Email: Sarah Lunceford

Dear Friends,

The first time I was offered Communion in Guatemala was on my second Sunday at my church in Cobán, Fifth Street Church of the Nazarene. I had been told that the congregation would be fasting that morning in anticipation of the Eucharist. Once in the sanctuary, I saw the white tablecloths and the trays of the elements (saltine crackers and grape soda). I heard the pastor make the invitation for all who wanted to partake in the death and resurrection of Christ. I saw some in the congregation go forward and kneel in the front of the church. And I watched as only those who had left their seats and ventured to the front of the church were served Communion.

I had misunderstood my role in this sacrament, thinking that the elders would pass up and down the pews to serve the whole congregation, and was thus unintentionally excluded from that morning’s mystery. I felt hurt and lost, and I thought it was cheap that my fast was broken by the rolls and coffee we all shared as a congregation behind the church after the worship service.

The second time I was offered Communion in Guatemala was at our church’s mission outreach in a small village, Guadelupe, about two hours away from Cobán. A delegation from our church labored up the mountain in an ancient yellow and white Volkswagen van and were greeted with many smiles, perplexing greetings, and a traditional rural breakfast (spicy!). In Guadelupe, Spanish is spoken as a secondary language, if at all, to the more local Q'ekchí. This, of course, prevented me from understanding any of the sermon or the worship songs. Luckily, one of the women from our church who speaks Q'ekchí was seated next to me and pointed me to the appropriate Scripture references.

She also let me know when it was time to go forward to receive Communion. “Do you want to participate in the Santa Cena (Holy Supper)?” she asked. Yes! And so, surrounded by a chorus of prayer in a strange tongue, I took the cracker and grape soda, Christ’s body and blood, given for me and for you. I felt a part of the global church like never before, grateful and amazed at the diversity that makes up the body of Christ. When we stopped on the way home to buy cookies to eat as we finished off the bottle of grape soda, crammed but joyful in our Volkswagen, it felt like a continuation of the Communion celebration.

Last week I witnessed another beautiful moment of communion. When I went to the asilo de ancianos (a home for the elderly) I found Matilde, one of the patients, sick. “She doesn't eat,” her roommate and companion, Tecala, explained. Indeed, one of Matilde's symptoms was the loss of her appetite. We sat and talked for a while, and Matilde asked me to pray and to read the Bible to her. When I left the asilo that day, I felt depressed by Matilde's pain and her loneliness, and on my way there the following day I wondered what words I could say, what Scripture I could read, what prayer I might pray that would encourage Matilde’s heart. I entered Matilde's and Tecala's room and was surprised by love. Tecala sat on Matilde’s bed giving her water through a straw and mashing up a tortilla, putting the soft little mounds of dough into Matilde’s mouth. Every so often Tecala paused to stroke Matilde’s hair and whisper a prayer.

Jesus tells us, “The bread of God is he who comes down from heaven and gives life to the world… I am the bread of life; whoever comes to me shall not hunger, and whoever believes in me shall never thirst” (John 6:33-35 ESV). Jesus himself is what sustains us, not our worship of him or the participation in a sacrament in remembrance of him. When I witnessed the love with which Tecala fed bread and water to Matilde, I was overwhelmed with the love of the one who gave all of himself in death so that we might have life.

Now that I know the routine, I am able to participate in the sacrament of Communion at my church. Usually we end in worship, singing one song in particular:

Dios está aquí, tan cierto como el aire que respiro,
tan cierto como en la mañana se levanta el sol,
tan cierto que cuando le hablo el me puede oír.

God is here, as certain as the air I breath,
as certain as the sun’s rising each morning,
so certain that when I speak to him he hears me.

This song proclaims that the presence of the God of the universe is evidenced by “simple” and “everyday” things. As I’ve participated in communion in so many ways these months in Guatemala, I’ve realized that remembrance of Christ’s death on the cross and celebration of his victory over death should be my life’s continual celebration. God is always inviting me, and you, along with all the people of the earth, to take part in his life and in the life of his Church. We celebrate both by partaking of the elements and by living in fellowship with Jesus and his people.

God has used this time in Guatemala to teach me, among other things, that his glory is present in all of life. He is the living God, and his presence is real and relevant to our everyday lives, not just the parts of our lives that we might think are more “spiritual.” God has shown me that the celebration of the life, death, and resurrection of our Lord is such a huge endeavor that it explodes the walls of our human ceremonies and permeates all of human experience.

Can rolls and coffee taken with joy and thanksgiving and in communion with the people of God not also be a celebration of the Holy Supper? Can a Volkswagen van full of Christians finishing off a liter of grape soda between fits of laughter and mouthfuls of vanilla cookies not also testify to the love of our Savior? And is not a weak and elderly lady tenderly feeding her sick and disheartened friend a sign of Christ’s kingdom?