Tokens

Recently, I was quite delighted to receive a token.  It was an actual token: a metal disk about the size of a poker chip, stamped and enameled with the organization's logo on one side, and motto on the other.  It was given, unexpectedly, as an acknowledgement of service.

Receiving this particular token was a highlight of my week, because of both the recognition (especially because it was completely unexpected!), and because of the nature of the token itself.  It's pretty, it's weighty and feels heavy in my palm, it's marked with words and symbols to evoke the essence of the organization, and it's small enough to keep among my possessions for as long as I am in this world to have such things: practically perfect in every way!

This delightful token got me to thinking about other tokens we receive, and I got to thinking about the ultimate token in Christian faith: the sacrament of Holy Communion.  Christians of different denominations believe different things about what the bread and wine (or grape juice) actually "are" after they have been consecrated during the Eucharist. Here is what Wikipedia has to say:

"While all agree that there is no perceptible change in the elements, some believe that they actually become the body and blood of Christ, others believe the true Body and Blood of Christ are really present in, with, and under the bread and wine (whose reality remains unchanged), others believe in a "real" but merely spiritual presence of Christ in the Eucharist, and still others take the act to be only a symbolic reenactment of the Last Supper." 

That is a wide range of belief, but at heart, Communion serves a similar function as the token I received.  My metal token is a tangible reminder and symbol of the reality of my part in a group, and that I have served.  Even if I were to forget about the organization, my part in it remains as real as the token I received.

And all that is also true of the elements of Communion, wherever you may fall on the range of Christian belief.  You receive real bread and real wine, elements that you can taste, smell, see, and feel.  Those elements are taken into yourself, and become part of you.  The reality of bread and wine doesn't disappear at times when you forget about God or are struggling with faith.  The reality of bread and wine remains a "real" physical thing, a thing that can help draw you back when you wander.  A thing that can strengthen you when you feel weak.  A thing whose taste will remind you of the love of God and the power of Jesus to heal and save.  A physical thing that is food for your intangible soul.  God's unique and mysterious token of eternal life.

Heaven and Earth

Last Sunday my mind wandered off during the Eucharistic prayer. My mental word processor was turned off and instead of listening, I was just “being.” And as I sat there – being – stray thoughts flitted in through that open window in my mind.

“This is what Father Tom is teaching about during Lent – ‘Meeting God in the Eucharist’ – and there was something about the altar as the place where heaven and earth meet….”

The familiar words of prayer continue to flow around, but not through, my mind. The accustomed gestures, the accustomed responses, but what is the reality beyond the words? It’s the coming together of Heaven and Earth, but how does that happen? How might that look?

Images come to supply the answer. Image of a small tornado, a whirlwind, spinning itself to a fine point. The whirlwind grows and lengthens, stretching down from the ceiling – through the ceiling. It’s tiny at first, barely a breath of air. But the words, the gestures, the responses – as they continue, the whirlwind grows, strengthening and lengthening, gathering force. Heaven itself is reaching out. Can no one else see?

And what is it reaching for, this now-mighty whirlwind? What is its goal? Is anything reaching back to it? Yes! The very Earth is rising up! A mountain raises itself at the foot of the altar, straining upward. A mountain, a volcano, reaching up in heated passion, bursting open with the heat of its desire to reach for Heaven. The Earth trembles and strains, throwing out bits of molten rock – its very heart – to try to reach the hand of Heaven. Oh, the incredible roar and thunder of it! Can no one else hear?

But the tremendous effort is not enough. Earth can reach no higher and Heaven remains beyond its grasp. How will this great tumult be resolved? What shall bridge the gap between the reach of Heaven and the desire of Earth?

The flow of the Eucharist continues undaunted – words, gestures, and responses smoothly flowing forth, unaffected by the play of Heaven and Earth around it. And just as all hope seems lost - just when it seems that Earth has surely exhausted itself, and Heaven must certainly grow weary of its wait – just then the Miracle intrudes! What is that sound of bells? What is that loud “AMEN”? The Miracle has been raised up to fill the gap!

Born of Heaven, raised from Earth, the Miracle alone can bridge the gap. Body of Christ, Bread of Heaven; Blood of Christ, Cup of Salvation – Heaven and Earth meet in a dazzling, searing moment of clarity and fulfillment.

Words, gestures, responses… Words, gestures, responses… The service goes on, and a piece of the Miracle is placed in my hand; a cup of the Miracle is brought to my lips. The Miracle is now a part of me. Heaven and Earth can meet IN ME, dwell IN ME, find fulfillment IN ME.

Thanks be to God!