Communion Thoughts: Sunday Dinner

Here are some thoughts I shared at the Lord’s table yesterday:

When I was growing up, every Sunday my mom would get up early and begin the preparations for a big Sunday dinner.  The meal was so special that we called it “dinner,” even though it would be eaten sometime around noon.

A few weeks ago I was up at Lipscomb for their summer lectures, and I ran into Ralph and Betty Nance, a couple that I had not seen in close to twenty years.  Ralph Nance taught physics and engineering at Lipscomb, but I knew him best as the preacher, and later an elder, at the church I attended.  The Nances had a large family with grown children and grandchildren, and every Sunday the whole clan would gather around the Nances long table for Sunday dinner.  And every Sunday there would always be guests invited to join them.  On more than one occasion, I was one of those guests, and the feeling of being included as part of such a large and loving family is one of my best memories of my college days.

These days, things have changed for most of us.  At best, we go with a few of our best friends after church to a restaurant to eat our Sunday lunch.  The meal may be nicer than what we could have cooked at home, but it’s still not Sunday dinner.  We may have great food, be with wonderful people, some visitors may be invited along, and we enjoy true fellowship—but we lose some of the intimacy of being in a home where real life takes place.

This time of year, as we rush out the door of church on Sunday morning to get to some other activity, we’re just as likely to grab something at the drive-thru window of a fast food restaurant.  In this case, there is no intimacy at all, and what we eat is not that important—it’s just something that has to be done so we can get on to the main event.

Sometimes we approach Communion in the same way—something to be done as quickly and as efficiently as possible so we can get on to the main event.  We lose any sense of intimacy as we partake in a room full of people, where each individual is totally isolated. 

This lack of connectedness is one thing that led to problems in the way the Corinthian church was observing communion.  They, like the early Jerusalem church, took communion in the context of a common meal.  But, unlike the Jerusalem church, they did not have “all things in common.”  Those who had arrived early—probably the wealthy who didn’t have to work on Sunday—brought the bread and the wine and indulged heavily.  By the time the slaves who had been working all day arrived, there was nothing left.  And the rich probably didn’t even know that they were doing anything wrong.  Paul says that they were failing to discern the body of Christ—to recognize that they were united in Christ to each other.  And when part of the body cuts itself off from any other part—the whole body suffers.  Paul says, “That is why many among you are weak and sick, and a number of you have fallen asleep.”  By ignoring the health of the whole body, they were eating and drinking judgment on themselves.

Sometimes, though, we break through that and feel a real sense of engagement with Christ and with his body.  We understand that we are eating with family—but we somehow we only reach that cafeteria level of intimacy instead of being truly at home with one another.

I think the Lord had something else in mind—when he disciples gathered for a meal, it was in an intimate setting where they were sitting around on the floor and leaning on against one another—and they shared a meal so significant that the church has come to refer to it as “Supper,” even though we usually eat it in the morning.