Reflections on Communion Dribbles
O. Kris Widmer
We gather as the church yet again,
The Lord’s Last Supper shall be our next nutrition –
an appetizer before our salads, vegetables and Special K roasts.
These symbols of His death:
cross - bread – juice – basin - towel
give us, hope of life beyond our eventual graves.
We join the company of the believers
of the women that return
from their a.m. errand, spices intact,
Obeying the call of the angels and the Master
to “Go, Tell!”
We hear their echoes
as they breathlessly banter away
in our hearing …
“He is Risen! We have seen Him!”
Now, one organist plays.
Two deaconesses uncover brown bread and purple cups.
Four elders read and pray.
Nine deacons serve three hundred hungry diners.
Trays are held in reverent service,
as many hands make light work
picking out Eucharist portions.
Deacons return from their errand.
Organist plays on.
Trays are restacked.
One holder, where a cup has just been,
is rimmed in spilled juice – crimson dribbles.
Evidence of what?
A shaky, old hand, reaching for a familiar sip?
A shaky, young, unbaptized hand reaching for the first time,
with parental and pastoral permission?
It is OPEN communion after all!
A deacon’s jiggle from a misstep?
A nervous hand from a confessing sinner
who dares to believe there is room at the cross for them?
A clumsy hand that spills a little?
This preacher notices this purple puddle,
and calls attention to it,
before we eat, before we drink.
A reminder to us
that this table is for us all –
old and young,
coordinated and clumsy.
A reminder that His blood too was spilled.
Quickly, the soiled tray is topped by another,
then covered by a cross tipped lid,
then covered beneath a pure, white cloth.
All our mistakes…covered by His grace.
This is His Body.
This is His Blood.
We are His Body.