, yes.  But He wants so much more, and the monetary angle of the institutional church has been so corrupted through the centuries that I think it’s both logically and spiritually dangerous to link His gift to us only to our gift of money.

In themselves, the words of Frances Havergal’s song seem apt enough, almost unique, and worthy of the Christian’s time.  But not at the time of collecting money, as though we could possibly satisfy the debt we owe to our Lord by dropping a check in the plate.  Not as though our response to Him is summed up, or even answered in any substantive way, by offering money.

I’m sorry that, last Sunday, I went along with the program and led a song that contributed to a concept I don’t believe in.  I don’t intend to do that again, and I shall never, ever lead “I Gave My Life for Thee” in connection with the collection.

Inhospitability, considered further

Many moons ago, I published words to the effect that even hinting to a visitor in a church that s/he should contribute to that church’s bill-paying fund is inhospitable.  I find abhorrent the slightest glance in the direction of someone you don’t know, as you’re passing the collection plate.  (Find this earlier post here.)  No, let a person in a pew make the first move toward dropping money in the plate.  No usher or table servant should be in the position of demanding money.

I’d like to add to these thoughts the idea that even those within a church–even the regular members–should not be guilted into contributing.  I “contributed” toward this kind of guilt inducement last Sunday myself, and I repent.

In the Church of Christ, we have this odd legacy that leaves us with three parts of communion:  the bread, the juice, and the collection.  Many churches have been accustomed to making a point of separating the first two from the last through the use of the words “separate and apart,” but it really hasn’t been separate at all.  Some of this, I imagine, developed out of convenience:  those men serving the elements of communion were already up out of their pews and in their service mode, so why not just use them, right then and there, to pass the collection trays?  It’s efficient, and I get this.  But the feigning of separation–the silly declaration that it was separate when the reality was that it wasn’t separate at all–has not served our assemblies or our minds and hearts well.

On rare occasion, when I have been in charge of such things, I have made a point of switching up the order and having the collection first (understand that it would have been my first choice not to have it at all, and I’ve often inadvertently almost left it out, but it would have been too radical to do this intentionally!).  This change in pattern has never lasted; the linking of communion and collection in the practices of the Church of Christ now appears fixed.

Tomorrow:  guilt-inducing thoughts in song texts, and my vow

The Lord’s Supper–(mis)conceptions 2

[In the ARM (American Restoration Movement), we have a lot of conceptions around the Lord’s Supper.  Some of these are only decades old; others are a couple of centuries old, and others may be older than that.  Some, I’ll flatly suggest, are misconceptions.  Please see yesterday's post, and perhaps this one and this one, for prior, framing material]

I have for years taken exception to those ARMers who try to suggest that the reference to “breaking bread” near the end of Acts 2 refers to what we think of as the Lord’s Supper.  (Please stay with me to the end of this post.)  In verse 42, many of “them” have said, it is the “Lord’s Supper” being referred to, while virtually none of “them” would have said “breaking bread” in v. 46 has the same event as its referent.  That inconsistency is galling.  It’s the same expression, penned by the same writer, in the same book, and in the same immediate context.  How could it possibly mean anything different the second time?  Whatever “breaking bread” means in v. 42 must be what it means in v. 46.

Moreover, the nearly amusing (to us, at least, two millennia later) incident wth Eutychus has shown to some that it was very important to Paul and to the disciples there that they have “the Lord’s Supper” together.  Some, however, have conveniently ignored the second reference to breaking bread after midnight. Without checking other time references in Luke-Acts, I would suspect that Luke reckons time as the Greeks would have, not as the Jews would have; if this assumption is correct, you have these Acts 20 Troas folks meeting on Sunday evening and observing “the Lord’s Supper” on the 2^nd day of the week, after midnight. Or, perhaps, you have them meeting to observe the Supper and then having a six-hour sermon and then observing “the supper” again.  I don’t really think either of these expresses full truth.

What if there was a table fellowship that they all looked toward, and there was a special significance on the first day of the week, when they remembered Jesus’ body and blood in a special way?  What if they did this twice at Troas (Acts 20)?  Or what if the ceremonial remembering didn’t actually occur at all that night, because of the near-tragedy with Eutychus?  Had they erred¹ religiously (here I’m intentional with the choice of “religiously” over “spiritually”) and displeased God, simply because they didn’t observe a ceremony?  Isn’t communion more than ritual observance?

At this point, I would formally put forward the notion that the “Lord’s Supper” might never have been conceived by Jesus or by the Father in the way that most of us have conceived of it through the years.

