communion

I recently tried to explain to a Moslem friend of mine who was visiting my church what communion is for Christians. I had a hard time putting into words what this represents to followers of Christ. I have no words to describe what it means to me personally. Then last night I was reading The Dead Don’t Dance for probably the tenth time and found the perfect words for it. Though they are not mine (they belong to Charles Martin) I thought I would share them. (This is a scene from the book that takes place in church. The person speaking is the pastor)

“Before you strut up here, remember what waits. You all face a choice. You can rise from your seat, follow the person in front of you, stroll down the aisle, critique somebody else’s Sunday best which they happened to wear on a Wednesday night, think about how hungry you are or where, when and what you are going to eat when you leave here, and then kneel, nod, nip and sip, and return to your seat, having thought the bread stale and the wine cheap . . .OR you can slide from your seat, limp to the rail, reach down, grab these splintery timbers, fall, rest your baggage against it, extend your hands, take tenderly, place the body on your tongue, taste the grit, swallow, and feel the hunger build in your stomach. Then you can grasp the cup, tremble, sip violently, feel the burn, taste the acrid smell, feel the splinters pierce your elbows, lean more heavily, and then look upon this cross.”

“You can reach up and place your trembling hands on callused, blood soaked feet, let the red, slippery liquid run down your fingers, underneath your watchband, and come to rest in the crack of your elbow. You can lean your forehead against His shin, notice the crude and rusted nail, the shake and strain in His arms and legs, stick your hand in the hole of His side, notice the dried blood on His face, the thorns poking through the skin, smell the vinegar, feel the raw skin on His back and hear the gurgle drowning out His breathing.

“Lastly, you can raise your head and feel the breath of God. And in that instant, if you so choose, you can see your own reflections. With all your zits, warts, blemishes, and scars. And there, amongst the scar tissue, are your demons. People, that space between your pew and this altar, between the red velvet cushions and these splintery timbers. Whether it’s twenty feet or a million miles, it’s not a question of distance. It’s one of position.”

Charles Martin is one of my favorite authors. If you enjoy reading and wish to be convicted and inspired, check him out.