Easter: Bottleneck in the Communion LineBlog / Produced by The High Calling
L.L. here, with an Easter story. (Technically it happened on Good Friday, but you're going to forgive me for that, right?) On any ordinary Sunday at our church, we sit to take communion. Ushers pass faux silver plates of loaves we pinch, break. Grape juice passes in little plastic cups; we take, sip, set the cups in holders on chairs in front of us (made especially to accept the emptied grace). But on Good Friday somebody thought we should get out of our chairs and seek grace at the front of the church.
We did. A quiet line formed. "I'm going to take communion," I whispered to my girls. They wanted to come, clutched at my arms. We moved into the line, a trinity of Barkats looking vaguely like a lumpy octopus clogging the aisle. The body of Christ, the body of Christ, the body of Christ. We pinched, broke, swallowed, moved to the cup. Maybe it was the fact that my husband held the tray of grape juice, but something emboldened my littlest child. The blood of Christ, the blood of Christ, the blood of Christ. She chose slowly, drank.
I was already done and ready to move on when I saw my spouse chuckling and watching our little one. She was still at the cup, tipping it high, sucking up every possible drop, again and again. Bottleneck in the communion line. A child audaciously taking every last drop of grace, extended by the hand of her father. Like Mary on Easter morning, touching, taking. The body of Christ, the blood of Christ, given for her, for me, for you.
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