I do absolutely think He wanted us to remember him in a focused way at the table.  But I also think he wanted us to participate in table sharing for its own sake, because of what such sharing of food and conversation can create among us, pausing during the meal to remember his sacrifice especially, through bread and vine juice.  Pardon my bold speculation, but I doubt He particularly prefers the stoic observances that are the rule these days in liturgical and non-liturgical churches alike.  The dis-integrated experience of bread and thimbleful of vine juice, while looking at the backs of others’ heads or at Bibles or while praying silently, whether in silence or with “special music” being offered, has very little to do with the communion practiced by Jesus at the Last Supper or with that He wants for us today.

Alan Knox’s minor flaw, by the way, was semantic and was found in his summary calculations–that certain phrases were used X number of times to refer to “the Lord’s Supper.”  The term “the Lord’s Supper,” I think, throws us off the scent.  It is not what we think of as “the Lord’s Supper” that’s the issue.  Instead, it is the nature of the Christian assembly that deserves a serious look (which is consistent with how I read Alan’s overall thrust).

Let’s eat together more often.  In homes, preferably.  In the church building or in restaurants, if necessary.  But let’s eat together, and let’s be spiritually minded enough not only to bless the food in the name of God, but to remember—specifically and intentionally, during the meal—the sacrifice of our Lord Jesus.  In doing this, the “supper” (or lunch or brunch or whatever) can become “the Lord’s” in a very meaningful way.

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The Lord’s Supper–(mis)conceptions 1

In the ARM (American Restoration Movement), we have a lot of conceptions around the Lord’s Supper.  Some of these are only decades old; others are a couple of centuries old, and others may be older than that.  Some, I’ll flatly suggest, are misconceptions.  They are no greater misconceptions than Roman ones in this area, and they don’t use the fabricated term “eucharist” or consider that metaphysics are disturbed by clergified incantations (i.e., “transubstantiation”).  But consider, for example, on a lower level, the ideas that the Lord’s Supper is …

• to involve a thimbleful of grape juice and a morsel of cracker
• to be observed in quietude
• to be observed in the morning (“Supper”? morning?)
• to be observed no less than one time per week, necessitating evening “mini-communion” with the Sunday morning absentees
• to be observed no more than one time per week
• to involve a single cup, or is
• to involve multiple cups
• to involve trays (and pews, and people who pass said trays through the people in said pews)
• called “The Lord’s Supper” when that phrasing is used only once in scripture (and no other phrase is much more prescriptive)

Non-ARM readers may be going, “Huh?” to most of the above.  Dyed-in-the-wool ARM readers may also be going, “Huh?” (but for different, more closed-minded reasons).  We have had such a legalistic view of “the Lord’s Supper” that we’ve manufactured and bought little communion “kits” in which can be packed a little cracker and juice, so shut-ins and convalescing members can eat and drink.  (Talk about a sacramental view!  “If only I can eat a morsel and drink a trickle, I will receive grace!”)

Yet it’s our problem more than theirs.  We ambulatory ones are the ones who’ve perpetuated it.  Do those who care for shut-ins in this way eat and drink with them, or do they think, “Wait . . . I can’t do that again . . . I already did that earlier today ‘at church’ . . . I’d better not do it again”?  Do they make it a mini-communal experience of some sort, or do they just shove the cracker toward the bed and tenderly hold the nonagenarian’s head up so she can sip the juice, thinking somehow that the substances are grace-giving?  Wouldn’t it be better to do away with this morsel model and have a small group meeting with the shut-in person as church, experiencing more of the whole of the Christian assembly, and also eating and drinking “at the table,” including the memorial bread and juice.

What about the common ARM practice of having mini-communion on Sunday evenings for those who were sick or traveling or at work on Sunday morning?  Some congregations have the formerly missing congregants come to the front pew while the congregation sits (im)patiently and tries to feel simultaneously devoted, all the while going “umm … did this already in the morning … wasting my time now … uh-oh, bad attitude … back to trying to feel devoted.”  Others have the people stay where they are and raise their hands if they want to be served by people passing the trays.  Even more churches have the folks leave the assembly hall and go to some little room elsewhere.  If they’re off by themselves, they’re certainly not communing with the whole gathered body, and perhaps are feeling more familial with the few … and at least you don’t have the weirdness of having 96% of the people in the sanctuary twiddling their thumbs … which certainly isn’t very communal.

The thinking around one cup has probably had entire books written on it, and Catholics and a small subsect of ARMers agree on that aspect.  I’m not very interested in this scruple, although if germs weren’t part of our world, I’d probably prefer the unifying aspect of the same cup.  As it is, I simply can’t fathom how so many people can be satisfied with a wiping of the rim of a cup with a dirty rag and then drinking after someone else.  Onward….

