welcome to God's table, everyone! well, except you, and you, and you...

Easter 2006.  Gulfport, Mississippi.  I'm at a Katrina-fied Easter service -- meaning, our church is a large tent.  Our pews, old dented metal folding chairs.  The floor, grass and earth.

The air is hot and humid, or at least very much so for a Washington State girl.  Fans buzz loudly, but the air never really seems to move anywhere.  No one is dressed up save for a few little kids whose parents tried to be at least somewhat normal --the congregation is all bedraggled locals and ran-out-of-clean-clothes-a-few-days-ago relief workers.

The enthusiastic young youth pastor is entering hour two of his well-meaning but fairly insensitively-presented message on how you just have to have hope.  He's speaking as if these people have simply had a bad week (using a personal example of how he had gotten the stomach flu last week, but had somehow triumphed) -- not as if they've lost everything they own and most of their neighbors and all of their livelihood. 

He's prepared no notes -- he and the Holy Spirit are just wingin' this one.  He wanders his way back to the same point a third time, and my team members and I look at each other with crossed fingers, waiting for some sign that the end -- of this sermon -- is near.

I've already had three or four glasses of sweet tea.  It's the only thing that helps in this kind of situation.

The sermon finally comes to and end, and communion is served to everyone.  Just as we are getting ready to partake of the wine and bread, he adds -- "Out of respect for God, and out of respect for those of us who are Christians, if you have not asked Jesus into your heart, please do not take part in Communion this morning.  The Bible says that it would be wrong for you.  So, if that's you -- go ahead and just get up and put your communion back on that back table.  No one would judge you or anything, we just... Thanks."

Here it comes:

"But, if you would like to partake this morning, you can ask Jesus into your heart right now and be a part of this family.  Let's pray."

I went and took my communion outside the tent by myself on some bleachers out in the hot sun.  I remember my prayer pretty clearly because it's not how I often talk to God, especially on Easter, of all things.  "God, thanks for loving us and giving us grace even though we fuck it up so badly sometimes.  Thank you for your body, broken for me...  Thank you for your blood, shed for me."

*****

Justin and I visited a church yesterday morning.  I have some old friends who go there, so it seemed like a good way to maybe get connected again.  

I realized not far into the service that this probably wasn't the right place.  Justin started scribbling away in the notes section of his bulletin about the scripture we were studying, so I was reluctant to say anything because I thought he must be really into it.  (I was wrong, much to my relief, but I didn't find that out til later on our way home.)

What the preacher lacked in preparation he made up for in fervency; he spoke often in a raised, intense voice.  I won't go into the details of the sermon -- I think it will suffice to say that I was so discouraged by it that I wrote a note to my husband: "I'm not sure I'm a Christian anymore."  To which he wisely responded that maybe I'm just not the same Christian.  I started to tear up.  A message like this would have moved the old me like crazy.  Now, it simply sounded like so many spiritual words with little meaning, little resonance.  Lots of words.  Lots of emotion.  Very few ways to practically apply it, at least to the life I lead each day.  Maybe the other ones have it down, I don't know.

People were invited to get up and take communion in the front and the back of the room.  I think they must do it every week, because no one really explained the significance of communion or the importance of self-examination before taking it.  There was, however, one explanation they didn't miss.  I was half-expecting it: "Communion is for Christians only.  If you are not a Christian, but would like to join us, you can pray that prayer right now and be a part."

Justin heard a "Well, that's perfect," escape his wife's lips.

It was quite clear that my heart wasn't in the right place at that point, so I kept my buns in the seat.  It was a kind of silent protest, really.  I didn't want someone who "hadn't said the prayer" to be the only other person not taking part.

We left as soon as we could.

