Our place of worship celebrates communion once a month. I'm not sure how this all worked out exactly, but somehow this is the first communion I remember since the Baby was born. I likely was out nursing, or changing a diaper or trying to get her to sit still for the fourth hour of church… poor thing.
Perhaps for that reason alone, sitting with my daughter, I began to think about how she will process this event later and what I will say when she asks what I am doing and if she can do it too. As I sat in the back of our church this Sunday, teary eyed, holding my sleeping babe and thinking about Christ's sacrifice, I imagined the conversation going something like this:
"(whispering) Momma? What is that?"
"I'm partaking of Communion, Aoife."
"(still whispering) Why do we do that?"
"(deep breath) Not that long ago, God allowed himself to be a little child once, just like you. In his entire life, he never sinned. Yes, he cried when he stubbed his toe and his tummy rumbled when it was time to eat and he asked questions just like you do, but he did no wrong. When he grew up and was a little older than Momma and Daddy, he started teaching people about God the Father, because people had forgotten. One night he was having dinner with his friends and he took the bread and drink off the table and asked that people share a meal regularly in remembrance of Him: of His life and then of His death and resurrection (when He came back to life). People forget things quickly sometimes and Jesus wanted us and our families to always remember Him.
Would you like to share communion with Momma?"
photo credit: flickr - fuzuoko