I’ve greatly appreciated Alan Knox’s writing on this subject.  I have found only one minor flaw in his particular blogpost that probes pretty much all the scriptures that might relate to this topic.  One of his conclusions has been that “When the Lord’s Supper is mentioned in Scripture, it is mentioned in the context of a meal.”  While this appears true from the Last Supper through to Jude, where the plural agapais (usually translated “love feasts”) is found in a single instance, I would take minor exception to the term “the Lord’s Supper,” because it has come to connote, for many, a ceremony that seems worlds apart from the essence of that which on Alan (and Paul and Luke and Jesus) were really discoursing.

Tomorrow:  “breaking bread” in Acts, and a challenge to conceive of “the Supper” anew

The Lord’s Supper–practical ways to emphasize it

In the assembly, what does it look like for the Lord’s Supper to be the cardinal event?  Is it always to be the activity on which everything else hinges?

I doubt that Jesus intended for our assembly minutes to be tallied, with only those gatherings that had 51% or more of the time devoted to the Supper considered acceptable.  I do not think it is a matter of arithmetic.  Yet our entire identity is based in having been purchased by His bodily sacrifice, and there must be many ways to manifest our acknowledgement of . . . our belief in . . . our contemplative spiritual meditation on His death, burial, and resurrection.

Following are some real-life, practical (or not so practical, depending on your situation) suggestions:

• Use a scripture-and-song sequence that is basically failsafe in focusing everyone’s minds and hearts.
• Use projected images (produced by artistically gifted members of your church, if possible) of crosses, of people looking as if toward the cross, of tables spread for Passover, of Jesus looking upward or outward, of the Temple veil torn in two. . .
• Have different ones plan the sub-focus—perhaps use families, single women, etc., who otherwise would not have the opportunity to contribute in this way.
• Start your assembly with communion.  And don’t fret over the latecomers.  It’s not a sacrament; it’s an opportunity.
• End your assembly with communion, having intentionally progressed through other activities toward it.
• Change the physical arrangement of your chairs, if you have them, so that people may share more with one another.
• Play video of well-done movie reenactments of the Supper as you lead toward the observance.
• Use songs on CD or tape that do not require active participation but that encourage meditation.
• Extend the time spent on the Lord’s Supper (and do not apologize for it!).
• Instead of a regular sermon, use several mini-lessons on aspects of the crucifixion, on the “seven last words of the cross,” or on virtually any aspect of Jesus’ life and teaching.
• Teach for a series of weeks or months on the “agape meal” that is known to have been common in the life of at least some early Christian churches, and implement some aspects of table fellowship in your “Lord’s Supper” event.
• Sing something appropriate during and after the Lord’s Supper “proper.”  Consider an “arch form” that places the Supper at the center and uses the same musical or scriptural material as “bookends.”  This way of organizing activities may help to centralize the experience, without further explanation.
• Consider the tasteful use of unaccompanied vocal solos.  There are so many worthy songs that could help people contemplate Jesus.
• Use scripture devotionally.
• Read a Pauline paean such as Ephesians 1:3-12 between the taking of bread and wine.
• Project scripture (John 1? Isaiah 53? Revelation 4? Matthew 26? Colossians 1?) during the entire observance.
• Invite the believers to hum a familiar song (suggestions:  “When I Survey the Wondrous Cross,” “The Old Rugged Cross,” “Lamb of God,” or “I Gave My Life for Thee”) while an appropriate passage is read aloud.  An important consideration here:  the song should be very familiar so that all mental faculties may be available for taking in the scripture message.
• Share a historical document that references communion practices and/or beliefs about the practice.
• Following the taking of the emblems, provide a time for individuals to approach one another to affirm relationship in the Lord, a la 1 John 1:7 . . . or to confess sin to one another.
• If you are really daring, if your congregation is already accustomed to varying methodologies regularly, provide an actual wooden cross made from landscape ties, some note paper, and some thumbtacks.  Invite people to write worldly concerns, confessions, or expressions of gratitude to Jesus, and then to nail them to the cross during silence or while a song is sung.  (Perhaps you remember the impact of some experience like this in your past.)
• A variation on the above that requires a different kind of advance preparation:  invite the people to deposit their confessions into an open flame in order to bring home the fact that He remembers our sins no more.
• Don’t use official servers.  Have one person (or one person in each section of seats) start the passing of bread and wine, and just allow the trays to continue from person to person, with each one serving the next one.  (Doesn’t this seem communal?)
• In smaller groups (say, 25 or fewer), serve one person with a spiritual word offered to him or her . . . then continue the chain, one by one, with each person serving another while everyone else either sings, meditates, or listens.  If your group is too large to make this practical, divide into subgroups first.
• Allow a time for individuals to speak to the entire congregation spontaneously of their personal meditations on the meaning of the experience.  Don’t be discouraged if this doesn’t go well the first time.
• Immediately before and after the Supper, worship Jesus through song and prayer.

