Dear People of St. David’s,
When I was a teenager finally allowed to go out and about on my own, I noticed that my mother always had two questions for me when I returned home; “Who was there?” and “What did you have to eat?” And I would oblige her: “Sue, Beth, John, and Dan and we went to Minella’s for pie and milkshakes.” Or, “C’mon, Mom! It was school, so kids and teachers and you saw me making a tuna sandwich this morning.” There was the time when I went to the mid-week Eucharist at our church, and when she asked her two questions, I was rather more rude than I like to remember, my eyes rolling so hard you could almost hear them. “Moooooom. It was the priest and two old ladies and me. And it’s been bread and wine for two thousand years!”
I am the old lady now and I wince when my children are impatient with me. I remember my mother’s two questions and hope that part of what eternity means is that she has forgiven me. I inwardly beam when my kids engage with me in what seems like trivial conversation, because here is the thing: conversation is never trivial with the ones that we love. Could it be that my mom chose those two questions because she knew something important about how meeting and sharing food with people shows love?
Who was there, the last time you sat in a pew at St. David’s? Were you there with a family member or friend? Did you see someone whom you had not seen for a while? Did you meet someone new? People were there, dozens, even hundreds of them, maybe more than you could name. But for sure there was someone there who knows you by name. There was someone there who forgives your impatience and noisy eyerolls.
God is there, where we are. I would go so far as to say that God is there in every encounter we have with another human being. God is there in the smile of your friend. God is there in the little kid whose toy car races noisily down the pew. God is there in the preacher, whether you like the sermon or your mind wanders. God is there in the sound of the choir and in the voice of the old man who is singing off-key. God is right there in the midst of us.
And what did you have to eat? Well, as teen-aged Nancy observed, it has been bread and wine for two thousand years. But as our prayers attest, that little bit of dry bread and sip of sweet wine are so much more than that. “The Body of Christ,” we say, “the Bread of Heaven. The Blood of Christ, the Cup of Salvation.” The point is not cannibalism (although you can have a lot of fun discussing that with a kid of late elementary school age.) The point is that we are loved by a God who nourishes us every time we get together. It’s as if Jesus is saying, “What have you had to eat and drink? If you are in relationship with me, my very own self will give you what you need to learn and grow and love, not just in this life, but for all time.”
The Holy Communion is bread not just for today, but the sign of God’s presence: not merely daily sustenance, but a way to participate in heaven right now. It is wine not just to slake our thirst and gladden our heart, but the flow that enlivens our souls.
I know now that it is hard for parents to let their kids go out into the world on their own, even when we believe that our children are never separated from the love of God. It’s been more than 50 years since my mother first asked me her two questions. How grateful I am for those conversations that taught me how to recognize love.
Faithfully,
Nancy+
The Rev. Nancy Webb Stroud, Priest Associate
Published on October 10, 2024