I want to speak with you all today about the Sacrament of Holy Communion. Seven months ago, I asked congregations to fast from the Sacrament until I could get a liturgy pulled together for “virtual” communion, and I promised to have that available in time for Holy Week. I kept that promise, providing for the synod the resource “Spirit and Life Home Communion Document” designed to help support a home-based communion. Some congregations have made use of that document, some congregations continue to fast from the Sacrament—both are valid interpretations of our Lutheran Confessions.
When I provided that document for use by the synod, no one dreamed our lives would continue to be so deeply impacted by COVID-19 nearly seven months later. Many of our congregations continue to meet via electronic means (pre-recorded, Zoom, some Facebook) or via telephone conference call. Some are meeting in person outside, contemplating a move indoors. Some are worshiping indoors with limited numbers & risk-management protocols in place. Almost all who are meeting in person are also providing some sort of remote worship experience, either continuing to live-stream or by recording services & sharing via YouTube. Some of our congregations are partaking of the Sacrament. Some of our congregations are not. These decisions are made by pastoral leadership of a congregation and decisions like this are their responsibility as part of their call to Word & Sacrament ministry. I said at the beginning of this pandemic event that I would support a pastor’s decision on this matter, and I continue to do so.
Recently, I was asked by my “COVID bubble” if I would provide Holy Communion for them. We are a mixed group of Christian faiths and a range of ages. I had been fasting from the Sacrament since March, as had the others. But a huge part of my own pastoral identity is that when someone asks for the Sacrament: you find a way to get it to them. So I agreed.
One family made the bread. One family brought the wine. Our communionware came from kitchen & china cabinets. I forgot my bible. Someone provided me with theirs (and later their reading glasses because apparently I’m at that age now...). We gathered in the kitchen, the heart of the home. We lit a candle, picked some late-blooming roses from the backyard & set the table. We read the lessons for the day, reflected together on what we heard, and then moved into the communion liturgy.
Speaking the Words of Institution for the first time in months brought tears to my eyes. A beloved toddler kept talking over me, asking questions about what I was doing, announcing how much he loved the people around the table, asking for a snack. My children, aloof teenagers, somehow managed to recreate back pew of the sanctuary hijinks while in arm’s reach of their grandparents, and I learned that a stern look from me behind the Table is as effective now as it ever was at Kennewick First Lutheran. Distributing communion to these COVID bubblemates was holy. The toddler insisted on having some bread and some juice AND a blessing (as long as I was handing them out). We closed our time with the benediction.
For a moment, a kitchen became a sanctuary. For a moment, plates that held grilled cheese or tuna noodle casserole held instead the Body of Christ. For a moment, my grandmother’s “sherbet cups” became vessels that held the Blood of Jesus. And for a precious, fleeting moment: Jesus’ eyes shone in the candlelight with us. Smiling, joining our laughter. Easing the ache in our hearts, by reminding us that “Holy Communion” not only refers to communing with Christ or the Church Triumphant, but with one another.
We have done a remarkable and effective job of separating the Church from other parts of our lives. Church happens in a specific building, at a specific time, on a specific day. And judging by our reaction when anyone dares suggest selling a building we can no longer fill or afford, or a different worship time, or (let’s get crazy) a different worship day: we have convinced ourselves that that place, that time, and that day are the only possible ways we can encounter God.
Intellectually, of course, we don’t believe that. We glibly say that “God is everywhere!” but we don’t live like we believe that. And I think part of what we’re learning in this Coronatide is that we have really starved ourselves in the American church. We miss church—of course we do! But do we miss it because it’s actually gone or because we’ve done such an impeccable job of making sure God stuff only happens in one place? Are we learning now that we are the ones who have placed themselves in the box, rather than containing God?
In Luther’s day (as in ours) the kitchen was the center of the home. It was always warm, always busy, there was plenty of seating and light. It was in the kitchen that parents or other adults settled in to the work of instilling the faith in their children. It happened around meal times, it happened amidst laughter and questions. It happened with multiple generations present. I can imagine that around the table of Martin & Katie Luther: a fair number of good-natured disagreements broke out. What if one of the unforeseen benefits of this time is to rediscover and reclaim the holy in our homes? What would it look like if we brought worship into our home—not just watching on a screen, but what if we got out our bibles (or borrowed someone else’s) and read the Word together, asking questions, offering ideas, praying together? Perhaps you celebrate the Sacrament. Perhaps not. But what if—what if—our homes felt as holy as a sanctuary?
I acknowledge that this isn’t a possibility for everyone. Not every home is safe. Noteveryone is able to be part of a COVID bubble. But what if when we knew that truthfor others, we found ways to help them engage? Is it possible, just maybe, that wecould find new ways to be Church together? Ways that function independently fromgeographic location or point on our calendars?
What if God is calling us not to pine for what we don’t have, but create something new that feeds us at least as much as what we have been forced to give up—what if it feeds us more? What if instead of risking our lives and mental health to return to what we had or recreate it in a virtual version—what if we tried something we haven’t tried before?
Mistakes will be made. We won’t have all the answers to all the questions. But that happens now, right? And the good news is that God grants forgiveness. So what’s holding us back?
May God inspire us all with holy imagination and a willingness to fail & try again. For that is what we need in such a time as this.
+Bishop Kristen Kuempel