Faith and Communion

This weekend, my 5 ½ year-old son will receive first communion at our local parish.  With great faith, his father and I will let my son loose on the holy Sacrament.  With even greater faith (and less common sense), we will dress him in white pants, a white shirt and white shoes.  I shudder to think how those crisp white clothes will look at the end of the day, after all the running around, grape juice, cake and squirming in the pew. 

Many of my friends and family have asked me, “Do you think he’s ready?  Do you think he understands the Sacrament?  Do you really think those pants will stay clean?”  To be 100% honest, I don’t know and I’m not sure I care.  Please don’t mistake me, I treasure and honor the Sacrament with deep reverence. 

If it were my Sacrament or my church’s, I’d worry about it more.  I’d stress about his preparedness and his seriousness.  But it doesn’t belong to me or to my church to worry about.  It belongs to God.  And it is freely given, even to those who don’t deserve or understand it.  In God’s eyes, surely I must be as unworthy and unprepared to receive the Sacrament as my son.   He might even be more worthy than me because he approaches the Eucharist with the innocence and wonder of a child whereas I approach with the wariness and skepticism of an adult. 

I also think of the moment during which I was created and sent into the world with God’s blessing.  Surely the angels and archangels must have asked, “Do you think he’s ready? Do you think he understands what it means to be a child of God?  Do you think he’ll stay that pure forever?”  God simply smiled and sent me into the world anyway, knowing that one day I’d return to Him as pure and as innocent as the day created me.  At least that has always been His wish for me.  Despite all that I’ve done and left undone, God wants to remember me in that moment. As I was sent into the world, so was my son.

I don’t have faith that my son will understand the Sacrament fully, but he doesn’t need to.  I do have faith that God invites him and all His children to the Sacrament with love and patience.  As with his Baptism, my son’s first Communion does not “introduce” or “reacquaint” him with God.  He is well known to God already.  God rejoiced in his coming before he was known to us.  God embraced him before his tiny body had taken form.  God called him by name even before he was given one. If my son stumbles, God will reach out to catch him. This Sacrament is more like a comforting and familiar hand on my son’s shoulder, leading him through the darkness of this life. 

So this Sunday, I will kneel with my son before the bread and the wine.  We will not commune as parent and child, but together as children of God, equally invited and equally unaware of the mystery behind the Sacrament. Whatever we lack in our preparation, God will complete for each of us.

And if you’re still wondering about those pants, rest assured, I’ll carry my stain remover pen with me.

To be honest, I'm a Jerk

I come from a long line of jerks.  My father is a jerk as are many of my uncles and some of my cousins (both male and female).   Fortunately, God has sought to surround the jerks in my family with non-jerks.  My brother, my partner and my mother each contend with our jerkish behavior with kindness, love and patience.  They each have played referee, therapist and confessor to my and my family's jerkish ways.

In the height of my jerkishness, right about in high school, my father and I would have epic arguments.  We'd argue over some insignificant thing and go days, weeks and in one instance, a whole summer without talking to each other.  And if anyone pointed out that we were more alike than different, well that would add another day or week to the churlish silence between us.

During that time, my mother, the chief non-jerk in residence made one simple rule that even we did not oppose.  No matter what, all of us ate together.  Even if the only sounds that emanated from the table were of forks touching plates, we were expected to commune together.   It was unpleasant and uncomfortable, but it reminded us that even in our most abject jerkishness, we lived under one roof and ate one common meal.

Over the past several weeks, I've heard a few people refer to the Holy Spirit as a "she."  Although, I still often refer to the Spirit as gender neutral, I see the binding nature of the Spirit in my mother's simple rule: Abide with each other even if you can't live with each other.  Even if the Holy Spirit isn't entirely female, It certainly exhibits a mother's devotion to keep people at the common table, even when they don't share much else in common.

Last week, the United Methodist Church held its quadrennial conference.  One of its most debated votes reaffirmed the UMC's stance that homosexual acts are inconsistent with the denomination's understanding of Christian teaching.  The vote left many on both sides hurt, angry and feeling disenfranchised.  From the various blogs I've read, the body left the assembly feeling anything but "United".  Even though I wasn't there, as a former UMC member, I felt that disunion and heartache personally.

Yet I am convinced that even though the hurt was palatable in that moment, the Holy Spirit moved in that assembly as It works in the world.  The Spirit's work is measured in centuries and not in days, weeks or even months.   When the Church wrestled with schism, anathema and heresy before, the Spirit was there among them and kept everyone coming back to the table to share a common meal, even the jerks.  Like a mother patiently waiting for her children to come home to dinner, the Holy Spirit awaits for perfect unity and harmony for all Her children.

This Mother's Day, I will thank God for my mother, the mothers in my life,  holy Mother Church and the motherly nature of the Holy Spirit. 

The Lord is my Shepherd...but...

This past Sunday, our church celebrated Good Shepherd Sunday.  To paraphrase (rather poorly) our pastor, "it’s a chance to mash up all of our Shepherd motifs into one Sunday.”  And that’s what tends to happen in most celebrations of this Sunday.  We sing hymns about shepherds, read the 23^rd psalm and recount the many examples of Jesus as the loving, caring shepherd. The good shepherd imagery in Christianity is so entrenched in the church we still call our leaders, “pastors”.  Some of our most endearing artwork tends to depict gentle shepherds in idyllic fields.  Our bishops still carry shepherds’ crooks as reminders of their role as leaders of the flock.

It’s all well and good, this imagery of the Good Shepherd. It’s very comforting and serene. But as our pastor reflected, there has to be more to it than that. For instance, if Jesus is the good shepherd, who are the sheep?  We are quick to say, “we are the sheep” and even quicker to move on.  We don’t tend to dwell on the other half of the analogy.  I suspect that there are lots of reasons why we don’t explore the analogy more. 

First and foremost, to be called sheep isn’t very flattering. Sheep are docile and not very bright.   They are easily spooked and tend to frighten easily.  Sheep are victims and are rarely the aggressors, which our culture seems to value more and more.   Even on the farm, when barriers are broken, sheep are the usually last to leave the pens unless spooked.  Pigs, horses, cows, and even chickens will tend to wander before sheep. It’s not very awe-inspiring on this side of the analogy is it?

I suspect, there’s another reason beyond the flattery aspect of the analogy. There’s the rather unpleasant carnal reality of sheep herding. After all, shepherds don’t tend to sheep because they’re cute or they make good props for pastoral scenery.  Sheep provide wool, milk and meat for the shepherds and the community.  In Jesus’ time, sheep were also often the animals most used for sacrifice in the Temple because they were affordable to even the poorest people and easily transported without iron fetters or collars. You can literally lead a sheep to the slaughterhouse with a single switch. (I’ve actually seen this part before).

If we are to compare Jesus to the Good Shepherd, then we must admit our “sheepishness” and accept that we are led, tended and cared for, not because we’re “cute”.  We are loved so that we may be “consumed” by and through the work of the Good Shepherd.  Like a lamb that provides warmth and sustenance to a cold and hungry world, we are set aside for a purposeful utility in the world. Like the lamb set aside for the sacrifice, we are tended to so that we might be of service to others and a glory to God.  I suspect, we don’t like to dwell on this aspect of the analogy because it requires more from us than “laying down beside still waters” and being coddled. 

To accept Jesus as your shepherd is to accept your place as a whole sacrifice to be used for Jesus’ mission. We are often reluctant to depict that part of the analogy.  And that’s what the shepherd’s crook is for, to lead the sheep where they don’t wish to go.