Communion

Our church does a cantata on Palm Sunday, and this year we worked under a bit of a handicap since we still had not hired a permanent musician to accompany services when we needed to start thinking about what music we would do. At first, I had thought perhaps we should cancel the cantata, but on second thought with a bit of encouragement from the choir, I selected music.

Thank God, we hired a marvelous pianist in time for rehearsals. She most definitely helped us work towards presenting the Easter story in song with excellence. We rehearsed heavily the two weeks beforehand, and scheduled our usual dress rehearsal on the Saturday beforehand.

Saturday was the first time we heard the narrator read the segues from song to song, heard the story connecting the musical dots. It was the first time we saw the powerpoint pictures that two members of our choir selected to match the texts and the songs. I could tell it was going to be powerful even then, but I didn't realize how much it would touch people.

As the service unfolded, there was a palpable anointing, a sense that hearts were connecting with the truth of God's sacrifice, the extent of His love and His gift to us. When we reached the part of the story about the Last Supper, we invited the congregation to participate in communion. There was a picture of the Last Supper scene on the screen as people came forward. One of the college students sang two moving solo pieces as people came to receive the bread and the wine.

There was a certain quiet seriousness as familiar faces made their way forward, a tenderness in the ministry of the elements. It is rare that we are all drawn into the presence in such a gentle way. As the story continued, the truth of the words and the pictures melded into a manageable reality.

We ended with "O Sacred Head Now Wounded." Our picture was of Christ's head with the crown of thorns, gazing upwards to God. We filed silently out of the sanctuary, carrying with us all the paraments - the Bibles, the basin, the candles, the Cross, the hanging - everything, leaving the altar stripped bare.

People sat for a bit, reflecting, taking it all in. Everyone commented on how special the service was for them. In this time of uncertainty, you hang on to what is solid and unchanging. This service was a fixed point of comfort and grace. It was real. I know I will hold onto the memory of it for a long time.