I went home and had to find some answers to where this common church belief comes from.  You'd be amazed at how much debate rages (or has raged) about whether even to let people from other Christian denominations or other churches participate in communion.  Nuts.  I finally just went back to the chapter in 1 Corinthians where it talks about communion.  Here it is:
The Lord's Supper (1 Corinthians 11: 17-34)
In the following directives I have no praise for you, for your meetings do more harm than good. In the first place, I hear that when you come together as a church, there are divisions among you, and to some extent I believe it. No doubt there have to be differences among you to show which of you have God's approval. When you come together, it is not the Lord's Supper you eat, for as you eat, each of you goes ahead without waiting for anybody else. One remains hungry, another gets drunk. Don't you have homes to eat and drink in? Or do you despise the church of God and humiliate those who have nothing? What shall I say to you? Shall I praise you for this? Certainly not!

For I received from the Lord what I also passed on to you: The Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, "This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me." In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me." For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes.

Therefore, whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of sinning against the body and blood of the Lord. A man ought to examine himself before he eats of the bread and drinks of the cup. For anyone who eats and drinks without recognizing the body of the Lord eats and drinks judgment on himself. That is why many among you are weak and sick, and a number of you have fallen asleep. But if we judged ourselves, we would not come under judgment. When we are judged by the Lord, we are being disciplined so that we will not be condemned with the world.

So then, my brothers, when you come together to eat, wait for each other. If anyone is hungry, he should eat at home, so that when you meet together it may not result in judgment. 

And when I come I will give further directions.

The argument for preventing people who have not professed faith in Christ is that by doing so, we are protecting them from the judgment that comes from unworthily taking communion.

To me, however, it seems that Christians have once again taken something directed at themselves as directed at non-believers.  When looked at in context, it is clear that Paul is speaking to the church at Corinth, criticizing them for their lack of deference to one another at the Lord's Supper, as well as the fact that they were treating the Lord's Supper as just another meal (i.e., some overeating while others went hungry, some getting drunk while some had nothing at all to drink) rather than giving it the sacred honor it was meant to have.  Becuase they were not pausing to examine themselves, because they were not recognizing the significance of the sacrifice of Christ, they were eating and drinking judgment on themselves. 

Paul seems clear: If we judged ourselves, we would not come under judgment.  When we are judged by the Lord, we are being disciplined so that we will not be condemned with the world.  How can we miss that he is speaking not to "the world," which is, in its own way, already under judgment, but to US?  I know there were plenty of times I took communion unworthily -- that is, not having examined myself or remembered Christ, as he asks me to in that moment.  Maybe the focus should have been on our own condition of heart.

It grieves me that we'd use this as an way to keep people from Jesus.  Any way that a person can take even a small step toward him is alright with me.  It's not my business if they haven't fully put their faith in Christ yet -- I'm just glad they're looking his direction.  To them, it might just be bread and grape juice.  Big deal.  Jesus ate with sinners all the time and scandalized the religious professionals of his day, but his Church doesn't seem to embrace his way of doing things.

I'm stealing an argument here from someone else (one J.F. Karr), because I thought it was really good:

The point of this section of the epistle is that the Corinthians were getting drunk at their agape feasts, eating without waiting for others to arrive so that some were deprived of any food etc. St Paul’s concern is that the Eucharist (which, in the primitive Church, was incorporated into agape feasts) was being desecrated by their bad behaviour and disregard for their fellow believers (other members of the body of Christ). Consequently, they were losing the significance of the Eucharist, treating it as common food, and desecrating it by consuming it in a raucous atmosphere. That is what he was trying to correct.

I think it is a huge leap to say that his intent was to “protect” the unbaptised or unconverted from bringing “damnation” (more accurately translated divine judgement) on themselves by being included at the Lord’s table.

Jesus ate with sinners, and thus he called them to repentance and faith in Himself. Repentance and a looking to Christ for forgiveness should be the only requirements for eating at His table, IMO. After all, sinners need to receive Him - far more than the “properly prepared” need to.

So there's what I've been thinking about.  Something to chew on (perhaps, or one to skip -- I know it's a long one).  Let me know if you have any thoughts to share.  At least I feel a little better.  That, and I amused my husband, who watched me feverishly search the net for arguments and my Strong's concordance for the original Greek, etc., for the better part of an hour...