I wrote the above in a period of about thirty minutes.  You can doubtless come up with an even greater variety than is represented here . . . just think of all the freshness and meaning we can bring into the experience of communion with the Lord and His Body on earth!

MM: Basic nature: Tiesto, Kenya, and the Kingdom (4)

[I've been endeavoring for months of Mondays to write about some worthy Christian song or hymn.  The initials "MM" signify this "Monday Music" series.]

In a way, it works out nicely that I was planning to write on more songs of the Kalenjin churches today; this is Day 4 of a mini-series on the basic nature of the church and other things, and it’s also “Monday Music” day.”  In another way, it’s not so nice, because I can’t find the Kenyan song book after all, so I can’t really do as much as I was hoping for yesteday.  Tienwogikab Boiboiyet (Songs of Joy) is MIA.

Last night, our home gathering had a special night of visiting, Christmas cookies, singing, exchanging a few presents, worship, and communion.  We took as our “springboard to worship” thoughts and prayers various phrases from Jesus-centered songs.  Some of these were “Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus,” “Silent Night,” “Jesus, Be the Centre,” and “In Christ Alone.”  I loved the atmosphere–fairly easily moving in and out of overtly devotional things, laughter, sharing enjoyment of our little guy as  he played his new horn (a horn-shaped kazoo they gave him!), eating, etc.

In Kenya yesterday . . . now 36 hours ago, maybe . . . perhaps one of the Kalenjin churches in Sang’alo or Nyaru or Toror might have been singing “Kiptayat Yetindenyon.”  I remember this title without my song book.  The words mean “Lord Savior,” and they were repeated in each stanza.  It’s so appropriate to call out to Jesus, “Lord, Savior!”

In our remembering of the Lord through His Supper last night, we sat around our table, and we ate, and talked, and then we poured grape juice and broke matzah and began to meditate on phrases from the songs we had sung.  In a sense, we were also calling out to our Jesus, “Lord, Savior,” although I don’t suppose we used those particular words.  There was worship, and there was gratitude, and there were words, and there were thoughts.  There was eating and drinking and recognition.  There was connection to the Last Supper, during which Jesus said, “Take, eat.  This (is) my ‘body.’”  I don’t believe anything miraculous occurred, but there was Christian communion — both horizontally and vertically — with each other and with our Lord.

I was sorry to see our friends go, around 10:00 last night.  They had spent seven hours with us, and it seemed like three or four!   (Aw, why not stay another hour?)  Maybe I didn’t want to be reminded of all the work I have to do.  Or maybe the African lack of time-consciousness has bled into my heart just a tad bit!  Or both.

I vaguely remembered another song often sung during communion in the Kalenjin lands.  I can’t presently remember any words, but I remember the affect, and I remember that it was very repetitive — simply reaching to Jesus in adoring thankfulness for mercy, for instance — maybe something along the lines of “Jesus, Jesus, merciful Jesus!”  I’m making the words up, but I do remember that the Kenyan Christians I was associating with would often turn to this song during times of communion or quieter meditation.  It was a good song.  It was a song worthy of worship to our Jesus.  It was one of the things that showed me just how Christian these people were, and how much I could learn from them.

I suppose I need to conclude this series, and I’ve enjoyed recalling and writing about some very important experiences in my Christian walk.  In a day or two, I’ll try to be coherent about the questions I asked in part one:  what is the basic nature of the church, and who is culpable when it changes, and what are we going to do about it? I’m not equal to the task of addressing these things, but someone has to get/keep the ball rolling….

Communing with each other and the Lord

Though the design of a typical assembly room may foster vertical communication, i.e., with the Lord (a type of communication I heartily affirm), we consistently end up looking at the backs of people’s heads.  And such a situation is not communal.  Only in a pitifully few camp and retreat settings have I experienced horizontal aspects of communion.  Pews may come from a Catholic or Protestant tradition, but they certainly do not come from Jesus.

Maybe you are one of the many who prefer to “focus on the cross” in your mind, or on scripture that deals with the crucifixion or on self-examination, or on any number of other inward or upward directions.  All those are good things to do, but they are not the only viable things.

