“This reminds
you that Jesus loves you very much.”
Those were the words used when the minister gave the elements to my
grandson as he participated in the Lord’s Supper on Christmas Eve. My grandson is five.
Hearing the
story, I recalled an incident that took place several years ago. It was our monthly observance of the Supper
and we had guests—a family with young children.
As the elements were distributed, the parents allowed their children to
take the bread and the cup. A venerable
saint sitting nearby saw this and was not pleased. She said to the parents, “This is serious and
we don’t let little children take part.”
Those parents never returned.
Doubtless,
many Baptists would praise her—though they, themselves, might not have been
bold enough to scold the parents. Funny,
it’s “the Lord’s Table.” I wonder if he
would be so fussy about children enjoying a simple wafer and a bit of juice.
And, of
course, those who served my grandson were right: the Supper is a reminder that Jesus
loves us very much.
Back in the
eighteenth century Solomon Stoddard shocked many New England Congregationalists
by suggesting the Supper was “a converting ordinance” and allowing those who
had never professed conversion to participate.
He hoped the repeated reminder of Christ’s gracious sacrifice would
prompt personal commitment to him. (Apparently
Stoddard finally sensed he was a recipient of God’s grace while participating
in the Supper, so he hoped others would have the same experience.) Anyway, some of his fellow pastors agreed,
many did not. The controversy about who
can and cannot “take communion” continues today.
The churches I
have served practiced “open” communion; we invited all believers to join in the
celebration of the Supper. Some Baptists
are uncomfortable with that, insisting only fellow Baptists or, more narrowly,
only their fellow church members may participate.
The debate
erupted days after I began serving my church in Texas. I was a nervous, naïve, new pastor as I
officiated at the Lord’s Supper for the first time. I felt relieved to have gotten through it
without a mishap and happy we had visitors that morning. It was a day for firsts because that evening
I moderated at the first business meeting since becoming pastor. I asked for new business and a member
challenged me, “Since when do we practice open communion?” I was caught off-guard; the pulpit committee
had told me the church practiced open communion! It was a tense few moments as I stammered
around trying to explain. The discussion
ended when a deacon said, “If a non-member takes the elements, you’ll have to
snatch them out of their hands because I’m not going to do it.”
I’m glad no
one snatched the elements from my grandson’s hands. Church can be a scary enough place for a
child. I’m also glad he heard the
simplest explanation for what was happening.
He didn’t need to hear words like “Eucharist,” “sacrament,” “ordinance,”
or “transubstantiation” (indeed, if someone had tried to explain that concept,
he likely would have thought they were kidding). He had a better chance of understanding “Jesus
loves you very much.” He understands
what it means to be loved (though, like all of us, he could spend his life
trying to understand the meaning of God’s love).
As an
evangelical I understand the power of the word, the evangel, the word of God’s
love for us.
Whether we
call it the Eucharist, the Lord’s Supper, or communion, the rite embodies that
word, the evangel, that Good News.
