I served my first Communion a few months ago.
I’ve been no great leader in the church-my husband and I simply teach Sunday school. I’m a 33-year-old white woman with three children who usually can be found in the nursery. But my congregation, LaSalle Street Church, gave me a wonderful gift, one more among many-the gift of being a servant at the Lord’s Supper. And what a wonderful supper it is.
My first Sunday I was doing fine. Basically my head was filled with whether to move to the left or the right, when to sit, and memorizing my line, “Christ’s body broken for you . . . Christ’s body broken for you . . . Christ’s body broken for you . . .” I didn’t want to mess up.
But as I stepped forward to offer the bread to the first believer, one of our pastors, I felt I could empathize with John the Baptist: I had no business being here. But for God’s grace, that’s right.
And that was only the beginning. Person after person, believer after believer, my sisters, my brothers, a man with several days’ growth of beard who had no doubt spent the previous night in a shelter (at least I hope he had a shelter) . . . “Christ’s body broken for you” . . . then a couple I think of as “beautiful” people who might brunch in a cafe after church . . . “Christ’s body broken for you.”
Then a shaking hand, wrinkled and black; a white man in a business suit; a boy in his jeans and sweatshirt; an Asian couple and their friends; a bi-racial couple; a single mom and her young son taking his very first Communion; a Latino family, the daughters dressed in Sunday ruffles; a woman in professional clothes; a student with a kind face; a recently unemployed woman; a mom and dad with two children. “Christ’s body broken for you . . .and for you . . . and for you.”
As I held the bread and walked down the line, some tore away a whole chunk, others just a pinch. Some took the soft, fresh middle and others the tough, dry crust.
Some looked me right in the eyes. “Christ’s body broken for you.” Sometimes tears pooled, sometimes they spilled down.
Some took the bread as something very intimate. A few smiled broadly and said, “Hallelujah” or “Amen.”
I was overwhelmed. I’d always focused on my own heart at the Lord’s Table. But this time I saw a little bit more of how big God’s grace is-so free, so unconditional, offered in so many different ways to so many different people. By the third or fourth group, I managed to control my tears but not the change in my heart.
What a great God!
-Barb Shackelford
LaSalle Street Church
Chicago, Illinois
Leadership Fall 1993 p. 71
Copyright © 1993 by the author or Christianity Today/Leadership Journal. Click here for reprint information on Leadership Journal.