Maybe if we just stopped using the word “communion” exclusively?  This term implies the horizontal aspect at least as much as it suggests the vertical.

Speaking of which . . . you do know that it is impossible to take communion, right?  I wonder if that expression were coined when Protestantism began to rise.  We were not allowed say “take the holy eucharist” any more, so we substituted, somewhere along the way, “take the communion bread and wine,” and then it was probably shortened to “take communion.”

Aside:  Have you ever noticed the awkward mini-pause in prayers before the phrase “fruit of the vine”?  “Bless us, Lord, as we take the bread” comes out fine, but “And now, as we partake of the … fruit of the vine” sounds awkward, and we can not seem to find any other acceptable expression but the outdated one.  We should probably focus less on the substance being taken than on what it represents, anyway.

Siblings, we commune with one another and with the Lord.  Commune. It is a verb.  And communion is not something you “take.”

Far from the intent

My feeling is that the Lord’s Supper experience in every church building assembly in which I have taken part—bar none—is far from the intention and example of Jesus and His apostles.  Dignified and reverent?  Maybe.  We typically have no problem with at least the “dignified” part, and reverence is certainly one worthy goal.  But ritualistic, ceremonious observance is not the intent.

In the words “ritualistic” and “ceremonious,” I include some of the following common aspects of the Lord’s Supper experience (not all of which will ring bells for readers here, I know):

• after the third song, four men rising in unison to process funereally toward the table
• patterns of getting trays into each man’s hand (e.g., pass two to the guy on the end, two to the guy on the other end, one to the guy on your left … but never let the other guy take three all at once and pass two along while keeping the other!)
• “servers” that are official “leaders,” functionally speaking
• concern over the order of solids and liquids

In addition, the utter lack of actual communal experience is often notable.  Get it?  We call it communion, and we don’t commune!  The connotation of the word “communion” — its relational dimension — is horizontal, involving a group of human beings.  In my experience, the notion of communing has almost exclusively been directed toward the communing of an individual soul with Jesus, in a spiritual dimension.  This is certainly an important aspect, but most of us are missing the relational riches of communing with a group of saints.

More on this tomorrow!

Quote without (much) comment–focusing on the Christ

I recently quoted a comment from a good, “old” friend named Bill.  This guy and I used to see each other a few days a year–working at the same Christian camp, and perhaps at another special event or two.  We never spent much time together, but in a few minutes here & there, he always encouraged me, somehow, and I always found myself drawn to him.  He had, for one thing, a great blend of athleticism and spirituality, and an unforced charisma that helped him serve people at every turn.  Bill has worked for a Christian academy and for two small Christian colleges; he is now, for the first time in his life, serving a church as its preaching minister.

Recently, Bill and I have dialogued a bit more, and we may work together in leading a Sunday assembly later this year.  I had sent him the link to my grandfather’s comments on the role of the preacher in worship.  Not surprisingly, Bill sent back some thoughtful comments.  I wanted to share them here.

Our first priority in the assembly is to Christ.  And look what we have done to distract ourselves and minimize His supper through the years.  It seems to me that scripture holds it up as the primary reason for coming together.

Now we are happy “to go to our church” because of good, dynamic preaching and/or a good, dynamic song service… or a good band… etc.  “Church” since around Constantine’s time evolved into an institution.  Give any red blooded American capitalist a few years with any institution and he/she will make it an efficient, smooth-running and well-oiled machine. That’s what we’ve done with our Lord’s memorial. We have marketed every aspect of an assembly (except the real purpose for the assembly) as an attraction for “customers” and we (preacher types and elders types) wonder why the people in the pews think that the “service” is supposed to be all about meeting a need they have. And we are defensive when they complain.

So we spend lots of time making sure we meet needs.  The more we do that the more likely we will be distracted from our true purpose.  Good preachers … good song leaders … all move toward worship leaders because they can’t let a moment of time go in the assembly without it focusing on Christ.  We meet to remember and worship Him.  Sermons always include Him.  Songs always include Him.

Communion unbound

The following is a quote without (much) comment from Leroy Garrett, who is something of an elder mentor to me.  I’ve been in his home only once but have to come to respect his constancy in faith, and his wisdom and persistence in spiritual-emphasis writing.  I disagree with him sometimes, but I never question his sincerity of conviction or his devotion.

In the passage below, Leroy uses the phrase “break bread” to refer to the Lord’s Supper or Communion.  It’s a nice expression that simplifies the beauty of the memorial “meal” and makes it all sound more familial, which is a good thing.  But “break bread” in the scriptures, as I have pointed out, does not seem to refer specifically to Communion.  More important here is the view of the geographically and chronologically unbound family of believers….

