some thoughts on crackers and wine

One Sunday, I made challah bread. I make bread all the time, but never with yeast, so this was a new experience for me.

I know yeast is tricky, that water temperature means practically everything when it comes to making bread. So I hoped the water temperature was adequate and that the yeast had enough time to foam in the water and sugar, and then I added the flour, and then kneaded the dough on a floured wooden cutting board. Stuck in the oven for an hour while I talked to Lisa and then braided and baked it.

And there, it was: bread. It only takes a few ingredients and a little time and patience, and then it somehow appears in its fluffy and tasty form.

And then I thought, shouldn't I be serving bread with OUT yeast? Isn't that more appropriate? Does it really matter? Are matzah crackers more suitable for this kind of experience?

I stood in the grocery store nervously looking at the different varieties of grape juice, thinking to myself "If it's supposed to be a representation of Jesus' blood, is it important to get organic?" "Is it sacriligeous to be looking at calorie counts on these things?" "Is it bad that I want to buy the less expensive one?" "Is Welch's okay?"

Or maybe, wine...

Yes. Wine will be better. Trader Joe's it is.

I didn't know how to do the Eucharist "right". I'd been having too many conversations in my head to count about how I was supposed to do this, how I was supposed to lead the drinking of these grapes and the breaking of this challah bread (or the shoulda-been-matzah-crackers).

But I don't think there's one "right" way of doing it. At least that's the truth that is comforting me right now.

When we serve the Eucharist, the crackers and bread are less important than the presence of God's spirit, dwelling within us as we partake together. As we crunch together and drink together.

Together, together, together.

The Eucharist is about many things, togetherness being one of them. I'm fearful of even writing a blog post about the Eucharist because it's such sacred ground. But I also feel equally compelled to write about it because within its sacredness is also ordinary-ness where I find comfort. It's the meal that's offered to the broken and the needy, to those who are unworthy. It's a meal that is holy and mysterious but also simple.

I used to believe that the Eucharist was all about confession...and I used to dread the crackers and the juice. Dreaded drinking it and eating it, dreaded remembering what I had done wrong and who I had been unkind to. Then I stepped into an Anglican church, where the choir wore robes and we turned to face the speaker who read from Scripture. I stepped into a church where incense was burned and wine was served and liturgy was read.

The Eucharist, this church taught me, was for thanksgiving. This bread and wine was a gift.

I realize that I'm walking on choppy waters: there's hundreds of years of church history and great theological teachings and controversy regarding transubstantiation and conversations about how often and when and how and who the bread is broken, etc. etc. But I'm writing because I want to be brave and say that I have my own story with the Eucharist. It's not all written out here, but I carry it with me as I drink the wine and eat the bread. I've learned from different churches, I've seen this gift presented in various ways, and I'm continuously learning what this sacrament means.

I believe in repentance and confession -- but I also believe that the Eucharist is for so much more than this. And I believe that making the challah bread and picking out the wine or grape juice is a process of learning and growing individually and corporately.

Jesus' sacrifice is huge, and I can't fully grasp its significance. But each week I'll understand something a little more, or a little differently -- whether it's matzah, challah bread, or gluten-free rice crackers.