On a recent, fictional evening several friends and I were talking and the conversation turned to our spiritual lives. Each of us trusts in Christ and is active in different communities of faith here in town, though with varying degrees of satisfaction. It was, in fact, dissatisfaction that prompted the conversation, when Ben, after asking about my church, commented that he had decided to look for a new church to call home. I asked what had prompted his decision.
“I’ve felt less and less comfortable there ever since they began changing communion”, he replied. I asked for more information.
“Well, we always used to use little cubes of Wonder Bread”, he began. "I was fine with that.
That, to me,
is communion. That’s what I want when I receive Holy Communion. It’s what I’m used to, ever since I was a little kid. But they started tinkering with it.”
“How?” I asked, eager to understand my friend’s unhappiness.
“Well … what do you use for communion?” he asked.
“We use those little round wafers”, I answered.
“I could never stay in a church like that”, chimed in Steve, who up until this point had been only listening. “Way too formal. At our church we use pita bread”.
This remark brought Ben’s full concern to the surface. “That was the first step in the downward spiral of our church”, he said. "And at first, I was okay with it. After all, I liked their logic – that it was ordinary bread, and unleavened, which made it more like what Jesus would’ve used. It wasn’t cut into squares; it was just there and each person tore off a piece.
"Oh, sometimes I missed the little Wonder Bread cubes, and I would ask the pastor if we could go back to that, at least once in a while. But he seemed to think the pita bread was OK.
"Then about a year ago, I came to church and there it was: a whole loaf of bread. Someone in church had baked it -
in their own oven - and brought it to church for communion.”
“What a cool idea”, Steve chimed in again.
“It was terrible”, Ben said. “I didn’t like it at all, and besides, every communion service since then, it was a different person bringing in a home-baked loaf of bread. And the problem is – well, first of all, they don’t even use the same recipe. You’d think that at least they’d standardize the process. But even worse, it’s still not cut up. You have to tear a piece of bread right off the loaf... very unsanitary. The pastor says that the single loaf represents the unity of the Body of believers, but I don’t buy that. I think it’s about trying to market our church to the yuppie types who buy their bread at that little bakery “The Baker’s Wife” down on 3rd street. You know, a mindset of “maybe if the bread we serve in communion tasted more like the bread they buy every day, they’d come to church.”
“Ben”, I said, putting a friendly hand on his shoulder, “I think you might be missing the point of Holy Communion.”
“Rick, you haven’t been living through this like I have”, he shot back. “Look, I’m sorry if my tone is a little bit defensive, but … well, take last week, for example. When I received communion, I had a distinct impression that the loaf was left in the oven a little long. A definite burnt taste.”
“Listen”, said Cheryl, who up ‘til now had been conspicuously silent. “If
taste is the issue, why don’t you come visit our church? We brought on a new staff member about four months ago. His job title is Director of Bakery Ministries. The communion bread is different every week, but always fan
tastic. People who haven’t been happy in their old churches are filling the pews and they say they are getting so much out of the communion bread. Last week we had Honey Wheat; the week before, it was a Rye; we had dill bread once, and I hear they’ll be doing cinnamon rolls next week”.
Ben slammed his hand on the table and said “That’s just the kind of thing I DON’T want! Sometimes I wonder if that is even faithfulness to the gospel. Why can’t anyone just give me what I want – little cubes of Wonder Bread?
© 2006 Rick Lindholtz