I often ponder “the family of God in heaven and on earth” when I break bread with my fellow believers in assembly each Lord’s day. From sundown on the seventh day to sundown on the first day the family upon earth, all around the world, is in assembly remembering the Lord Jesus in the breaking of bread. I recall dear brethren of different color, nation, race and language with whom I have broken bread — in Australia and New Zealand, in India and Japan, in the Philippines and Thailand, in Russia and Eastern Europe, and even in China, meeting with “underground” believers. And of course Western Europe, Canada , Mexico, and South American countries. The family of God on earth! I love them all in precious recollection, and in my old age I yet break bread with them each Lord’s day.

And I remind myself that I am in some sense breaking bread with the family of God in heaven, remembering the words of the Lord Jesus, “I will not drink of this fruit of the vine from now on until that day when I drink it new with you in My Father’s kingdom (Matthew 26:29). There is an ongoing fellowship in the heavenly banquet, realized in glory and anticipated in this vale of soul-making. We all have beloved brethren who have gone on to become part of the great cloud of witnesses that encompass us, the family of God in heaven.

We are all the one body of Christ, one church, separated only by time. They are there now, we will be with them then. “Now we see in a mirror, dimly, but then face to face” (1 Corinthians 13:12).

Keep Not Our Eyes

I haven’t written a Christian song in a year or three (except a couple of ditties for my son), but I used to write a lot.  Most of my songs have never been heard beyond family, and they probably never will be—mostly because of style.  Today I’d like to share the words to one that’s probably in my personal “top 10” because of its concept and material.

It would take a unique scenario for this song to be useful in the Kingdom at large, but it’s still useful to me, and maybe to you.  The subject matter is the conversation and happenings on the road to Emmaus (Luke 24:13ff).  I find this story both mysterious and inspiring.

Keep not our eyes from beholding Your face.
Our hearts are longing to abide in Your embrace.
Make us alive to Your warm, surrounding love.
Draw us, O Christ, to awareness of things above.

Stand in our midst, and reveal Your glory now.
Open our eyes!  In Your splendor we will bow.
Our hearts ignite in the blazing of Your fire.
Keep not our hearts from this vision of our Desire.

Words and music by Brian Casey.  © Encounter Music.

We know the name of only one of the two disciples whom Jesus approached on the road, and yet they were clearly special.  They were treated with such singular love by our Lord.  They were apparently disciples—committed followers of our Rabbi.  And Jesus came to them.

They at first were prevented from recognizing Him for some unexplained reason.  And they spoke of Him—the events of the last few days—with rapt, adoring devotion.  They seem to have been in distress.  And when Jesus appeared to be traveling farther along on the road when the two stopped at a village, something about Him moved them to invite Him to sup with them.

During the meal, their “eyes were opened,” and they recognized Him.  The account indicates no further dialogue.  At such times words may be superfluous or even silly!  (Recall Peter’s words at the Transfiguration.)  But after Jesus left them, the two began to recall their conversation on the road.  Something had been “burning” within their hearts.

It was during the meal—while breaking bread—that Jesus was recognized.  I suppose this part of the gospel of Luke has been used through the years at Communion to say that we might recognize Jesus in the so-called Lord’s Supper.  But  “breaking bread” is a more common, pedestrian expression, and there’s no indication that Luke 24 describes a special type of memorial meal.  It doesn’t appear to have been a “Communion Service,” so to speak.  [1]

No, this unique event appears to have been a regular meal.  Jesus ate with them, there was presumably more conversation, and the two became aware of who He was.  What a special event.  What an inspiring event.  What an unnecessary event—it was not needed in order to finalize the gospel story—and so it is one that contributes to the “ring of truth” of the scriptures.

It’s quite a marked departure from the message of Luke 24, but devotionally speaking (i.e., not scripturally exegetically), it seems entirely appropriate to ask God now to reveal Jesus to me … to ask Him not to prevent my recognizing Jesus … to ask Him to “stand in the midst” of the Christian company in which I find myself.

Having dropped in at two churches yesterday, one of which completely obscured Jesus by its vain, patronizingly Americanistic attempt to reconcile the values of the Declaration with Christianity and the Kingdom of God (and by a stage full of literally scores of drums and cymbals), I find myself wanting, rather, to see Jesus.  I need to see Jesus.

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[1] Incidentally, the two occurrences of the expression “breaking bread” in Acts (ch. 2 and ch. 20), the companion volume to Luke, also seem to indicate regular meals and not “Communion” per se.

