Two Sacraments
Most Protestants practice two ordinances upon which we can all agree to a certain extent. My own denomination observes three ordinances, and both the Roman Catholic and the Eastern Orthodox churches count seven, although my Orthodox friends use language a little bit different than I do in describing sacraments or ordinances As a non-specific Christ follower whose faith falls roughly within “Protestant” parameters, I have a high regard for the two practices common to all Christians: Baptism, and Holy Communion, also known as The Lord’s Supper and the Eucharist.
As an associate pastor, one of my responsibilities was to lead baptismal classes, preparing candidates for the gravity of the step they would take toward full incorporation into the life of the Body of Christ. I made a change in my baptismal beliefs at age eighteen, which I never departed from. I had studied the issue since that era and continued to examine its significance through new lenses while in Bible school and seminary, and when preparing for ordination within a denomination that holds a particular perspective. Twice I passed up staff positions in large churches because accepting the views there would have meant embracing ones I disagreed with, and I felt this might hurt my witness down the road. I also secured several interviews to minister within a Christian movement that held that baptism is potentially a means of salvation, placing even more weight on the issue than I was prepared to do. This background information is simply meant to demonstrate that I am passionate about my particular theological views, though I fully accept, without reservation, those in my spiritual family who hold differing views, as long as they hold generally orthodox positions regarding the divinity of Christ and salvation by grace through faith.
The Lord’s Supper
Having gone to the mat in defense of what I believe to be the proper Gospel positions concerning one ordinance—as clergy are prone to do—it seems odd to me that widespread lethargy appears to have set in regarding the other ordinance that we have unequivocally agreed to be binding upon the church—the one involving the cup, of sorts, and the bread, in its varying iterations. We agree that this practice of “Communion” should occur, but we can’t agree on when, or in what mode, in our post-AIDS, post-COVID world.
When sharing the first Communion table with his twelve chosen disciples, Jesus instructed them to “Do this in remembrance of me” (Luke 22:19). The apostle Paul, apparently privy to some source unknown to us, also attributed the phrase “…as often as you drink it…” to Christ (I Corinthians 11:25), without designating just how often we should engage in this practice. Some church bodies have chosen to do this weekly, while others practice it monthly, quarterly or less frequently. The churches I have affiliated with have primarily done this monthly, but I grew up practicing it quarterly, which remains within my personal comfort level. I also joined a movement as a young adult that observed this only once or twice a year. Any of these positions can successfully argue that they are doing it “often enough.” To me, the sacrament is somewhat cheapened when it is observed weekly because I don’t feel the congregation has been given adequate reflection time to consider the gravity of what we are professing.
The Gravity of the Sacrament
Each time we participate in the sacrament, we take on the life (eating and drinking), as well as the death and resurrection of our Lord and Savior. This ought to be a monumentally sober, non-reflexive act. “Examine yourself,” Paul admonishes us, and “…do not engage in this activity in an ‘unworthy’ manner,” lest you be “eating and drinking judgment upon yourself” (I Corinthians 11:27-32). It might make you sick—and some have even died from it, he adds (v. 30). Consequently, I have retained my preference for doing it less frequently than most traditions practice, preceded by abundant reflection time on each occasion. Eating and drinking “judgment” or even “damnation” upon oneself sounds pretty serious to me.
The Power of Symbols
Most spaces in which I corporately worship serve unfermented wine—i.e., grape juice—in their congregational settings. Reasons for this are obvious, as recovering alcoholics may be participating/attending, and they may view wine as a temptation to them. Even so, unfermented wine still is not a biblical likelihood, but this is not a reason for contention from my vantage point. I believe it is far worse when institutions deliberately use leavened bread. This unforced error drains the power from our symbols. Most of us are aware of the significance of the Passover feast and the powerful analogy of leaven as a symbol of sin; these chinks in our armor need to be addressed and eradicated before the elements are offered.
Differences Need not be Contentious
I am by no means a legalist. If you genuinely believe a thimbleful of Mogen David will make an alcoholic return home to begin drinking again, I believe it’s wise to offer an alternative, like Welch’s, for those who prefer it. Even so, I can’t understand why administrators would go out of their way to compromise the symbols in normative situations. Unleavened bread is just as easy to bake, or to purchase, as the leavened variety. Do we also go out of our way to substitute another element for water when we practice baptism?
