My
father was a lapsed Roman Catholic and my mother an unchurched Episcopalian.
I'm still not entirely sure what led them to insist that my sister and I
(both baptized as infants at St. Joseph's Catholic Church in Makawao) attend
catechism classes in preparation for our first Holy Communion.
As
part of preparing for receiving our first communion each of us was required to
make our first confession. So, scapular around my neck with laminated pictures
of Saints and a glow in the dark rosary in my hands, I entered the little booth
and confessed the only sin I could think of.
I
was mean to my sister...
I’m
sure I was given some task, some number of penitential prayers to perform. But,
being only 8 at the time, my awe and fear of the priest seemed more than
penance enough and I scurried out of the booth when I ran out of sins to
confess (I think I may have confessed cruelty to my younger sister multiple
times because I couldn’t think of anything else to say!).
Second
only to the priest, in their ability to inspire awe, were the nuns who taught
the classes. They were adamant that partaking of the bread and the wine was to
be done with intentionality and solemnity--that in our first Communion we would
be participating in something beyond ourselves and in that first taste we could
begin to comprehend the intermingling of the human and divine.
Or,
at least that is my understanding now as I suspect that’s not at all how they
phrased it! At the time, I was awestruck
by my new glow in the dark rosary and the possibility that I might somehow
prove negligent in receiving that sacred bread.
Because,
on one point in particular the nuns were clear--one was not to chew the holy
wafer. Do not chew! Whatever you do, do not chew the body of Christ! And
so, as I opened my mouth to receive that first holy bit of wheat and water
condensed into its round cracker form, I felt a sense of dread and panic.
How does one go about eating the body of Christ without chewing?!
Gummed
to the roof of my mouth, the wafer eventually grew sodden enough to be
swallowed and I left the chancel steps with relief. I had survived this
encounter with what seemed the holy of holies and the faded picture which
remains from this moment is of a solemn little girl in white dress and veil
standing alone before the altar.
And,
so, today as I stand here in this gathered company, this community of faith, I
can only imagine what my 8-year-old self would have thought of my genuflection
and my elevation, of the consecration which I am privileged to perform as
priest.
I
feel a sense of awe as I consider the stretch from 8-year-old self to the self
that serves as Priest that can be summed up most beautifully in the prayer of
Humble Access.
We
do not presume to come to this thy Table (O merciful Lord) trusting in our own
righteousness, but in thy manifold and great mercies. We are not worthy so much
as to gather up the crumbs under thy Table. But thou art the same Lord, whose
property is always to have mercy: Grant us therefore, gracious Lord, so to eat
the Flesh of thy dear Son Jesus Christ, and to drink his Blood, in these holy
Mysteries, that we may continually dwell in him, and he in us, that our sinful
bodies may be made clean by his Body, and our souls washed through his most
precious Blood. Amen.
This
prayer appears in the Book of Common Prayer on page 337, and has been part of
our common liturgies since 1548.
And,
while it is a prayer rarely said nowadays, it is the prayer that centers me in
the sanctity of our action at the table we call the altar. It is the prayer
that reminds me that mercy and grace are not earned but granted. It is the
prayer that reminds me that we dwell in God and God within us. It is the prayer
that holds me to my conviction that this is God’s table and all are
welcome--regardless. This is the table where we sinner and saint stand alike
and as one.
As
the letter to the Ephesians offers, there is, one body and one Spirit, one hope
of our calling, one Lord, one faith, one baptism, one God and Father of all,
who is above all and through all and in all.
And,
each of us given grace in according to the measure of Christ’s gift.
And,
how to measure this gift of Christ’s love? There is no measure for such
generous love. There is no measure that does not overflow with the abundance of
that love.
And
in response to that love, all that we have and all that we are is brought to
this table. And, it is enough. That is the gift of grace in the
Good News we hear today...that who we are and what we have is abundantly,
generously and unstintingly ENOUGH.
Our
ancestors ate the manna in the wilderness, and so we too shall be fed from a
body that, having been broken, is resurrected and reunited through our own
feasting. The bread baked by our fellows, and shared from this table, binds
us into a wholeness that fills the empty and opens to us a world beyond self.
We partake and in that partaking become more fully who we are called to
be.
And,
this, this is AMAZING. And, we have the privilege of being part of this! So,
while the solemnity of communion is one aspect of our celebration, it is a solemnity
imbued with joy. The invitation to God’s table is an invitation to celebration!
To a feast! To a party where are all welcome!
Oh,
how I wish I could go back in time to that solemn faced 8-year-old and whisper
in her ear…
“This
is life and you are loved! You are an amazing and beloved child of God and there
will always be a place for you in this world! It might be hard sometimes, but
it’s going to be worth it—may you never forget the taste of this bread in your
mouth and the love of God that will never abandon you.”
In
just a moment we will formally welcome baby Abigail to this celebration that
extends beyond time and space, we will welcome her for who she is and whomever
she will become as a beloved child of God. We welcome her, knowing that God has
called her to be part of us, part of this, part of the transcendent feast of
God’s love! And, throughout her life we will shout to the rafters so that she
may hear,
“Abigail,
you are part of us, and we welcome you just as you are! You are enough and we
are enough and God has called us beloved!”
Let
the people say,
Amen.
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