slam etc.

First Communion was the first of course.
And there was no cup.
There was a big golden chalice,
But only the priest drank that.
Good Catholic boys and girls,
Crowded into Immaculate Heart of Mary classrooms
on Saturday mornings,
Learning the catechism
And the prayers.
And rehearsing right along with the parochial school kids.
Genuflecting,
Processing solemnly to the altar rail.
An altar boy assisting
As the robed priest’s sanctified fingers
Placed the host on my tongue.
And we marched in the May Procession afterwards.

Many times followed
After the First.
Years of ritual,
Shrouded in devout Latin mystery,
Even during periods of atheism or agnosticism.
The same dry wafer sticking to the roof of my mouth
And never the cup.

Then on to college.
Exploration and experimentation.
Broken matzo crackers,
Squares of white bread,
Or even a whole loaf
Broken and passed to the next person
And, at last, the cup!
But grape juice?
How could that be?
That’s not what the apostles drank.
I learned that it had to do with concern
About abuse of alcohol.

Research I did
For the paper I had to write
For freshman religion,
Enlightened me about interpretations:
Transubstantiation.
It’s no longer bread and wine;
It’s the actual body and blood of the Savior.
(OK, that’s what the nuns had told us.)
Con-substantiation.
The actual body and blood
Mysteriously present with the the elements.
(My Lutheran friends were supposed to see it that way.)
Symbolism.
It represents the body and blood,
A remembrance of Christ’s sacrifice
Long ago.
(More believable I guess.)
Didn’t care much about what it was
Or what it meant for that matter.
But as faith budded that year,
Catholicism gave way to Protestantism
And ceremony gave way to worshipful experience.
Even though my God,
At that point,
Was only Christ-like,
Who needed a trinity?

One day
Alone in a library
Of a charismatic fellowship
In Seoul, Korea.
Jesus jumped out of the pages of a book
And into my heart.
How my soul rejoiced!
It was for me that Jesus died.
This was what the communion cup was all about!

But, oh the discomfort generated
When that minister in New York
Invited all to the table;
All who had “accepted Jesus as Savior...”
(OK, I’d done that.)
“...And are obeying him as Lord.”
Whoa!
I couldn’t take communion
That Sunday!
But I knew
That commitment was in order.
And soon was able to sing,
the simple, yet profound words,
“I have decided to follow Jesus,
No turning back,
No turning back.”

I moved around a lot.
Joined Anneville Evangelical United Brethren,
Timonium United Methodist,
An interdenominational group
At an army base in Kwong-Chun, Korea,
Broadway Presbyterian,
Bowne Street Dutch Reformed,
The Episcopal church for English speakers
In Vienna, Austria,
Clifton Park Baptist.
And at one time or another
Attended services
Of various other denominations
With friends.
Even found the Catholic mass
Could minister to me
Now that I had come to know Jesus personally.

Practices varied:
Passed in the pew,
Dispensed at the altar.
Seated around a table
Feeding and giving drink to each other.
Sipped from tiny glass cups,
Or disposable plastic ones.
Sipped from a chalice
The celebrant wiped before serving the next communicant.
Delivered by the ushers
(When it was my turn
To serve in the nursery.)

Priests,
Ministers,
Deacons,
Lay persons,
Ladies conducting the service.
(The worshipful climax
At a women’s retreat.)

Grape juice,
Wine.
At Nana's funeral
There was a glass goblet
From which both the priest and the nun drank.
The wine appeared to be pink rosé.
The Mormon service I went to
Did it with water.
Expectations of a Cana miracle perhaps?
Later I learned
It related to an incident of persecution.
(Someone had tried to poison their wine.)

Sitting,
Standing,
Kneeling.
Daily.
Weekly,
Monthly,
Maundy Thursday,
Worldwide Communion Sunday.
There’s a real sense of belonging
One to another
As you receive the tray from one person
And then serve the the next;
Yet there’s something meaningful
About intentionally taking
Those bold and humble steps to the altar.

Being a deacon
Changes the the perspective entirely.
Communion cups don’t fill themselves!
(I’ll never take that for granted again.)
Sitting up front,
Saying the prayer,
Taking the cups to the people
Sometimes serving the pastor.
Or taking the little portable kit
To the shut-ins.

“Do this in remembrance of Me.”

Gazing in the cup,
Waiting for the words
That tell me to drink.
Sanctuary lights
And stained glass brightness
Reflecting on the dark, shimmering, liquid surface,
Reminding me of The True Light
that came into the world.
“This is the blood of the covenant
Shed for you.”
The organ softly singing,
“O yes, O yes.
It was for you that Jesus died.”

And I trust anew
the Bible Word
“He who began a good work in you,
will bring it to completion...”