Let us draw near with a true heart in full assurance of faith, with our hearts sprinkled clean ... (v. 22a)

... Stir up one another to love and good works. (v. 24b)

It’s right there, in the name itself: communion - that which makes for unity, oneness. But if this Christian sacrament of unity has been anything through twenty centuries, it has been a sacrament of division.

Let’s move backward quickly through those centuries, taking snapshots as we go.

Frame 1. Christians visit in the parish of a sister congregation whose denominational roots are identical to their own. But they are forbidden to come to the altar because "there is doctrinal divergence between us."

Frame 2. A stormy meeting of the congregation ends by silencing members of the worship committee who hoped to offer the Sacrament of the Altar at every worship service. The argument that clinched the vote: "You make a special thing too common and before you know it nobody will come to take it any more." Members of the silenced task-force fall to wondering whether the same would be true for the eating of regular meals each day, but decide not to raise the point publicly and risk further acrimony.

Frame 3. Martin Luther and Ulrich Zwingli scowl at one another from either end of a long banquet table at Castle Coburg in Central Germany. They cannot agree about what "Hoc est ..." really means. As Luther smashes his fist down on the table-top, making the salt shakers jump six inches, all hope dies for one great unified church of the Reformation.

Frame 4. Fearful that they may dishonor Jesus’ actual blood and body, medieval Christians only come to take the sacrament when absolutely necessary. To preclude, their violating it, the priest withholds the wine and will no longer put the bread directly into each one’s hands.

Frame 5. Christians gather for a love feast in a private home in Corinth. The first ones there drink all the wine and stagger, drunk, about the room before the liturgy has even started.

1. Holy Conimunion Gathers Us

What was Jesus really after when, that night at supper, he announced a brand new covenant in bread and wine? Clearly, the meaning is multi-dimensional. There is something of the Passover from Egypt in what happened at that table. Clearly, animal sacrifice was reinterpreted and invested with a new and hair-raising meaning. Clearly, what was next to happen on the Cross was here anticipated and in some incredible and mysterious way drawn from Friday afternoon back into Thursday night. A wonderful prolepsis - drawing the future into the present - was occurring.

But in spite of, and along with, all those meanings, one thing seems transparently clear. The meal which was that night established was intended to provide the occasion for a fellowship, a sharing, a new unity of heart and mind and spirit that the followers of Jesus had not known before.

Imagine a swimming pool. There is a high chain-link fence round about it. A gatekeeper screens swimmers. On the inside, splashing and refreshing one another in the scorching heat of summer, are a couple dozen lucky individuals. It is a private pool party. Beyond them, looking through the fence, their swimming suits on but with no invitation, the less-than-lucky stand, their fingers curled into the fence, their bodies eager for the coolness of the water.

"Come on in," somebody shouts from somewhere in the pool. "The water’s great!" But others in the water grumble. "Them? They’re black (or white or red or brown or yellow). We don’t know them. There’s not room in here. It’s cozy as it is. Don’t spoil it!"

Now the party host climbs up to pool-side. To the gate he goes. He whispers in the ear of the gatekeeper. In ten seconds the pool is wide open. Everybody may come in.

Among the original guests, there’s confusion. Some leave in a huff. Some scowl, but stay. Some welcome strangers to their midst. Before an hour is past, a grand time is enjoyed by all.

For weary bodies, hearts and souls, the Lord Christ opens his refreshing swimming pool, his holy meal, his gracious future, to the world. He says, "Draw near ..."

It has sometimes been said that if we cannot embrace one another, we ought not pretend to share the unity the sacramental meal holds out to us. Imagine people at a pooi party, fastidiously trying not to bump into each other or to graze each other’s shoulders, since they cannot really stand each other. Jesus says, "Draw near ..." He means not only to invite us to the meal, the party, but that we also draw near to each other. What better way to prepare for this meal than to exchange a word of peace, and shake a hand - or even to embrace - as some of our church liturgies prescribe these days? In Paul’s day there was something called a "holy kiss." You will not kiss someone you cannot stand.

We do not know entirely what this special meal is all about. We do know that it is a time for unity. "Draw near," the host invites. "Draw near to me ... let me draw near to you (and, in the eating and the drinking, let me come within you) ... and draw near to one another."

Do you realize that individual next to you here at the alter is about to lose her job? Can you embrace that person in some helpful way? Draw near ...

That man who kneels there at your other side. He sees his marriage failing. Can you empathize? Draw near ...

The pastor who is serving you the bread. His daughter has repudiated all her father taught her and is living with her boyfriend now. Who can embrace the pastor in his grief just now? Draw near to him ...

2. Holy Communion Scatters Us

And when the party’s over, as the sun begins to tip, we leave the pooi, remove our soggy swimwear, towel our hair dry, and head out, refreshed, to opportunities and battles waiting for us. Maybe we go back to where we started with new friends because the party was expanded.

Maybe we go out with thoughts of the next opportunity to dive into a cooling pool the next time (and, we hope, that time will not be far away). Maybe we have learned some things about the others with whom we enjoyed the party, things we never would have known in other contexts. We remember a wise maxim, posted at the door of a gymnasium: "I learn more about you if I play one hour with you than I would learn by talking with you for a month."

"Let us consider how to stir up one another to love and good works," the writer of the Book of Hebrews admonishes. What does the party, or the meal, mean to us when we’ve found the unity we seek, the strength, the energy, and the refreshment needed for the days which follow?

Parties, meals, and times of unity lose all their meaning if we cannot scatter once the gathering is through. And when we scatter, we take from that special time the opportunities they build into us - opportunities to share the celebration we’ve experienced with the ones we know and meet and touch, who could not share the party or the meal.

The Lord who loved us into coming to that meal, that party, loved us with a powerful embrace while we were there with him. He sends us with that love into the world, to spread and share the fruits of unity by loving those who could not come.

Where are they whom we scatter to embrace?

• They’re people we are married to.

• They’re those with whom we share our daily bread each suppertime.

• They’re those who ride the bus with us, or drive the streets and freeways we must travel.

• They’re where we buy our groceries, pay our rent, or pump our gas.

• They’re hidden from our view until we look for them.

They’re children of the Heavenly Father. They are those who need a hug, a warm embrace, the nourishment that only those first strengthened at the table, or refreshed at God’s pool party, can impart.

Lord, gather us. Unite us. Feed us and refresh us. Then, Lord, scatter us, to share with all whom we know and meet the wonders of your grace.

- Michael L. Sherer