The church I attend holds the communion service on the first Sunday of the month. During the pandemic and up through December, the church switched from passing the elements to prefilled communion cups that we picked up at the door so we could maintain social distancing.
These convenient prefilled communion cups were rather difficult for some of us to use. The top compartment held the wafer (not sure what that is made of but it was truly awful), and the seal was hard to get off. The seal for the cup holding the grape juice was also hard to get off.
But we soldiered on.
At the annual meeting in December, the congregation elected me to be on the board that makes decisions for the church. The board also announced at the meeting that we would resume the traditional communion service in January.
Being on the board means that I am supposed to serve communion. When we were discussing on the first Sunday in January who would serve communion that morning, I told them that I did not want to serve communion because I am uncoordinated and clumsy and was afraid. They said that was okay, I didn’t have to.
But then a Sunday School lesson reminded us that “whom God calls He also equips” and so I decided I would take a turn after all. The first time I served communion it went okay.
And this past Sunday it was my turn again. And it also went okay but not quietly.
When I got to the last pew in the auditorium and took the tray with the cups back from the person I had served...
I whacked the communion tray against the back the pew. Loudly.
Our pastor said not to worry, that one time someone coming down the platform steps after serving the organist stumbled and dropped the whole tray.
It could have been worse.
