Second Story, Bay Window Sanctuary

A story of communion and healing

“On the night Jesus was handed over, he gathered with his friends. He took bread, gave thanks, and broke it, saying, “Take and eat. This is my body, given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” 

We sat, facing one another in the bay window of a 2nd story Chicago apartment. The cold February air bled through the old windows, fighting for supremacy with the heat from the cast iron radiator under the window sill. There were no pews, altar, stained glass, or congregation. Just three friends sitting in shabby chic high-back chairs. But this was Church.

“After supper, Jesus took the cup of wine. He gave thanks and gave it to them, saying, “This cup is the new covenant, shed for you and for all people, for the forgiveness of sin. Do this in remembrance of me.”

I’ve said these “Words of Institution” countless times. But as I looked into the eyes of my friends, I knew this was a holy, healing moment. I knew we were sitting on holy ground as we held that space for one another. Both of my friends have complicated relationships with the church. I won’t try to tell their stories, but I wouldn’t fault either for never wanting to set foot in a church building. My relationship with the church, even as a pastor, has been sullied from being on the receiving end of verbal and mental abuse as a pastor. I often cringe at the “gospel” proclaimed by many people with whom I supposedly share a faith. And that February morning in Chicago, I was confident I would never return to the pulpit. I’d found another path to serve in ministry as a chaplain. It was a natural and needed separation from the church’s dysfunctional “bleep show,” which was on full display as COVID-19 still ran rampant around us that same February morning.

“The body of Christ, given for YOU,” I said, looking into her eyes. There was a tremble in my voice as I spoke. The hum of traffic on the street below fell quiet for the first time all weekend. Even the city recognized the holiness of this moment. I placed the bread in her hands, and she ate it. She said the same words to me as she tore a piece off the loaf and put it in my hand. It was just ordinary bread I bought at Costco a few days earlier, but it became a foretaste of the feast of heaven to come. 

“The blood of Christ, shed for YOU,” we said to one another as we sipped what was left of the wine we shared during our conversation deep into the night before. It was just a cheap bottle from Trader Joe’s, but it tasted sweet and sacred.

I’m pretty sure it was in those moments of communion with my friends, amid our hurts and complicated relationships with God and the church, that God healed me. Or maybe, better said, I became aware of how God is healing me. It’s an ongoing process. While their stories are their own, I’m confident they became aware of how God is healing them, too.

That healing journey has led me back to serving as a pastor in a congregation. I’m still finding my way a month in, but I feel alive and confident in ways I’ve never known. I know who I am more than I did when I stepped away a few years ago. I’m more confident than ever that the love of Christ is for ALL, and I’m excited to proclaim that with renewed vigor.

Yesterday, I shared these “Words of Institution” with our congregation of a few hundred. The bay window was replaced with the warm and colorful sanctuary of our church building. Each person came forward to receive the bread and wine of communion, and I looked on in love. And I remembered that moment with my friends on that gray day in Chicago. I remembered and gave thanks as person after person came forward to receive this healing gift, given for ALL and to ALL!