The Eucharist, or the communion ceremony, is a unifying act of joy and remembrance. It is a calling together of God’s children irrespective of their demographics to “make present” the Christ who partook of the Last Supper millennia before¹. During my Spanish-learning year in Mexico, I experienced this more profoundly than ever before. Our pastor administered the Eucharist in a way entirely novel to me. Before passing the bread and wine to one another, we shared—in our own languages—the work the Lord had done in our lives over the previous year. As we shared the Communion meal, our hearts were connected, regardless of our linguistic limitations. Afterwards, we wept and embraced one another, communicating our love for one another through a medium other than words.

As we shared the Communion meal, our hearts were connected, regardless of our linguistic limitations.

As Spanish sermons became more and more accessible to me, my linguistic frustration decreased, but I longed for that same sense of community I had once shared through Eucharist—with God, and with others. If “perfect unity” (1 Corinthians 1:10) is a primary goal of the Body of Christ, then the acts that bring us closer to one another ought to be central to the church gathering. In a church that is becoming increasingly diverse and multi-ethnic, an almost exclusive reliance on preaching is proving insufficient for nourishing spiritual unity and active love. A return to the centralization of God’s love and grace embodied through the act of communion allows all congregants, regardless of language or mental abilities, to participate in what God intended His gatherings to be: an act of thanksgiving.

To enter into “the very sacrament of joy” in the Eucharist is to live one another’s experiences as though they are one’s own.

When this is embodied through the Eucharist, the members of Christ’s body are able to transcend linguistic differences and unite through love. According to the Bible scholar N. T. Wright, this is made possible through the “collapsing of past into present, and present into past”² achieved through the holy supper. To enter into “the very sacrament of joy”³ in the Eucharist is to live one another’s experiences as though they are one’s own. The Eucharist enables the becoming of “something corporately which [we] had not been as a collection of individuals”⁴. This is one of the keys to understanding the importance of the Eucharist: momentarily suspended in time, we become partakers of one another’s joy in the Lord. God’s faithfulness to one becomes God’s faithfulness to all. Christ’s famous Last Supper was meaningful not only because of the words He spoke but because of the calling-to-mind of God’s prior and present faithfulness. “This is the night we came out of Egypt,” announces the traditional Jewish Passover script. “It was not someone else who came out of Egypt, it is us who are here.”⁵

Therefore, my middle-aged Mexican brother who leads young fathers to the Lord through prayer and Bible study: his joy becomes mine. My Chinese sister who daily witnesses the faithfulness and protection of the Lord for her persecuted brothers and sisters in communist China: her joy becomes mine. My Japanese brother who has ministered to countless souls from the pulpit in his church: his joy becomes mine. And just as their joy becomes mine, likewise mine becomes theirs, too. Some of them may not know a word of English, but the joy of sharing Christ with English-speaking seekers of God becomes their joy, as well.

According to the theologian Alexander Schmemann, “the Eucharist is the sacrament of cosmic remembrance; it is indeed a restoration of love as the very life of the world”⁶. Together, we remember our suffering, and Christ’s; together, we remember His love and His joy as made manifest through His experiences as well as ours. The Eucharist compels us to “become one body and one spirit…restored to that solidarity and love which the world has lost”⁷. In our collective remembrance Christ becomes our life and sustains us together.

In those brief but beautiful moments in Mexico, different languages were spoken but the same tears of joy and gratitude were shed.

In churches that have a variety of cultures, languages, and cognitive abilities, those who cannot connect with the spoken language can still connect through this embodied ritual. We may not collectively comprehend every word spoken, but rejoicing is a language comprehensible through our remembrance and thanksgiving. In those brief but beautiful moments in Mexico, different languages were spoken but the same tears of joy and gratitude were shed. I was made one with Christ and the believers around me, in a way no sermon could have done. All that was needed was the sacrifice of Jesus Christ, and that—thanks be to God—is accessible and freely shared with all.

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Table of Contents

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01: The Enchantment of the Ordinary

02: The Language of Rejoicing

03: Created for the Feast

04: Real Presence

05: Ars Poetica