Meditation on death and life

Here are some thoughts used at communion last Sunday.  Many of these meditations spring directly out of songs–written by Michael Card, James Montgomery, and William J. Irons.

[“Victory in Jesus” sung]

Communion time has come.  It’s a time when we confess together that Jesus “gave His life on Calvary” and that we are “plunged beneath the cleansing flood” of “His redeeming blood.  Communion time has come.

It comes weekly, for most of us gathered here.  The once—a-week aspect is relatively unimportant—we can make a case for it, but scripture doesn’t explicitly say to do this weekly.  The main thing is that Jesus asked those who love and follow Him to remember Him.  “As often as you do it, remember Me.”  And hear Paul:  “Whenever you do this, you’re proclaiming the Lord’s death.”  Those who want to do His will share in communion often.

Communion isn’t something you “take.”  Yes, we “take” the bread and the cup, but communion is something to be shared in, not taken.  This morning, in our hearts, let’s share some ideas around death and apparent defeat.

“Ride On To Die” (M. Card)

Sense the sorrow untold as you look down the road at the clamoring crowd drawing near.
Feel the heat of the day as you look down the way.  Hear the shouts of “Hosanna, the King!”
Midst the shouting so loud and the joy of the crowd, there is One who is riding in silence.
For He knows the ones here will be fleeing in fear when their Shepherd is taken away.
Oh, daughter of Zion, your time’s drawing near.  Don’t forsake Him.  Don’t pass it by.
On the foal of a donkey, as the prophets had said, passing by you, He rides on to die.

It seems to me that God could have stopped with the Death.  The Death—alone and unhyphenated—atones for sin and justifies us before God.  So, for now, let’s pause and ponder deeply the significance of Jesus’ death.

[The remainder of the comments follow the Lord’s Supper, and can precede an offering.]

Again we remember the death in the words of Michael Card:

Soon the thorn-cursed ground will bring forth a crown, and this Jesus will seem to be beaten.
But He’ll conquer alone, both the shroud and the stone, and the prophecies will be completed.

Landon Saunders said, in words that I’ve remembered almost verbatim for years, “Faith is the bird that senses the dawn and sings while it is yet dark.”  When we become disillusioned, disappointed, or dejected, what better place to go for hope than to the empty tomb of our Jesus?  What more appropriate place to be people of faith than at the tomb, knowing the dawn comes?

It’s only knowing something about the apparent finality and terror of death that gives us reason to appreciated the dawn … the hope … of the resurrection.

In the joyous believing that He really did rise—that He actually triumphed over defiant Death—we find hope during times of immersion in stress and troubles.

“Sing with all the sons of glory!”

Sing with all the sons of glory, sing the resurrection song!
Death and sorrow, earth’s dark story, to the former days belong.
All around the clouds are breaking, soon the storms of time shall cease;
In God’s likeness we, awaking, know the everlasting peace.

O what glory, far exceeding all that eye has yet perceived!
Holiest hearts, for ages pleading, never that full joy conceived.
God has promised, Christ prepares it, there on high our welcome waits.
Every humble spirit shares it; Christ has passed th’eternal gates.

Life eternal! heaven rejoices; Jesus lives, who once was dead.
Join we now the deathless voices; child of God, lift up your head!
Patriarchs from the distant ages, saints all longing for their heaven,
Prophets, psalmists, seers, and sages, all await the glory given.

Life eternal! O what wonders crowd on faith; what joy unknown,
When, amidst earth’s closing thunders, saints shall stand before the throne!
O to enter that bright portal, see that glowing firmament;
Know, with Thee, O God immortal, “Jesus Christ Whom Thou has sent.”

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And again, as Michael Card once sang, “Love crucified arose—the risen One in splendor—Jehovah’s soul defender has won the victory.”  We acknowledge the defeat of sin and death.  And in the light of the resurrection, what can we co but overflow, giving of our various resources to Him to won?

Placing ourselves with Mary & Mary, or with Peter & John, on that Morning:

“Early hasten to the tomb where they laid His breathless clay; all is solitude and gloom; who hath taken Him away?  Christ is ris’n!  He meets our eyes:  Saviour, teach us so to rise.”

Jesus’ resurrection, conjoined to the hope it brings, is something that truly frees us.  What a Declaration of Independence from tyranny!

Ekklesia values 8b (non-music worship)

Besides expressing worship through music, I also believe that the spoken word is crucial.  Prayer is not the only non-musical spoken mode for worship, but it seems to be the most significant.

Prayer has more than one face and is not to be defined solely as “prayer requests.”  Literally, prayer is more about asking, but based on biblical examples, that does not represent the totality of its purpose.  Conversing with God is an area to be explored in the assembly!  Although few of us do this very well these days, it seems to me that we could use more silence, toward the goal of listening for the voice of God.  I’m not sure my ears are very well trained for that.

