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In the last year, I’ve taken communion more times than I had in the prior eleven. The churches I attended back in Canada participated in communion, of course. It’s just that they offered it on a different rhythm.[1. Roughly every 8-12 weeks is what it wound up being.] When we first moved, one of the things I was concerned about was whether or not it would begin to feel unimportant, even as I was looking forward to it feeling normal.
Since then, I’ve taken communion 50-ish times since then. And every time it feels as important as the last. Here’s why:
I still need be reminded of the gospel as much as I ever did.
That’s really what it comes down to. There isn’t a week that goes by that I don’t need to remember the gospel. To remember that Christ’s body was broken for me. To remember that his blood was shed for me. To have someone speak these truths to me as I tear off a piece of bread and dip it in a cup filled with grace juice.[2. Or, unfermented wine, for all you purists out there.]
That’s what communion offers. It tells me that the live I now live, I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave himself for me (Gal. 2:20). It’s hard to imagine that ever feeling routine or unimportant.
