Shepherd's Heart 11/6/26
The sacrament of communion is a hard and holy practice of worship.
Holy, because in the bread and the wine we encounter the presence of Christ himself. We are fed by his body. Forgiven by his blood. Each time we receive the elements we are wrapped anew into his story of redemption and grace.
I personally revel in these truths every Sunday when we gather. This is the body of Christ, broken for me… This is the blood of Christ, shed for me... Christ gazed upon all of creation, laid eyes upon me, and says, “This is for you, Elisabeth.” What a wondrous, unbelievable reality- that the Son of God, who knows all of humanity, would see me and welcome me into communion with him.
At the same time, communion is a hard practice for the people of God. Gathering at the table is not simply an action of remembrance for us. It is a deeply formative exercise of our faith where we embody the scandalous gospel that we proclaim.
This week was an election week, which was the finish line for a political season that has been particularly divisive and bent on enemy-making. I regularly have conversations with congregants from both sides of the aisle; I see the Facebook posts and Instagram stories. We are a congregation of diverse political opinions which means that yes, we are not immune to the political rhetoric that would try to divide us into camps. Yet when I distribute communion, I am regularly declaring the same truth to both the resolute Republican and dedicated Democrat - this is the body of Christ, broken for you. This is a truth the world would rather we neglect but one the Spirit has been whispering in my head as I have been serving communion lately. As I look each person in the eye, the Spirit reminds me, “Them too. This bread is for them too.” Even my greatest “enemy” is my brother at this table.
Have you thought about that recently? Have you reflected on the fact that the person you might be tempted to avoid or tear down is receiving the same grace from Christ that you are… maybe even right in front of you in the communion line?
Communion doesn’t allow us to sit back and observe the actions of Christ with applause. When we engage in the sacrament of communion, we confess the reality of sin, personally and corporately. When we receive the body in our hands, we are recognizing that we are powerless on our own. When we stand alongside our brothers and sisters, consuming the same body and blood together, we are witnessing to the power of Christ that welcomes all people to his table. When we really think about it, these are not easy truths to embody. I think that’s point. Every week, God is forming us to Christ-likeness with his very body and blood.
This Sunday is “Communion Sunday”, the Sunday at Good Shepherd where we welcome a new class of students into this hard and holy practice of communion. Some will be taking communion for the first time, some have been taking it occasionally but are taking a big step in their faith by learning formally about this sacrament. At the surface, communion declares over us every time we receive it that forgiveness of sin, true life, and salvation are offered to us in Jesus Christ. But a unique beauty of communion is that we remember the depth of its impact every time we receive it- sometimes we remember the impact of this forgiveness on our communal relationships, sometimes we remember the impact of this sacrifice on our personal relationships with Christ, sometimes we remember the breadth of the story of God that spans all of history and our own finite lives. If we’re paying attention, the Spirit is always speaking to us as we receive this sacrament.
What has the Spirit been speaking to you as you hear those hard and holy words? If lately the sacrament has been rote or felt like a distant truth, I invite you this Sunday to join afresh with the 46 communicants as they receive communion. Let the words wash over you for the wondrous, scandalous truth that they are.
This is the body of Christ, broken for you. This is the blood of Christ, shed for you.
Thank you Jesus for that.
Fed and forgiven right along with you,
Pastor Elisabeth
Holy, because in the bread and the wine we encounter the presence of Christ himself. We are fed by his body. Forgiven by his blood. Each time we receive the elements we are wrapped anew into his story of redemption and grace.
I personally revel in these truths every Sunday when we gather. This is the body of Christ, broken for me… This is the blood of Christ, shed for me... Christ gazed upon all of creation, laid eyes upon me, and says, “This is for you, Elisabeth.” What a wondrous, unbelievable reality- that the Son of God, who knows all of humanity, would see me and welcome me into communion with him.
At the same time, communion is a hard practice for the people of God. Gathering at the table is not simply an action of remembrance for us. It is a deeply formative exercise of our faith where we embody the scandalous gospel that we proclaim.
This week was an election week, which was the finish line for a political season that has been particularly divisive and bent on enemy-making. I regularly have conversations with congregants from both sides of the aisle; I see the Facebook posts and Instagram stories. We are a congregation of diverse political opinions which means that yes, we are not immune to the political rhetoric that would try to divide us into camps. Yet when I distribute communion, I am regularly declaring the same truth to both the resolute Republican and dedicated Democrat - this is the body of Christ, broken for you. This is a truth the world would rather we neglect but one the Spirit has been whispering in my head as I have been serving communion lately. As I look each person in the eye, the Spirit reminds me, “Them too. This bread is for them too.” Even my greatest “enemy” is my brother at this table.
Have you thought about that recently? Have you reflected on the fact that the person you might be tempted to avoid or tear down is receiving the same grace from Christ that you are… maybe even right in front of you in the communion line?
Communion doesn’t allow us to sit back and observe the actions of Christ with applause. When we engage in the sacrament of communion, we confess the reality of sin, personally and corporately. When we receive the body in our hands, we are recognizing that we are powerless on our own. When we stand alongside our brothers and sisters, consuming the same body and blood together, we are witnessing to the power of Christ that welcomes all people to his table. When we really think about it, these are not easy truths to embody. I think that’s point. Every week, God is forming us to Christ-likeness with his very body and blood.
This Sunday is “Communion Sunday”, the Sunday at Good Shepherd where we welcome a new class of students into this hard and holy practice of communion. Some will be taking communion for the first time, some have been taking it occasionally but are taking a big step in their faith by learning formally about this sacrament. At the surface, communion declares over us every time we receive it that forgiveness of sin, true life, and salvation are offered to us in Jesus Christ. But a unique beauty of communion is that we remember the depth of its impact every time we receive it- sometimes we remember the impact of this forgiveness on our communal relationships, sometimes we remember the impact of this sacrifice on our personal relationships with Christ, sometimes we remember the breadth of the story of God that spans all of history and our own finite lives. If we’re paying attention, the Spirit is always speaking to us as we receive this sacrament.
What has the Spirit been speaking to you as you hear those hard and holy words? If lately the sacrament has been rote or felt like a distant truth, I invite you this Sunday to join afresh with the 46 communicants as they receive communion. Let the words wash over you for the wondrous, scandalous truth that they are.
This is the body of Christ, broken for you. This is the blood of Christ, shed for you.
Thank you Jesus for that.
Fed and forgiven right along with you,
Pastor Elisabeth