I have been attending Crossroads Presbyterian Church for the past several weeks. It has been nice to begin putting down roots there (however tentative I’ve been in doing so), meeting people and getting involved with a small group; it is also nice to enjoy the all-too-comfortable movie theater seats each Sunday morning (I’ve been going to the church’s newly planted site and they meet at a local AMC theater).
I have really appreciated being back in a church that celebrates communion each Sunday, and I especially love the way Crossroads “does” communion. We pass the bread (a loaf from BreadCo - known outside of St. Louis as Panera – of course) and the wine (or grape juice, if you take a cup from the outer ring of the tray) down the rows. As we do, we are encouraged to tell each other what we are sharing. So this morning, as I took the loaf in my hands, I heard Rebecca tell me, “This is the body of Christ broken for you.” I tore off a piece, handed the loaf to my friend Rick, and said the same thing.
It is grace to be reminded. It is a privilege to remind someone else.
As I turned to Rick this morning, first to share the bread and then to share the cup-filled tray, I wanted to press pause on the progress of the service. I wanted to get up out of my chair, grab my friend’s shoulder, look him in the eyes, and say with awe and jubilation, “This bread means Christ’s body was broken for you. For YOU Rick. Jesus was broken and beaten for YOU! Remember that. Be thankful. Know how much you are loved. This is an amazing thing!”
Of course, the service continued on. The bread and later the wine and my more subdued words passed between us quickly. But the joy of saying those words remained.
And so I wonder…
How would my interactions with people be different if I always had a loaf of bread or a cup of wine to offer them? I don’t say this to cheapen the weight of the eucharist, nor to put the weight of salvation on it. Rather, I am talking about the precious moment that happens when I look someone in the eye and tell them that Jesus was broken and bled for them. What if that moment happened in every interaction I have, whether in talking to the barista at S’bucks or my roommate or that person who drives me crazy or my mom or… Walking into each of those conversations with a loaf of bread in my hand would remind me of the grace I have received, and it would afford me the privilege and responsibility to share that same grace with them.
Lord, let me remember your grace, and be so mindful of it - with or without a loaf of bread in my hand — that I can’t help but remind others of it as well through my words, attitude, and actions. Amen.