My Own Flesh and Blood

In our church, which is a Lutheran parish church, we distribute the bread and wine in two different ways: by the altar or in a line, dipping the wafer in the wine.

          The traditional way is to come up the the altar ring and kneel. We have our small shiny cups in hand, and the priest and a minister walk softly on the inside of the ring, quietly distributing the elements to each one, with the words: This is the body of Christ. This is the blood of Christ.

          We kneel shoulder to shoulder. I feel the warmth of my brother and my sister.

Altertavle, Kviteseid kyrkje

          Sometimes the time is at a standstill. The wooden carving of the Lamb with a pennant of victory on the altar piece shows me the risen Lord Jesus. He is mild and mighty. He is righteousness and kindness. It is not the image, the wooden image that comforts me; it is the reality it points to. It is the risen Christ.

Kviteseid kyrkje

          The light comes brightly from the left, broken in a prism of soft colours by the stained glass. It plays on the carpet, on the vestments of the moving priest. Anyone would know that the light is from the big star in the sky, but in my seconds of eternal time, I relish the moment of heavenly light: for truth is in its beams. There is no chance of hiding anything when kneeling before the King of Heaven. He sees the innermost part of my soul, my thoughts, my feelings. He knows, and I know that he knows; and in his light i confess my sin and shortcomings, and in his light I am cleansed. Forgiven. Renewed.

          So, I receive the small wafer - the bread - the flesh - and I feel it melt in my mouth. It is a tactile sensation. I see the red droplet of the wine fill my little metal cup. I drink it, - the blood - tasting the slightly sour liquid, sensing it fill my inner organs. I am one with Christ. I am covered in him. He is here. And I know I am forgiven, renewed.

           I eagerly wait for the the comforting word of assurance from the priest, as he dismisses me and the others, to make room for yet another set of brothers and sisters, kneeling to receive the same Lord, the same forgiveness, and rise renewed.

          There is singing, the organ blows its mighty pipes, and there is the sweet quiet when the organist receives his portion.

            There is communion - with God, with each other, and, in a diffuse way, with the ones who have gone before us - who are free to kneel at the other half of the altar ring, the one that is invisible to us. We have no direct contact with them, but we cherish their memory, and they may remind us of the hope we have. They are with God, and one day we will meet again... my dad and I.