Poem - Reflections on Communion Dribbles

Reflections on Communion Dribbles

O. Kris Widmer

Idea:  19 March 2016    Printed: 20 March 2016

“Never Cry Over Spilled Communion Wine.”

Inspired by church service observations at the Antioch Adventist Church:  The sermon topic is the women that were first to see the risen Lord, and the event is Communion for the first quarter of 2016.

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.

 In homily,

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.

Elders stand.

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.

Bon Appetit!