communion

Yesterday at Church, I was one of the first to take communion (as I sit in the first pew as a choir member). After I returned to my seat, I watched as the rest of the congregation proceeded down the aisles and to the front of the sanctuary to dip their bread in the cup. At the end, our pastor walked over to the Praise Band, and offered them their communion. One at a time, each person stopped playing their instrument so they could receive their symbolic bread and juice. It was one of those moments for me. The beautiful way the music changed when the piano dropped out but then resumed, and then the guitar went silent for a second, and then the bass guitar drifted off. And then all three instruments came together again.

More than any other, it was such a symbol of the theme of the day: the word made flesh. Communion is more than a ritual to enter. It's a tender, loving expression of love and remembrance, and each person can come to the table freely without worry of where they are, or where they have been.  In this very moment, the music stops, and we remember the body and blood of Christ.