Communion

I don't know why attending church needs to turn into an adventure in this family, but it seems to just happen. I won't go into all the details, except to say that a dropped toy (a purple plastic eggplant, actually) just may have noisily rolled under the pews from the back of the church all the way to the front during the reading of the Gospel; a young Jackson child participating in the Christmas program just may have very publicly picked her nose and wiped it on her oblivious teacher in front of a packed house; another child just may have mistaken the baptismal font for a wading pool...

Lately communion has added some "excitement" to worship. Last week when it was time for the sacrament, Mira got mightily offended that in our church, you don't take communion as a kindergartner. (To her, it was just one more blow in the long line of injustices she suffers as the Littlest Kid.) Her whispered protests grew louder as the usher got nearer to releasing our pew, while I countered back through gritted teeth, "It's not a SNACK." She harumphed and crossed her arms belligerently (several times, to make sure I was getting the point). Despite her disgust with the rules, she did accompany us to the front when it was time to partake in the Lord's Supper, because Lord knows she is not going to risk missing out on any action.

Gracie had her first communion more than a year ago, so you might assume she knows the drill. But last week, she forgot to take the grape juice that's available for those who don't want the real deal, and threw back the mini cup of wine. Threw back meaning drank, but not swallowed. As soon as she tasted the wine, her eyes widened in panic and I could tell she was holding it in her mouth. I hissed "Swallow!" but she shook her head wildly. Her cheeks were puffed out and her eyes were watering as we made our way back to our pew. I motioned for her to sit down (pretty sure my emphatic motions made me look like an NFL ref calling a "clipping" penalty) but Randy hustled her out of there because he could see she was struggling. Meanwhile, Mira was still smarting from the injustice of missing communion so she resumed her grumbling. I was distracted by what had become of the wine Gracie was hanging on to, and felt my patience wearing thin. I brought out the big guns. "You know what communion means? It means Jesus' blood and body. And you don't get to have it until you're ten!" Not surprisingly, she scowled and declared, "I'm not having that!"

As we left church, walking past the carved sign that has the Suffer little children verse, Gracie lamented about her wine debacle. We reminded her that she didn't even come close to matching Randy's finest moment in our communion history:

It was Easter 2009. Mira was just nine months old and still taking a morning nap. For this reason, I went to Easter Sunday services with the older three kids and Randy stayed home with Mira while she slept a bit longer. It was a beautiful day and he could walk to church with the stroller when she woke up.

As I mentioned earlier, our communion wine is typically served in individual plastic cups. Our bread takes the form of those flat, quarter-sized wafers. But in 2009, our church decided to mix things up a bit for the Easter service. "We will be taking the Lord's Supper by intinction today," the pastor announced, and went on to explain to us unadventurous Lutheran-types that intinction meant dipping the bread in the wine. "The server will hand you a piece of bread. You will dip the bread into the wine in the challis, which another server will be holding. If you forget and put the bread in your mouth before you dip it in the wine, ask the server for another piece." Simple enough, right?

Only if you hear the instructions.

A couple other details about the day:

• It's a darn big church. And it was Easter Sunday. There were about a million people there.
• The older kids and I arrived just before the service started, so we had to take a front-row pew.
• Mira slept a little later than Randy expected, so instead of taking a leisurely stroll to church he ended up jogging.

Randy and Mira got to church as communion was finishing up, just in time to bring up the rear of the line. "There's Dad and Mira," one of the kids said. Randy looked a little harried and breathless from his fast trek. We gave him a small wave so he would see where we were sitting and the thought crossed my mind that it was good they were last in the line. More chance for everyone to see my darling new baby in her pretty Easter dress! (Not very pious, I know.)

When Randy's turn came to take communion, we saw him put the bread right into his mouth. Then we saw him shake his head at the server. A couple times. We saw the bread server's puzzled expression. Randy moved over to the wine server and we saw him trying to wrest the huge challis from her hands. She resisted and for a few seconds they grappled over it. "What is Dad doing?" one of the kids whispered. Finally, maybe to protect the baby that Randy was holding in one arm from getting doused with wine, the server gave in and let go of the challis. Randy took a healthy swig, handed it back to her and made his way over to us. He sat down next to me and said under his breath, "I don't know what that wine lady's deal was. She wouldn't give it to me. And that other one kept trying to give me another piece of bread."

I would like to tell you that in that moment I turned my thoughts inward the and contemplated the significance of the Eucharist. That I was not fighting back hysterical laughter in church on Easter Sunday.

I would definitely be lying.

Randy's version:

Thinking I was doing an extra good deed by hurrying the baby over to what was left of Easter services after her nap, I decided to walk her over in the stroller because the weather was so pleasant for an Easter morning. My nice walk to church turned into a brisk jog as I realized that I had to hurry if I was going to make it before the end of the service. Unfortunately, this meant that I was jogging in layers of thick dress polyester church clothes and arrived at the church sweatier than was ideal. Breathless and uncomfortable, I had to quickly size-up the church situation as I walked in, but I was relieved to see that I was just in time to hurry down to the front, get in the end of the line and take communion – what a great dad, letting the baby nap AND making it in time for Easter communion! Something was different about communion today, people seemed to be getting real bread from one person and there was a woman with a large, Harry Potter-type medieval goblet who seemed to be offering it to people. Now, I thought I remembered something about special occasions in church when hygienic caution was thrown to the wind and everyone partakes from the same cup in the spirit of the resurrection - this must be one of those times, I guess... When you're at the end of the line in front of the entire congregation, who are all waiting to move on to the next thing after the long communion session, you feel a bit of extra pressure to be quick. So when it came my turn (as the last and only person in front of the whole church - the bald sweaty dad with the baby along with the bread-giver and the woman with the goblet), I knew I had no time to think. Still somewhat breathless and sweating profusely in my tight-necked clothing, I was handed a piece of fresh bread – well, of course I popped it in my mouth as fast as I could to move on the the wine. I guess I did not register the looks of dismay on the servers' faces as I reached for the goblet, only slightly confused by why I was being offered another piece of bread. The next part is kind of fuzzy, but it seemed weird to me that the wine lady wouldn't let me just have the goblet. I literally had to pull the thing away from her so that I could get my sip of wine and she just didn't seem to want to give it up. What didn't make sense to me was why, as I was joining my family in the pew, why they were all silently laughing - some with tears in their eyes - seemingly at me?