Today we observed World Communion Sunday at my church. The music was inspiring, the hymns meaningful, and we celebrated communion in my most favorite way: intinction. In case this is unfamiliar to you, I give you these words from:
Wikipedia: "Intinction is the Eucharistic practice of partly dipping the consecrated bread, or host, into the consecrated wine before consumption by the communicant."
Merriam-Webster Dictionary: "the administration of the sacrament of Communion by dipping bread in wine and giving both together to the communicant"
I realize that some faith traditions have a problem with intinction theologically, but I try not to get bogged down in questions such as these. Instead, I immerse myself in the moment. Here's what happened this morning.
I stand with my pew row and walk to the front of the church with my family while the choir sings You Satisfy the Hungry Heart. I'm directed to a station where two ministers stand holding the elements. I select a piece of bread from the basket.
This is the body of Christ...
I dip it into the cup.
The blood of Christ shed for you, Ellen.
I partake and return to my pew.
There was no lightning bolt, no mystic vision, no epiphany. I was merely one of hundreds in worship this morning who came forward to dip bread into cup. And yet...
For me, intinction as a means of celebrating the sacrament of the Lord's Supper is much more personal than the pass-the-tray-along-the-pew method. It's more active, requiring commitment on my part. I stand. I come forward. I take the elements. Then, those beautiful words.
The blood of Christ. Shed for me.
And since the ministers know me by name, I am called by name. No longer just one of the crowd, I am known. And it means so much to me that I am known -- not by the ministers, you understand -- but known by Jesus.
This is for you, Ellen, all for you.
It's all for you, too.