Another area for regular attention is the Lord’s Supper or communion.  (I stay away from the word “Eucharist” because it carries enough inappropriate connotations and is not especially biblical based in this context.)  While my own tradition strongly believes and practices weekly observance, I see nothing in the scriptures that demands this.  Frankly, my experience of communion has been spiritually lacking for all my years, and I’m more than a little tired of the insistence on observance with little or no spiritual emphasis on meaning.  Put another way, my closest spiritual siblings a) assume that they’re right in practice, b) virtually never question that they should be doing this thing weekly, and c) take as gospel that the Lord’s Supper is to be central in the Christian assembly.   The actual practice, however, rarely matches those surface-level commitments.

For me, the experience has only rarely approached what I think it can be, and I’m interested in deepening the practice of communion, not de-emphasizing it.  This desire may result in a lessened frequency, but frequency is not specified in the scriptures, as far as I can tell.  One more word on frequency:  while my particular fellowship has majored in frequency and could use less emphasis there, most other Christian churches could probably use more frequent Lord’s Supper opportunities.

In addition to worship through prayer/the spoken word, the Lord’s Supper, and music, I’m very much interested in such additions as well-conceived drama, dramatic reading, devotional reading of certain scriptures (subjugated to the practice of contextually studying and applying scripture), and various devotional activities that aid–first in vertical, and secondarily in horizontal—relationships in the church.

Next in series:  study and the use of scripture

Wafer-thin

The last two times I’ve been a part of communion at our church, there were some strange little wafers in the tray that looked like a cross between sand dollars and subway tokens. I wondered whether someone had forgotten the regular “communion bread” and had to use these cheap-looking imitations.

Last Sunday, though — the second time I saw these wafers — I tried to make something out of it. I paused with one in my hand and thought, “This is a wafer. It looks strange. But it looks like a coin … a token that represents something.”

I think that thought-effort led my spirit, for a few moments, to the essence of the vertical aspect of communion. . . .

Weekly (weakly?)

This quote is taken from James Gardner’s The Christians in New England:

All Christian Connection churches served communion as a part of their worship services; but many did so only a few times a year, or when a minister happened to be present; and almost none of them placed the emphasis which Campbell did on strict observance of the Lord’s Supper every week. (102)

For as long as I can remember, I have experienced the observance of the Lord’s Supper distantly. It has so rarely been the communion I want it to be. I have wondered if the thinking of Alexander Campbell and the vast majority of his spiritual descendants was askew on the point of weekly observance.

For the uninitiated … the Churches of Christ, Christian Churches (Independent), and Disciples of Christ have for their entire history been known for a few distinctives. Weekly communion is not exactly a distinctive, I suppose–the Romans and, presumably all the Orthodox churches do the same–but it is one hallmark of these groups collectively known as the American Restoration Movement (or, colloquially, as Campbellites). This weekly observance does not come out of thin air, but it’s a weak hermeneutic that has legislated weekliness. A few points:

1. Jesus said, “As often as you do it, …” He did not say, as far as we know, “Do it each and every Sunday, and only on Sunday.” In fact, the founding of what we think of as communion was on the night He was betrayed–either Wed. or Thurs., depending on how you reckon things.
2. Paul does imply a weekly gathering (although not a weekly collection) in 1 Cor. 16:1-2.
3. Luke makes mention in Acts 20 of Paul’s having waited a week in order to meet with the church on the first day of the week. The text does not clearly specify communion with the phrase “break bread”; in fact, a glance back at 2:42 and 2:46 shows that the same phrase apparently refers to daily eatings-together.  Whatever the text means in 20:7, it may be significant that Paul waited around for a week to get to do it at Troas.
4. Early church tradition, I’m told, strongly does imply that weekly communion was common.

The devil is in the details, I suppose. While it’s certainly a Jesus-honoring intent that seeks to remember Him formally on a weekly basis, the actuality has become, for me and at least some others, rather humdrum … and weak in its working-out.

I currently have the spiritual pleasure of being a part of a church that almost always sets up the Lord’s Supper thoughtfully through comments and/or sung worship or prayer. The Lawson Road Church does so much better than most. But the formality of the passing of the trays, and the general lack of familial communing “around the table” does hamper. It so often seems to be a ritualized observance that individuals are left to imbue individually, with personalized significance. Not that personal meditation is bad, but I’m persuaded that the communal “meal” was intended to be different.

What experiences have you had? Insights?