Recently, I started meeting over Zoom (of course) with a group of Episcopal clergy grappling with how to celebrate the Eucharist as our churches begin to reopen in new ways. Where I live and in my tradition, the bishop has guided this discussion somewhat. He closed our churches in March, and only recently have some congregations been gathering in person, following all the social distancing guidelines from the governor.
A question has emerged during the past 20 or so weeks: What do we believe about the Eucharist? How we celebrate that ritual, is an indication of what we believe.
What is Eucharist anyway? Short answer: Some call it Holy Communion or just communion. It’s the Christian ritual in which bread and wine are blessed or consecrated to become the body and blood of Christ. It is also a can of worms.
Liturgy, that is, the rituals a community participates in at all their various levels, says something about what that community believes. In the case of the Episcopal tradition (the tradition from which I speak), the eucharistic liturgy conveys in non-textual ways (ways that don’t require reading words on a page) what we believe about God, about Christ, about who Jesus was, about what his birth, life, death, and resurrection all meant, both in the time in which he lived and now. (And in the Episcopal tradition, what we believe is fluid and, honestly, depends on which Episcopalian you ask.)
I am of the mind that liturgy is the first church doctrine we encounter—and, for liturgical traditions, the one we counter most often. It teaches its participants something about who we are, what we’re about, and how we live that out as a community.
Here’s where it gets tricky: The liturgy can and does say different things. Some things that it says are even at odds with other things it can say.
Anyway, so this group I am meeting with has been discussing and reflecting on how, in the Time of Covid, the accommodations we make in order to ensure the health and safety of all those participating in the celebration of the Eucharist could affect our communities’ theologies (plural is 100 percent intended here) of this most important ritual in our church. We are well aware of the many different understandings of what we do in our tradition as well as right within our own congregations.
All of this got me reflecting on specifically what I believe, which is that the Eucharist is an acknowledgement of, celebration of, and participation in the mystery of God who became fully human, lived a life that proclaimed in word and deed the dream God has for all of creation. Commitment to a life so lived resulted in the extinguishing of that life at the hands of those who held all of the socioeconomic power and who sought to hold on to that power. But death has no power over the living God. The one whose life was extinguished was resurrected to eternal life.
I have not stopped thinking about how the death of George Floyd is knit into the very death of Jesus, an unjust death at the hands of those in power. How both were murdered by the police. How both murders were motivated by fear, fear of what true justice would look like for the powerful. How both deaths were a catalyzing moment, witnessed by few, told by many. How God protested the death of Jesus and resurrected him to eternal life. How the Holy Spirit has been moving throngs of people to protest the death that has reigned too long on people of color at the hands of the power hungry and power holders.
When Black Lives Matter protestors shout, “Say his name!” they call us to remember George Floyd. They demand of us to not forget his death, to not forget how he died, to not forget why he died. Even more they demand more of us as a community of human beings because they can imagine something better. “Say his name!” is a sign of hope, but only if we don’t forget.
The memory is dangerous. The memory is dangerous for those in power, for those who want for us to forget what we all saw on a young woman’s cell phone video: a white police officer’s knee on a Black man’s neck.
It’s a dangerous memory for those of us who cannot forget, because by not forgetting, we are compelled to become uncomfortable with who we are now, to transform our lives. How can I live my life any other way but by joining the chorus shouting “Say Their Names!”
I cannot participate in the memory of Jesus without being changed. I cannot live with the memory of George Floyd, with the memories of the deaths of Breonna Taylor, Laquan MacDonald, Ahmaud Arbery, Philando Castille, Tamir Rice, Eric Garner, Sandra Bland, Freddie Gray, and Trayvon Martin and go about my business as usual. Because these memories change who I am. They change how I am.
This is what I acknowledge, what I celebrate, what I participate in when I go to the table for Holy Communion. When I participate in a eucharistic ritual, I keep these memories alive. I say his name: Jesus. I say his name: George Floyd. I cannot forget.
Some updates
It’s been a while! About a month (or more, if I’m being honest). But it’s not as if I’ve been lying around, beach read in one hand, Cape Cod potato chips smashed inside a PB&J in the other hand, sand between my toes, sun warm on umbrella over my rashguard over sunscreened-yet-still-freckling skin, my child’s nonstop talking muted by the sound of waves gently lapping at the shore. Oh, sorry, I just got lost in a summer fantasy.
No, I have not in fact been on a beach, because the city where I live still has not opened its beaches.
I’ve been spending the past weeks keeping up with my at-home-since-March-six-year-old, hustling for writing and editing work, and thinking and planning with regard to this newsletter. While it was important for me to just start writing it without a plan, a dear friend convinced me that having an editorial calendar would help me to actually get it out on a regular schedule. As a former managing editor of a national magazine, I know a thing or two about editorial calendars. I also already had a jillion ideas scratched out in my notebook. Now I have even more.
The other advice I’ve received during this short hiatus (as well as encouragement from some of you) has been to create a paid subscription option. I’ve been torn on this. On the one hand, the whole point of creating this newsletter was to say something for the religion-interested, but religion-skeptical, to talk about meaning making and seeking for people who feel marginalized if not outright rejected by traditional religious institutions. To create a paid option feels as if I’m marginalizing those who can’t pay.
On the other hand, my income has contracted this year for a few reasons, one of which has been a global health pandemic that has seen many would-be clients and outlets slash their communications budgets. Likewise, scheduling, planning, writing, and delivering this newsletter is time consuming, time I could be spending on paid work.
So, the solution I’ve come up with is to create the paid subscription, but to wait a month or two to start differentiating content for paid subscribers. When I make the shift, paid subscribers will get letters at least every other week if not more, while free subscriptions will receive occasional posts, probably quarterly. That said, if you feel you cannot afford the paid subscription but benefit from what you’re reading, send me an email.
In the spirit of the teen magazines I used to read (in print!), I may even add an occasional quiz to help you discover what your “true” religion is based on your favorite color or the like.
What’s ahead
In the next few weeks, I’ll be doing a series on liberation theologies, which will include some interviews as well as personal reflections on how encountering liberation theology 20 years ago completely cracked open my faith life—and continues to break it open.
This feels important to me right now, not only because of the new awakening we’re experiencing with regard to race but because, for Christians, the activism around race is not a partisan ideology. It is political, yes, because the faith I profess has always been political: It is about people, right here and right now.
I’ve also got some other series planned: interviews, reflections, even the chance to discuss ritual, prayer, and the rejection of all that screams religious institution. If you haven’t signed up for these emails, please do. And please share with anyone you think might benefit from these conversations.
Links, etc.
I had not been a reader of Sarah Bessey until recently. And wow, I have never read someone write so gracefully about the power of doing it anyway than I did in her most recent newsletter, Notes from the Field. I hope you’ll give it a read. (It may have even inspired me to just go ahead and send this newsletter already.)
Since April, I’ve taken back up regular running. I use the guided runs on the Nike Run Club app. I cannot begin to tell you how often it feels as if these runs were designed precisely with me in mind. And I cannot recommend enough that you give one a try.