In
Evangelical churches, like the handful I used to attend, the tradition was
to pass out pieces of bread and shot-glass-sized plastic cups of grape juice to
the congregants. The order still remained because as we stood in front of our
seats (there was no procession to the front), the gospel of Matthew was read so
that all individuals at the same time digested and imbibed. On the one hand,
someone might argue (or I suppose the argument has been made) that in this way,
the importance of the communal supper was honored because everyone ingests
simultaneously based upon the queues being read from the gospel of Matthew. On
the other hand, a mainstream Catholic, Episcopalian, or Protestant may suggest
that this practice does NOT follow the gospel of Matthew since it is clear that
the sharing taking place is not simultaneous; rather, it is the passing off one
to another of the bread and wine that I might add also takes on important theological undertones.
One might argue that when I pass to another, I am serving that individual,
pledging myself to his sanctity and salvation just as another does to me. In
this way, we are not simply a group of individuals congregating together to
share in a common ritual, we are actively engaging one another as well. I’m
sure there are a number of ways to color this event, but let’s leave it at that
for now.
Let’s switch
gears for the moment and let’s admit for the moment that the procedure of
sharing one communal cup is biblical. Sometime in the 1980s when the fear of
AIDS was rife in the mainline church, my own Catholic Church, like so many
others, began allowing for variations on theme, especially where it concerned
receiving the cup of wine. My father, who was an uber-guilty Catholic, often
would not partake in the Eucharist on Sunday because he was stricken by a sense
of his own unrighteousness during the week (usually as a result of not
attending Confession the day before). I only realized later, and perhaps he had
no idea, that his actions too were biblically based. Paul writes:
For he that
eateth and drinketh unworthily, eateth and drinketh damnation to himself, not
discerning the Lord's body. (1 Corinthians 11:29)
Of course
this was the King James Version, and the word unworthily was not perhaps the best translation, but nevertheless,
a primarily Protestant translation found its way into my dad’s subconscious and
training, helping to form his own impression of where he stood alongside his
faith community at that critical moment.
The primary
transformation in my Catholic congregation was that people began taking the
piece of bread and instead of ingesting first, they were dipping it into the
cup. My mother explained to us that this was so anyone who was sick would not
pass on germs of any kind, and she mentioned AIDS as well. Nobody ever thought
to remind us that the miraculous event of the Eucharist, not just in the transformation
of bread and wine to the body and blood of Christ, but in its ability to grant
one salvation was apparently not miraculous enough to defend us against the transmission
of the common cold. I guess I understood this injunction as something a mother
defending her child’s immune system would find rational. And we never thought much of it as young children.
But now,
what practice was closer to the biblical narrative in Matthew was being
rewritten on the grassroots level of my congregation, and in many others as
well. People were dipping their bread in the wine. I guess only now I could
imagine all the various theological implications of this act: lack of trust in
the salvific and healing power of God (of course the Greek word sozo means the same thing), a lack of
community sharing. No longer were we drinking from the same chalice to express
the importance of coming together in community. We were saying “yes, we are
here, but the world is also here, and so we must be cognizant of its reality as
well.” Community became conditional.
Enter the
Gospel of John. Most people don’t read the Last Supper account of John as one
that shows us the procedural method for receiving Eucharist, and that’s
primarily because most of the focus is on ferreting out Judas, the betrayer of
Jesus. In one of the passing narrations in this story, Jesus announces that the
person who dips the sop of his bread at the same time into the cup of wine with
me is the one who will betray me. I certainly don’t think anyone intends to see
themselves as Judas on Sunday morning, betraying Jesus. Yet it is the very
practice of dipping our bread particle into the cup of wine in a sacrament that
theologically attests to the presence of Christ
with us so that we dramatically recast this event of Judas’ betrayal
without knowing it.
But in fact,
maybe we do know it. Maybe in changing the parameters of the sacrament because
of fear of catching cold expresses a theologically quality that is closer the
very thing the Eucharist is meant to dispel: A fear of commitment to Christ, a
double-mindedness about Christ that keeps us firmly in the world. I guess these
are all ways we can theologically express our actions. Or we may have simply
lost all theologically importance and understanding in receiving the sacrament
and now we do so without the slightest
thought of what we are doing.
God forbid a
priest or pastor demand that everyone receive the bread and wine in the same
manner! Imagine the possible lawsuit had someone contracted the flu with a
weakened immune system, died as a result, and could somehow prove it was his or
her receiving the cup of Christ that was to blame! It’s a scary position for
the church to be put in, especially since not everyone at the table will always
be committed to the community in which he finds himself. But one might simply add that if community
should ideally be going all in, it is up the church to demand it as well, since
the church is the gathering force. Yet, how many times do you recall in your
Christian faith seeing someone publically rebuked in front of the church for
his sin? I’ve seen apologies, but the rebuke which is meant to make others fear
is simply a passage from Pauline Christianity ignored in practical situations,
though I’m sure there’s a lot of sinning that still goes on in the segment of
the human race that identifies with Christianity.
And let’s
not forget that while we call it “receiving communion,” the communion people
think of most is how they are receiving Christ in the isolation of their own moment. I’m sure for many, their minds
go to Christ alone, which is a sad commentary.
When I
pledged for a fraternity, the ritualistic language spoken and the congratulations
received were just as, if not, more memorable than the receiving of Communion
(which always seemed a misnomer). I often romanticized how the blood oaths
taken in gangs or the mafia code of Omerta stressed the importance of community
and showed how important community is to the survival of the group. It’s not
just about showing up, it’s about looking around at the people around you, and
doing something different with the way you conceive of what’s going on in the
moment. Too much of the focus on the gospel last supper narratives is on Jesus and
not enough on those gathered around him. One can minimize the theological
impact of the possible historical account and say that not one of them,
including Jesus, had any idea of what was coming. But the gospels are not
historical documents (though they certainly are sprinkled with historical
awareness). Their primary theological fusion means that when we read them we
need to take account of where the author sees us in the action. Are we simply
observers, or are we participants? And if participants, what role do we have in
the last supper? Are we Jesus? Are we Judas? Are we the other ones clamoring
for details? Or are we something different entirely, those who see the Passion
in the Last Supper and given our omniscience as readers, understand the idea of
community all the more differently when we do?
I certainly
think dipping the bread in the wine can be a spiritual act. As a Catholic, the
overwhelming focus was on the sins of the week that were leading me up through
that line to the priest at the other end who would dispense to me the bread and
wine. I was blending in with the community of sinners while my father whose
moment was built upon the reading of another verse, was bowing out, both of us
honoring interpretations of community. It was always the most embarrassing
action I remember as a child, yet perhaps the bravest as well when my father
did this.
And what of
my actions? Today I dip my bread in the wine. Perhaps it is the ingrained fear
of AIDS now long gone and transformed to sublimations of other diseases that
are always threatening on the periphery of imagination. I would certainly prefer
to theologize the moment, to believe that we are all Judas at that moment, for
we all have and do betray Christ, and so we should all be dipping our bread into the
cup of his blood. But when I see others confidently sip from the cup, I know
that even in community we all stand in relation to Christ (and in relation to each other
differently) – some who drink, perhaps drink with the eschatological reminder
that one day they will drink and eat in heaven, as Christ reminded his
disciples in the gospel of John. Others, still in the pre-Easter fog of their
own stories, dip their bread into the confusion of the blood, and perhaps
remain closer to the attitude of what the disciples could have been feeling. And
finally there are those like my father, who saw both the Post-Easter Jesus in
all his glory, and kept himself at bay.
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