Memorial United Methodist Church

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One day as the Little Red Hen was scratching in a field, she found a grain of wheat.
"This wheat should be planted," she said. "Who will plant this grain of wheat?"
"Not I," said the Duck. "Not I," said the Cat. "Not I," said the Dog.
"Then I will," said the Little Red Hen. And she did.
Soon the wheat grew to be tall and yellow.
"The wheat is ripe," said the Little Red Hen. "Who will cut the wheat?"
"Not I," said the Duck. "Not I," said the Cat. "Not I," said the Dog.
"Then I will," said the Little Red Hen. And she did.
When the wheat was cut, the Little Red Hen said, "Who will thresh the wheat?"
"Not I," said the Duck. "Not I," said the Cat. "Not I," said the Dog.
"Then I will," said the Little Red Hen. And she did.
When the wheat was threshed, the Little Red Hen said, "Who will take this wheat to the mill?"
"Not I," said the Duck. "Not I," said the Cat. "Not I," said the Dog.
"Then I will," said the Little Red Hen. And she did.
She took the wheat to the mill and had it ground into flour. Then she said, "Who will make this flour into bread?"
"Not I," said the Duck. "Not I," said the Cat. "Not I," said the Dog.
"Then I will," said the Little Red Hen. And she did.
She made and baked the bread. Then she said, "Who will eat this bread?"
"Oh! I will," said the Duck. "And I will," said the Cat. "And I will," said the Dog.
"No, No!" said the Little Red Hen. "I will do that." And she did.

Making bread and eating bread belong in community. I am sorry that the duck, cat and dog excluded themselves from community. They didn’t enjoy the bread-making or the bread-eating. The little red hen did make bread – but she did so alone. She did eat bread – but ended up eating alone. Eating is designed by God to be communal. From 4th to 8th grade I ate lunch alone in a little hot dog place at the corner of Harvey Avenue and 12th Street in Oak Park, Illinois. I put a brave front on this experience most of my life but here is the truth – I hate eating alone.

I love communion. I have since I was a child when I was invited to participate surreptitiously by Mr. Bonnema who slipped the bread and cup to me even before I was confirmed and confirmation was the ticket to communion in my home church. I loved communion in high school and in college. Our chaplain offered us a communion service before all vacations on the last night before leaving. I remember the place, the words, the people and even my own posture.

In college we read “For the Life of the World” by a Russian Orthodox writer, Alexander Schmemann, in preparation for an ecumenical college and university conference in Athens, Ohio. I remember that all the conferees read the book prior to arriving. Then on the last day we had a communion service. All of the Catholic students were to sit in the balcony and not partake. They did all sit in the balcony, but when it came time to go forward for communion you could hear a rumble on the stairs from the balcony as the Catholic college students came to the table. We were all together – some within the rules of their denomination and some way outside of the rules.

Once I was in a township in what was then called Rhodesia, now called Zimbabwe. It was after dark. The laws of the country were that after dark all Whites were to be in towns and all Blacks were to be in townships. Our church bus broke down and we were a Black and White group in a township. We were breaking the law and it was during the wars of liberation in that place. We were scared – not of the liberation groups but of the White government.  One of our number spread out some fabric on the hood of the disabled bus, took out some bread and some grape juice. We had communion. We took within us the bread and the wine – the body and blood of Jesus. We were no longer afraid.

I could tell you another 100 stories of when communion has been meaningful to me. I like the idea that the bread and wine go inside and get involved in the digestive process and get into my blood and travel all over my body. I truly feel one with Jesus Christ. I experience a power to live my life for the sake of others as he did. Whatever fear I have in that moment, drains out of me. Communion matters to me. It is a matter of flesh and blood. I am different after receiving communion. I feel one with everyone present, even folks I am irritated with and are irritated with me. I feel one with all of my sisters and brothers on all of God’s islands, continents and peninsulas – all Christians, all Protestants, all Catholics, all Orthodox, people of all faiths, people with questions about faith and people purposefully of no faith. I feel one with people from all eras and ages of the past – people of all languages and ways. I feel one with all the people yet to be born everywhere – people who will not appear for years, decades, centuries and eons.

I can’t explain all this to you. It is a mystery and it is real for me. My relationship with Jesus Christ is not about principles, belief, theology, or approved practices. It is about becoming one with Christ and I feel most one with Christ in communion – especially in communion with people with whom I share life. For me communion is real bread for real people in real relationships. I wish we shared communion every time we worshipped. I know some of you roll your eyes when I say this. It is the heart of relationship with God, Christ, each other, even the Creation. Some of you who are Catholic in background know what I talking about. It is a time when we move beyond words to experience. But we get worried that the service might take too long or that if we take communion all the time it will lose its meaning.

Returning to the book, For the Life of the World, by Schmemann – he taught me the Orthodox thinking that all of life is a sacrament. Life isn’t divided into the sacred and the secular. That is a human division that has never made sense to me. Whenever I eat bread I sense a oneness with Christ and all of God’s creation. This week I ate with a member of our congregation and we shared a salty bread stick and the words, “It is a blessing to break bread with you in the name of Jesus.” That meant a lot to me. In that act I felt one with my table partner, with all the people eating at the restaurant and the servers, buspersons, cooks, owners and dishwashers.

I know that sometimes we think it is a bit “icky” to say after Jesus, “This is my body broken for you.” “This is my blood shed for you.” But you know what – life is broken, shed and icky. Jesus lived his life for the sake of others. When the authorities tried to stop this way of living and threatened him with death, he didn’t stop living for the sake of others. Nothing stopped him. Our faith is about flesh and blood. It is incarnation. It is about struggle. It is about suffering. It is about living. It is about dying. It is about living on, forever, eternally. Death does not stop the power of the lives of those who live for others. All of this is beyond my explanations, just as the meaning of communion is beyond me. But it is a powerful presence in my life. I hope it is in yours too.

We can keep saying, “Not I,” like the duck and the cat and the dog. This robs us of community and it robs the little red hen also. Or be can join in the bread-making and bread-eating community. It gives a chance to enjoy real bread with real people in real relationships.