The Comfort of Communion

The following meditation was written by Dr. Michael B. Brown.

THE COMFORT OF COMMUNION

“While they were eating, Jesus took bread, blessed it, broke it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, ‘Take and eat. This is my body.’ He took a cup, gave thanks, and gave it to them, saying, `Drink from this, all of you. This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many, so that their sins may be forgiven’.” (Matthew 26:26-28 Common English Bible)

The gospels tell us that on the night he was betrayed, Jesus had dinner with his closest friends (who were like family to him). He spent time surrounded by them, sharing bread and wine with them, offering ministry to and receiving strength from them. And just a bit later, he took a handful of them with him to the Garden of Gethsemane. They couldn’t change what was about to happen. But, their presence kept him from having to face it alone. Jesus both offered and experienced comfort at the holy table and through what we call “the communion of the saints.”

Many years ago I served a church near Charlotte, NC, that, rather than gathering on Christmas Eve, always observed Christmas Night Communion. They thought the last act of Christmas should not be unwrapping presents, eating turkey, and watching football. Instead, it should gathering as a family of faith at the Lord’s table to say “Thank You” for the true Gift of the season. It was not a large church. They had a small staff. There were no Associate Pastors. One particular year while I was serving there, my mother had been buried on Christmas Eve. But, there was no one else to lead the service and serve the Sacrament on Christmas night. So, I was present—broken, wounded, empty, going through the motions, but present. I had a four-year-old child at home who didn’t understand the sadness in our house at Christmas that year. My father was with us, having lost his wife of almost half a century. That night I seriously struggled just to be there, let alone to provide anything of meaning for those who came to worship. When the first group of congregants who had received the bread and wine stood, they didn’t return from the altar to their pews. Instead, the person at the end of the altar walked over to where I stood and hugged me. The next person did the same. And the next and the next until they had all held their minister close in a gesture of sympathy and love. The following group who knelt for Communion did the same thing before returning to their seats. Eventually, every single individual who came forward to receive the Sacrament that night hugged me before returning to their pews, many whose faces were wet with tears. For all the books I had read about theology, and for all the courses I had taken in seminary, I think that was the night when I learned what “the communion of the saints” actually means. 

In church, we receive the comfort of Christ’s promise, “This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many, so that their (our) sins may be forgiven.” And, when tough times come, we also receive comfort from the communion of the saints, those who hold us close and hold us up so that we may survive the darkness.

Joy,