All the Time, For All People

Yesterday, I suggested that the image of "grace" I had from my Southern Baptist days was tarnished by a feeling that grace was a code-word for the capricious forbearance of a bully (isn't Biff graceful for not beating me up today, even though I clearly deserve it?). If that's Baptist grace, what's the alternative? Of course, a whole host of alternatives exist, many of which are likely taught and practiced by Baptists themselves. Nevertheless, as my family moved into the United Methodist Church, I had a whole new understanding of what grace can be.

This being the first Sunday of the month, I experienced a bit of that grace today through communion, which Methodists refer to as a "means of grace." Without knowing anything about the theology (reason, scripture, tradition, experience) underlying the ceremony, any observant visitor would note several key features that distinguish the Methodist practice of communion from the Baptist "Lord's supper."

First of all, there's the fact that Methodists celebrate communion often. Once a month is standard, but I've been part of many congregations that celebrate it weekly. Baptists, on the other hand, tend to celebrate (at least in my experience) once per quarter-year. On the surface, Methodism's comparative frequency bespeaks its closer ties to older, Catholic traditions of mass. Yet, while these ties exist, the focus of communion as common practice throughout the year binds the service closer to the regular life of the church.

In Baptist churches, I recall that communion (Lord's Supper, I should say--I rarely if ever heard it referred to as communion) interrupted the usual order of things. The sermon was shorter or done away with altogether. We sang fewer songs. Daddy (as minister) would read some sobering scriptures about the need to examine oneself to make sure that one was ready to receive the symbols of Christ's sacrifice and new covenant. People were very quiet, concentrating on remembering the proper conventions for a fairly rare event.

When I first encountered the Methodist preference for frequent communion, I had a moment when I thought oh, now it won't be special any more. In a way, I was right. Methodism makes the grace of God in Christ more ordinary, more accessible. God's grace isn't rare or singular but constant. Indeed, Methodists talk of God's grace not just in terms of Christ's passion and death on the cross but of every loving outreach by God toward humanity. For Methodists, this outreach--this passion of God to be at one with humanity (and for humanity to be at one with God) isn't the exception but the rule. Methodists even speak of prevenient grace--the "grace that goes before"--as a way of describing how God reaches out to us, shapes our lives and selves, and provides for us even before we are aware of God's doing so. This grace continues throughout mortal life, not descending at once in a singular conversion event, like some massive, Divine Download. No, grace is constant, as regular as breath, as heartbeat, as food.

The other major difference between Baptist and Methodist communions: in communion, Baptists perform a communal act of distinction from those not in their community. Only people who have been saved and baptized (by full immersion, preferably) may take communion.

I remember my pre-salvation days as a youngster, sitting next to Mama as she selected and held a pellet of cracker-like bread from the silver platter as it was passed around the congregation. Another platter followed, this time serving tiny cups filled with grape juice, and Mama would take one of these as well. Baptists wait until all have been served before--following the pastor's lead--taking the bread and "wine" together. As she waited, Mama would let my sister and I hold the cracker-pellet and the cup. I'd feel the smooth texture of the odd wafer (think of those rectangular, breath-freshening gum pieces that have hard candy coats--that's what the pellet looked and felt like). I'd sniff the juice as if it were fine wine. But only my mother could actually drink and eat them. I remember, too, the first time I got to hold and eat the bread and juice for myself.

Again, it can seem somewhat disappointing to shift to Methodism, where everyone gets bread (often real bread) and wine (still typically juice). But I've grown to love this feature of Methodism perhaps best of all. I wonder sometimes if lifelong Methodists realize the power of the simple institution of the Open Table. My father, fully cognizant of the differences between Baptists and Methodists, generally gives what I take to be the best explanation. I paraphrase the words he says at every communion, standing before the elements, facing outwards to the congregation, arms and hands stretched wide:

"My friends," he says, "this is God's table, not mine, not the church's, not the congregation's--God's. It is God who offers the invitation, and God offers it to all. You do not have to be a member of this or of any church. God invites everyone. Would you come?"

Thus the other major difference between Baptist grace and Methodist grace: not only is grace all the time; it is for all people. I remember explaining to my agnostic partner about this practice. He was incredulous. "What if someone came and wanted to take communion but was not a believer?" They are welcome to come. "But they don't believe. They'd be taking it ironically. Or cynically." Provided they didn't hinder anyone else, no one would stop them. We don't test people for integrity of belief. That's not our place in communion. God's invitation is to all, for all. Whether they believe or not is a matter for them to work out with God.

There's much more to Methodist grace, of course, but in communion the key features--features that among other things keep me a Methodist--remain central: all the time, for all people.

More tomorrow,

JF