The Cup

Tears began to well up in my eyes as they came. A young immigrant mother from India, an old man from England, a Caribbean born woman, a young boy from Africa, a gray haired pensioner from Sudbury. White, black, brown. They all came and knelt. After they received the bread from the vicar, I gave them the cup. The chalice. The best red wine was served to one then the next. They only use the best wine for communion here.

"The blood of Christ shed for you" I repeated.

One held my hands as I tipped the chalice toward her, another wanted to hold it himself. No one was greedy, they all took just a sip. Some did not touch the cup, it was a sign of respect to them. Sacred. Some dipped the bread. All said, "amen." It may have been one of the most memorable communion services I have ever participated in.

Part of our team led worship at an Anglican church today in London. St Andrews Sudbury. It is a parish church in the truest sense of the word. The vicar views the service time as hallowed ground in visible ways and yet made it warm and friendly. We were blessed to come and minister.

Back to the tears. I served and served and began to think "this is the gospel, this is the church, we are one in the body." Old, young, black, white, rich and poor. We all go to the same place to be healed. To Jesus. His blood can make the foulest clean. And we should learn better how to share the cup, to share who He is with our brothers and sisters.

Finally, after all were served, I was. I drank after my co-officiant. The bread. The cup. I drank deeply, not the wine, but the blood of Christ shed for me. Blessings