What keeps you from the communion table this Passover, friend?
If you’re like me, sometimes it’s shame. Even if we take the elements as they’re passed, we don’t feel like we’re really at the table. At best, we’re in the corner watching others break the bread and take the cup.
We’ve messed up, or we’ve been told in various ways that we’re less-than. We’re ashamed to draw near to intimacy with Christ because we don’t measure up.
Yesterday was Palm Sunday. I am in the beautiful California redwoods at a camp called Mount Hermon. Two hundred writers attended traditional Sunday services, held in a beautiful auditorium with wooden pews. Both a grand piano and organ sit on the platform next to a wooden cross.
We gathered on a beautiful, sunny morning, expectant. As the organ swelled with the hymns long-known from childhood, I prepared my heart for God to speak.
When the chaplain stood behind the communion table, he reminded us all that it was the Lord’s Supper (not any particular church’s), and invited worshipers from all denominations to partake together.
He continued, “The table is not for perfect people. It is for people who want to come to Jesus. This table is for those who hear His voice saying, ‘Do this in remembrance of me.’ Come down when you’re ready.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a young woman running down the right isle. I would have been right behind her, except that my path to the aisle was blocked. I joined the throng, slowly inching down to the front, but in my heart I was leaping over the pews to get down there.
She jogged down to the front in front of the cross to be first in line at the bowl of crackers and the cup. As I slowly inched down the aisle, she came up through the middle of two lines, grasping a juice-soaked cracker, tears welling up in her eyes.
I don’t know what she left behind in the back of that church. It must have been a heavy load for her to be so ready to meet Jesus at the cross. I was awed to be able to witness a beautiful moment of communion between a beloved child of God and her Savior.
Tears welled up in my eyes too, as I reached for my cracker. “This is my body, broken for you.”
I dipped it into the cup. “This is my blood, shed for you.”
In remembrance of Me. Back in my pew, I thanked Jesus for all He’d done for me, even sacrificing His life. I didn’t need to have it all together. I only needed to remember Him because His death and resurrection means I’m invited to sit at His feet anytime. He wants to commune with me.
If you came to this blog thinking I have achieved perfect healing and have a quick seven-step process for you to do the same, I’m sorry to disappoint. But if you’re looking for a community of believers learning to shed the shame and live like the precious treasures we are—what other created thing is invited to commune with Jesus?—there’s plenty of room around the table.
I’m not the Baker. I just happen to be a fellow beggar who knows where to find the bread.
This Holy Week, as we think about Maundy Thursday and Christ’s Last Supper, what keeps you from coming to the table?
Please join the conversation in the comments section. Where have you met with Jesus lately? If you haven’t, what’s keeping you away?