In his book Twenty Piece Shuffle, that offers profound and moving reflections on inner city street life in downtown Toronto Greg Paul shares an experience of he and the staff at Sanctuary, a Church community not far off Yonge Street in the heart of Toronto following the brutal murder of a young woman who was involved in their ministry and community.
Cali was murdered in a subway station one Sunday afternoon, and as news of her killing spread amongst those gathering at Sanctuary for evening worship, grief, anger, exhaustion and despair over took the staff and volunteers and the community members as they wrestled with the death of a friend … in the cold-heartedness that marks life on the streets, the death of this young woman touched many in a startling way …
Paul describes the contacts they had with the you woman’s family, her friends on the street and those directly affected by her death … the emotions ran high as people struggled to make sense of the senseless, and tried to offer comfort to each other … Then one night almost a week later, the staff of Sanctuary gathered to do their usual “debrief” session and they were exhausted, beaten down, overwhelmed with grief, anger and despair. Sitting together in their meeting room they said little beyond blank stares, disjointed chatter and heart-felt sighs, until it was suggested they have communion …
Some one ran to an all-night grocery store, while some one else got a couple of glasses and a bottle of port that had been tucked away in an office … and they shared communion …
(light the candle - pour juice and break bread on small table at front of sanctuary)
They shared communion and it became an moving moment – “the brokenness of that bread stood for the shattered lives in our community, the aching sense of loss, and being lost that tore at our own hearts, our profound failure, we felt, to make a difference. It told us too, that Jesus was right there in our midst and out walking around in our neighbourhood among our friends who, like us were desperately trying to find a way to ease the pain. … But it didn’t feel like he was there. I think we felt in that moment like Martha and Mary must have, after they had sent an urgent message about their sick brother Lazarus to Jesus: “Come quickly, the one you love is dying.” And he stayed two more days in the distant town where he was when the message had first arrived.
Waiting.
Dawdling, apparently, while their own dear brother moaned and faded and finally expired. Easy enough to say, after the fact, that is was all just preparation for the resurrection that was coming, but what comfort was that at the time?
Slim comfort, too, that he was “out there” seemingly doing nothing to change the courses of our friends who were actively seeking their own demise, doing nothing to protect those who like Cali were defenseless. … The Wine: a deep foreboding purplish red in the candlelight.
Salvation, cleansing, healing, Words – mere words. But with the cup, a subtle shift.
We must, we begin to say to each other, recount the victories we have witnessed in the past.
We must lift up our heads, look for whatever flicker of light we can spot in this present darkness, and place our hope in a dawn yet to be revealed. This, here and now, is what faith is. The only alternative is despair. (pg 198-9)
In that moment, Paul and the others lived an Upper Room experience that paralleled that of Jesus’ disciples who gathered in the upper room following Jesus death and in the wake of the news that the tomb was empty and the women returning from the cemetery proclaiming that “Jesus has Risen.”
It is significant for us, 19 centuries removed, that the disciples returned to the place where in the last hours of his earthly life, Jesus broke bread and shared the cup. The centrality of communion to all that we are, and all that we do can not be under stated. Returning literally to the communion table in the darkness and uncertainty and fear is a significant thing …
What must it have been like that night in the upper room when the disciples gathered?
It could have happened within hours of discovering the empty tomb, it could have been a couple of days later, or it could have been a week later … we simply don’t know how long it was after the discovery of the empty tomb. What we do know however, is that the disciples and those gathered were frightened – they we terrified that they could be next if the authorities found them.
In the darkness – overwhelmed by their grief, their exhaustion, their despair – in the midst of that moment, where like Martha and Mary, Jesus fells absent … SUDDENLY – he is there … standing among them.
I wonder how many of us – if we were honest with ourselves – how many of us have had Upper Room moments. Moments when we’re sitting in a time and a place where we feel very much alone – frightened, scared, trembling in the dark – then suddenly we are overwhelmed by the holy …
Paul shares with us one of those moments … when in the midst of the darkness a flicker of light is found … Theologically, I would dare to say that moment is what communion is all about … from the ordinary and the profane – ordinary bread and ordinary wine – suddenly, we are embraced and overwhelmed by the holy …
I remember one such moment in my journey when I served in Bella Coola among the first peoples there. In town there was a group of gentleman known as the troopers.
The troopers – or the troops, were the guys who got up in the morning and wandered around town – or trooped around town – gathering empties and doing odd jobs for a bit of cash. When they gathered enough they then TROOPED to the liquour store and made a variety of purchases for the remainder of their day.
I used to watch them walk past my house on their way to the liquor store, and would at times open the door and yell at them – “don’t forget to bring me back the 10% for the church …”
They ALWAYS met my call with laughter – sometimes a few cat-calls – but always laughter and the invitation to come and help them if I wanted 10% for the church.
After they made their purchase they would return to one of their houses and weather dependent - sit on the front step to enjoy it. One afternoon when I was off to visit an elder they called from the front step saying – “Hey, we got the wine – if you had some bread we could have communion …”
Later that week after fresh bread was baked in our house, I took a small loaf and slipped it into my coat and headed off into the village. As I was passing by the house where the Troops were sitting they waved their bottle and said – “hey, we got wine if you had bread we could …” their words were cut short when I pulled out the loaf of bread …
We sat in the warm spring sunshine and broke bread and poured out the wine and laughed, and cried … and embraced holiness … The full impact of the holy came later … when the Troops would call when one of their number would end up in the hospital and wanted me to visit … when I needed someone to help paint the CE Hall behind the Church and they were there … when they needed to talk about their life experiences including Residential School, they trusted me to be the one to share their hurt and pain for …
The holy came from that moment when we broke bread and shared the cup and found comfort in the circle we formed on the front step of their house … it brought them comfort that transcended the moment and helped us find the faint flicker of light that helped to guide us forward …
Unfortunately, many of us are too much like Thomas … we want instant results – we want to be able to feel and taste the Holy … we won’t believe unless we can touch it and see it for ourselves …
And yet, it is here (the broken bread, the poured cup, the candle) where we see and touch and taste the holy for ourselves … we break the bread and we remember … we pour and share the cup and we remember … we gather around the table and build and share and celebrate the community where the whisper is heard – “place your hand here and believe …” “touch and believe …”
When we break bread we are not only remembering the very presence of Jesus, we are also naming and owning our brokenness. We are broken – like the bread, we are broken and the fragments of our lives are sometimes tossed around like the crumbs that fall when we tear the loaf …
When we pour out the cup we are not only remembering the Easter Sacrifice of Jesus, we are also naming and owning the bleeding wounds that we have sometimes had to endure … the broken hearts, the bleeding spirits, and the scarring stain that remains as the wounded begins to heal. The deep dark colour of the wine connects us to this as we pour the cup …
The power of Communion is the memories and the actions … we break bread and remember our brokenness and the brokenness that Jesus himself experienced … we pour out the cup and remember the woundedness in our lives and the wounds that Jesus himself experienced … in Communion we remember that even in those moments when we feel profoundly and utterly alone … when like Martha and Mary we wonder where He is … when like Greg Paul and his associates we wonder where He is … when like the disciples gathered and cowering in the upper room we wonder not only where He is, but how ALL OF THIS COULD POSSIBLY HAPPEN … in that moment as we remember – suddenly we are not alone …and we are enveloped and overwhelmed by the Holy … and we are challenged to fall to our knees and simply believe … it’s that simple …
… may it be so … thanks be to God. Let us Pray.
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