A Faith Inherited: Communion
As a kid, most of my summers were spent at summer camp. One year, around 14 years old, we were given Rubik's Cubes at the beginning of the term in our little welcome bags, along with some pens and paper for letters home, some camp stickers, and other goodies. All of my cabinmates immediately took the Cube as a challenge, and we all set off to be the first to solve it.
I stared down at the Rubik's cube in my hand, twisting and turning each row as I tried my absolute hardest to make all the colors line up. Nothing was making sense. In fact, the harder I tried, the more moves I made, the more jumbled and confusing the cube became. After just a couple of days, the first kid solved his. From that point forward, a handful of kids would solve theirs each day, and I was falling further and further behind. There had to be a solution.
If you know me, you know I don't react well to being confused. If you're anything like me, not being able to figure something out is so much more than just mere confusion; it's angering, demeaning, and sends a jolt of anxiety through me. If I can't figure this problem out, if I can't make sense of this issue, how am I going to live with myself? I have to find an answer, even if I have to force it out of the problem.
I've always needed things to make sense in order to feel complete. Cars are a passion of mine. Engines make sense, as do the problems that arise with them. An engine doesn't stop running because it's having a bad day or because it woke up depressed (unless you have a Ram like me, then all bets are off). When an engine isn't working, it's just a matter of working your way from top to bottom until, eventually, you find the root of the problem. Maybe it's an entire system malfunctioning, maybe it's the tiniest crack in the deepest corner of the engine. No matter how large or minute, how cheap or expensive the fix may be, the problem and solution make sense.
Faith, unfortunately, does not make sense. Oftentimes, aspects of faith feel far more like a Rubik's Cube than an engine. Communion, by far, is one of the most Rubik's Cube aspects of faith to me.
When I turn to pray over the bread and juice, I am not physically changing the elements of bread and juice into anything else, but they are also not the same after the prayer. We do not believe the bread and juice are the physical body and blood like our Catholic brothers and sisters, but we certainly do not believe they remain simply bread and juice. We do not believe that partaking of communion saves the soul, but we most definitely believe that partaking is deeply intertwined with salvation.
I'm sorry, what?
To the logical mind, none of this makes sense. To a mind craving facts, figures, and solutions, none of these answers I've just given can ever satisfy. There is nothing within the sacrament of Communion that appeals to a strictly human mind. Which is exactly why we need the Spirit.
Have you noticed a theme in these sermons regarding the "why?" behind our practices and beliefs? It always seems to circle back to the Holy Spirit. As it should! We are Holy Spirit people, we are Children of God, imbued with His presence in the form of the Spirit, and far too often we as Christians downplay or undervalue this critical, beautiful gift within us.
Communion and the actions of the Holy Spirit are moments in which we can surrender, which was our theme from this past week, to the mystery and majesty of God. Here is the best part: there is no faking this revelation.
While I was at summer camp, with everyone around me solving their Rubik's Cubes, I got more and more panicked at how it looked that I hadn't figured mine out yet. In the desperation brought on by my frustration, I devised the most genius plan that I was sure no kid in America had yet to think of. . .I'll just take the stickers off each square and put them back on in order. No one will know, right?
It didn't work. The stickers didn't come off right, the ones that came off wouldn't stick onto their newly designated square, the corners were curled up and refused to lie flat, and it was a mess. What started as a pristine Cube now looked like a Frankenstein toy. My attempt at forcing the thing to make sense had only managed to cheapen the whole experience.
So it is with these mysteries of faith. When I approach the open table of Communion, I am surrendering my desire for control, for things to make sense, for logic. I am acknowledging that this beautiful, complex faith is so much bigger than I could ever imagine, and that faith is not an intellectual pursuit.
When was the last time you took communion, and was it a Rubik's Cube experience? That's perfectly understandable, so never fear! Let's look into the "why" behind this sacrament and what it means to surrender at the altar.
