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Real Communion
“Gramma, we want to go in big church with you.”
I groaned inwardly and looked in my rearview mirror at the two hopeful faces strapped into their car-seats behind me, while trying furiously to think of a way to convince them to go their Sunday School class.
“We want to hear the singing. Are you singing today, Gramma?”
I looked at the clock in the dashboard. Of course I’m not singing today. Singing is starting right now and we don’t even have a parking space yet.
“No honey, Gramma isn’t singing on the platform, but I’ll still be singing where I sit,” I answered calmly. “Do you want to go to Sunday School after the singing?”
“Nooooooo,” they sang. “We want to stay with you."
What was I thinking when I agreed to this? I love when my granddaughters spend the night but usually, Grampa gets breakfast together while I get ready and then we trade off so he can jump in the shower. This morning I was on my own and I had seriously miscalculated the time necessary for a distracted seven year old to finish eating and a four year old to pick out her shoes (with only two choices available, I might add.)
I swung hard into a parking spot, slammed on the parking brake and turned to look at the girls.
“You’ll have to sit through Pastor’s sermon.” I was sure the threat of advanced theology and Biblical boredom would have the desired effect.
“Okay,” they said in unison, hope growing on their faces.
My dreams of dropping them off at Sunday school and getting some quiet church time after a hectic morning were fading fast. “And you’ll have to be quiet. No squirming. No scribbling on all the prayer cards and the offering envelopes.”
They nodded furiously, obviously smelling the blood of victory in the water and sensing Gramma was on the ropes.
“If you can’t behave, if you make noise or wiggle, I’m taking you to class. Understand?” Great. Now I’m reduced to threatening them with Sunday School.
Lots more nodding and big silly smiles. Gramma knew she was a goner. “And no running back and forth to potty,” I said sternly, trying to salvage my shredded authority.
I selected seats towards the back of the church near the exit so we did not create too much disruption when we made our exits, which I was certain would follow shortly after the music ended or someone had to make a bathroom run, whichever came first.
As we took our places and started to sing, I noticed the communion table set up in the front, with it’s gleaming gold containers holding unleavened crackers and plastic mini-cups of grape juice. Great. Now what do I do?
They had spotted the table and were already poking at my leg so I’d bend down where they could kid-whisper questions at me. Oh, Lord, not today.
“What’s thaaaaaaaat?” they both hissed and pointed.
“That, is called communion. Have you heard about communion, when we remember what Jesus did for us.
I looked at them and felt the tearing of indecision. Did I let them take the communion elements without understanding the meaning of what we were doing, or should I cause a ruckus and enlist more questions by denying them participation, or should I whisk them off to their Sunday School classes which is where they should be in the first place. God, I need some help here.
The seven year old nodded smugly and leaned in. “It’s about His body and He died.”
The four year old stood dejected, head bowed, as if she’d been left out of a wonderful secret that everyone else knew but her. “I don’t know about it,” she mumbled.
I sat down between them and pulled them close so my voice would be near their ears. They pressed into my sides to listen to me explain in my best stage whisper.
“This is something very important. We do this to remember everything Jesus did for us. The bread – we use crackers – reminds of His body that He gave so we could have life with Him. The little cups have grape juice to remind us of how His blood washed away all our sins.”
They were hanging on every word. Pastor asked the congregation to sit and prepare for communion as the ushers moved forward to distribute the communion elements. The girls strained their necks to get a good look at what was inside the containers.
“The Bible tells us to do this, take the bread and the cup and remember how much Jesus did for us,” I said.
The four year old looked at me with big serious eyes. “He died,” she said softly. “On a cross.”
“But it’s nothing to be sad about!” I said. He didn’t stay dead. He rose from the grave and now all of us can live forever with God, because of Jesus and what he did. That’s what we celebrate at Easter. It’s the most wonderful thing. So when we eat communion, we are telling God thank you for Jesus and everything He did.”
The ushers were getting closer. I looked at the seven year old. “Do you believe Jesus died for everything you’ve ever done wrong, and will ever do wrong? Do you believe He rose from the grave and lives in our hearts?
She looked at the usher and back at me. “Yes,” she said firmly. I felt hot tears come to my eyes as I turned to the four year old and looked in her eyes.
“Do you believe Jesus died for everything you’ve ever done wrong, and will ever do wrong? Do you believe He didn’t stay dead and now lives in our hearts?” She paused, then nodded slowly and seriously. Now, my tears flowed freely.
The usher stood before us with the communion trays. I indicated for each girl to take a piece of cracker and a tiny plastic cup. I followed when they were finished and we held them in our hands, according to Pastor’s instructions. The three of us huddled closer and bowed our heads as I led them in prayer.
“Father in heaven, thank you for sending your son Jesus to earth. Thank you that He was willing to suffer and die on a cross for all our sins. Thank you that He didn’t stay dead, but rose from the grave and is living today. Help us to live the way You want us to and to make Jesus happy. Amen.
“Amen,” said two little voices. One word, so earnest, so sincere.
Pastor began reading from the Bible. “Now, Gramma?” the four year old asked, showing me her piece of cracker.
“Pastor will tell us, just listen,” I whispered back.
As Pastor began his prayer, the seven year old leaned closer. “When do we eat?”
I smiled. “Just wait. Pastor will say when. We all do it together.” I had never seen them listen so closely to Pastor’s words.
“Please stand and……let us partake together.” The magic words were said. The girls popped the crackers into their mouths and chewed. The cup followed. The four year old drained hers in one gulp, like cough medicine. The seven year old tested it with a three-drop sip, then a slightly larger sip, then two more dainty sips until it was gone.
We handed our plastic cups toward the end of the aisle where the ushers collected them. The four year looked at me, giving me her biggest, cheesy grin – the one that makes her eyes almost close and her nose wrinkle. I gave her the same face back.
As we settled back into our seats, the seven year old tugged my arm. “Gramma, that was gooooood juice. Is that all we get?”
I smiled and squeezed her in a hug. “You just got everything there is,” I said.
As Pastor began his sermon, the girls snuggled against me, one under each arm, and settled down to behave as they were instructed and not wiggle. I didn’t hear much of his message that morning because God had already given me a lesson, an opportunity, a blessing and a joy – all before the sermon even began.
Jody Ward
2010
Our family of birth or with whom we grow up play a very important part. Whatever the influence of family was we learned and grew. Sometimes we took it to heart while at other times we found that we needed to let some things go. Our own personalities play a role in who we became as we grew up. Our teachers and role models were also tantamount to our development. 
