Deviation from an Earlier Plan

I felt called to make an odd commitment in October of 2005, when a Methodist Pastor lost her credentials because of her open relationship with her same-sex partner. I was in seminary at the time. I was angry.

I went to chapel that week, at which I was on staff, and prepared to accompany communion. My thoughts were racing. We celebrate an open table, meaning all are welcome to eat and drink from it. However, those who are qualified to serve at that table must be straight. On a lighthearted note, is it not a crime to prevent Gay men from throwing liturgical dinner parties? On a much more serious one; what are we doing when we prevent God’s children from following God’s call?

So, with all of this analysis in tow, I refused the bread and juice offered to me. “No, thank you,” I said to the chapel steward who was assisting in the serving of the holy meal. I tell my students that this is not at all what John Wesley would do! Wesley thought that we should participate in this means of grace as often as possible! But, in that moment, and in the hundreds of Eucharistic services in which I have participated since, I abstain from partaking.

Except for one. Occasionally, I accompany a service at a Methodist church that serves the Spanish-speaking community in our area. It is a lively service, in which there are more children than adults in attendance on any given Sunday. There is no English spoken, and my Spanish is not good. But I enjoy this worshiping community, hosted by a pastor friend of mine, very much.

The Eucharist is served, as in many mainline denominations, on the first Sunday of each month. I had not played a service during which Holy Communion is celebrated in this church before. I was surprised that I felt compelled to accept the bread and dip it into the juice, like the other worshipers were doing. The act of sheer hospitality overcame me; I consumed the elements together, as we are instructed to do during this intinction-style communion.

This familiar ritual was one in which we communicated in common language. We did not need to be proficient in Spanish, or English, or any other spoken language. We understood one another as the Body of Christ. There was nothing else to do but gratefully accept the lavish hospitality of these generous and loving people.

I have resumed my Communion Fast, but its meaning is new for me. I have a renewed vigor about the Spirit-led music with which these moments are highlighted. Where I used to be an accompanist, now I am more like a DJ. These moments need a soundtrack – not to fill awkward quiet, but to stamp a specialness on it. I do not reject with indignation, but rather, wait in anticipation of a change. The call is still there, i'm just listening closer.