Communing

Today I took communion to the shut ins. We do this on a rotation basis and this was the second time this year it was my turn. I dread this job because I hate calling folks and asking if they want me to come and bring them communion. I hate explaining who I am, where I am calling from and why it is I am calling. Sometimes the answers are so vague I think, did they want me to come or not?

I could not find cups and lids today that matched so I could prepare the grape juice individually, as I usually do. (Yes, I know you purist cannot believe we don't use wine. My sympathies are with you. Today especially I think we should rethink this position.) I ended up taking the grape juice, blessed during communion in worship, and putting it in a Tupperware container(which seems to null and void the blessing), and take cups to put the grape juice in at every stop. When I did this last none of my communion people wanted communion, this time all of them did. So armed with my Tupperware juice, Ziploc bag of bread, and a communion service adapted for shut ins, and an attitude big enough to choke a horse, I went on my merry way.

I got lost on the way to stop one and had to call for directions. This was actually a good thing as my resource has almost as little a sense of direction as I do, so she knows enough to take me one step at a time, describe every turn NOT by street sign but by physical description ('it looks like a dead end but it's not a dead end and there are really more houses back there, see what I mean?'). She stayed on the phone with me until I was safely in the correct driveway. Inside stop one is a precious lady who is sweet and gentle and is very eager to hear all about worship this morning and the number of people in attendance. She tells me about her daughter and her grandchildren. She reads along with me in the communion liturgy and I think how wonderful it is to say the Lords Prayer with this delightful spirit.

Stop two is another challenge but I find my way on my own to a beautiful home and yet another darling lady. She has some questions for me about the capital campaign our church is engaged in which I answer happily. She tells me with great delight about how much she enjoys her family and her home, how long she has been there and how she stills misses her husband. We say the same liturgy and we enjoy the same prayers and we share communion and again my heart is comforted.

Stop three is a gentleman who is a sports fan. We discussed with great enthusiasm all of his favorite teams and his favorite sports. He was not strong but he prayed the Lord's prayer with me and he took communion with enthusiasm and having finished all the grape juice he looked at me with a big grin and said, 'that was good!'. Yes, it was good. Who could keep an attitude in all of that?

My final stop was a long term care facility. These tend to be my least favorite stops but it was clean and bright and smelled like fabric softener sheets. In the hall I passed an old man and an old woman sitting with their heads together in their wheelchairs so they could hear each other better and it brought tears to my eyes. My lady was sleeping in her chair and having just read dos and don'ts of hospital visiting I couldn't really decide if I ought to wake her. I finally touched her hand and she woke immediately. I told her who I was and asked if she would like communion and she sat up and said 'Yes' with so much energy I was ashamed of my previous attitude. We read the liturgy together, she said the blessing was very sweet and once again I was humbled by her spirit. She was brutally honest and blunt at times, kind and sweet at others. She said she would never remember my name but she would remember my face. I told her it was enough and I believe it is.

I wont remember this the next time in the rotation rolls around. I will remember the phone calls and the frustration of trying to find a safe way to transport the elements. I will remember this takes my nap time and that I always get lost. But I hope somewhere deep inside me, the memory of those faces are seared in my heart. When I groan about another worship service, another event, another meeting, there are folks out there who long to be in fellowship with the body. When I approach the altar railing thinking details I hope God will call to mind the dignity and grace with which those folks celebrated. I trust that somewhere in my soul they left an imprint that will remind me that the body is all of us, and that joy is always an option. And that communing is indeed a holy mystery that somehow unites us, to one another and to God through Jesus in ways that defy definition. This is a gift. I am very grateful.