The original Lord’s Supper was administered within the course of the meal. Few churches make an effort to celebrate communion this way. Given our busy schedules, this is understandable to me as well. Even so, it points to a need to look more intentionally upon our practices and consider why our schedules regularly impede us from conducting ourselves more biblically. At least occasionally, might we spend more time pondering the significance of the sacred before we pop it down the old gullet? Without really trying, my case builds for a less frequent Eucharist, but with more substance placed upon how we engage the Lord and one another when we participate together at the communion table, drawing us closer to the Lord’s intended purpose.
Desacralized Practices
Hang on, though—my critique of our communion practices is far from complete. The worst aspect of the desacralized Communion ritual that 21st-century Americans engage in is even more mundane than what I have presented so far. Personally, I always endeavor to take time to repent, to reflect, and to consider Christ’s epic sacrifice. I will exit the worship center, or skip the ordinance altogether if I feel I am about to take it unworthily, so it’s not necessarily the blackness in my heart or yours that momentarily concerns me the most. The one thing I am powerless to circumvent in public settings is the trend towards distributing what I call the “Sacred Lunchables.”
The Sacred Lunchables scenario refers to a practical matter rather than an entirely spiritual one. We might practice intinction, speeding up the introspective process by dipping the bread into the wine and thus dispatching of the ordinance in one fell swoop. You can probably guess why I am not fond of that practice based upon the way I have characterized it here, though I am not opposed to it. What I am, rather, opposed to is the distribution of the carefully vacuum-sealed plastic grape-juice infused mini-shot glasses with the tiny piece of matzah individually wrapped at one end. I don’t find this to be immoral, unbiblical or sacrilegious, exactly. It simply desacralizes the sacrament.
A Cumbersome Practice
I care little about which end of the cup your mini soup cracker has been packaged on. I find that having them secured to the bottom of the cups makes for easier extraction, but in any event, the tabs are not always easy to manipulate. Whether you pop the cellophane at the bottom of the cup or struggle to remove it separately from the rim before consuming the bogus wine, it is a problem. My hand strength is at least average, but it often remains a problem to tug on that plastic tab with just enough force to fully or partially remove it without spilling it all over my pants. My concern is not that the vacuum packing is too effective, which of course would appear to be a particularly petty insight. Rather, the larger concern is that those navigating the pull tabs are inevitably distracted at exactly the time we are supposed to be at our most contemplative. If churches do a poor job of communicating the need for repentance and acknowledgment of Christ’s literal physical sacrifice, involving his torture, psychological anguish and the slow death to which he freely submitted for our redemption, it makes the moment even more difficult by causing our minds to meander at the most critical moment of the entire month, week, or quarter. It’s not impossible to appreciate the shedding of Jesus’ blood while navigating plastic pull tabs—this is just a significant barrier to overcome when we’re attempting to be reverently contemplative.
Let us consider the distribution of the Lunchables communion “feast” in light of the reality that most people are either standing around the sanctuary or sitting in their seats during this ritual, rather than huddling together in a credible expression of communion. At a church service or a Mass, we gather to overcome our American proclivities toward individualism. Now we find ourselves holding individual cups with individual packing to untether, making it even more difficult to focus upon this practice as a communal act. I don’t think you have to be a complete curmudgeon to recognize that Houston might have a problem in launching this holy vessel.
What Can We Agree Upon?
We can disagree on how often we should practice the Eucharist. We can disagree about whether it should be an “open” or “closed” table, whether people should be dissuaded from taking it if they are known to be engaging in flagrant immorality, and how old a person should be to participate. We can even disagree on whether the elements actually aid in the process of sacralization —i.e., whether taking them contributes to your spiritual portfolio or not. We can argue over the use of leaven both in the bread and the wine, or whether it is acceptable to deliberately substitute pretzels and Coke for the elements—an experiment that was foisted upon me at a youth group where I once attended.
I believe we should argue these issues, and do so passionately, because faith discussions are among the most consequential discussions we may engage in. What I am hoping we can also agree upon is that, even in this post-COVID era, when disease and alcoholism are ongoing concerns, we can continue to think of better ways to receive the sacraments in our worship spaces with greater intentionality, greater creativity, and greater sacredness. The outcomes we are seeking must include deeper connections with Christ and his body rather than simply creating more utilitarian worship environments at any cost.
Photo by David Weber on Unsplash
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