True Communion

By Andrea Lingle

And Mary said,
‘My soul magnifies the Lord,
   and my spirit rejoices in God my Saviour,
for he has looked with favour on the lowliness of his servant.
   Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed;
for the Mighty One has done great things for me,
   and holy is his name.
His mercy is for those who fear him
   from generation to generation.
He has shown strength with his arm;
   he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts.
He has brought down the powerful from their thrones,
   and lifted up the lowly;
he has filled the hungry with good things,
   and sent the rich away empty.
He has helped his servant Israel,
   in remembrance of his mercy,
according to the promise he made to our ancestors,
   to Abraham and to his descendants for ever.’

Luke 1:46–55

[Christ] said, that he would one day thank his benefactors, saying to them: “I was anhungered and ye gave me meat…” If the gift is rightly given and rightly received, the passing of a morsel of bread from one man to another is something like a real communion.” (Weil, Waiting for God, p 139)

The courage to be is essentially always the courage to be as a part and the courage to be as oneself, in interdependence. (Tillich, The Courage to Be, p 82)

Dear God of the Hungry, Exhausted, and Broken, be present with us. Teach us to see beyond what is to the depths of becoming that surrounds us. We have been told to feed the hungry. Are calories enough? We live in an obese starving society. We fill our bellies with sweetness while ignoring the sorrow that hovers over the waters of individualism. Pry our fists off the idol of our right-to-be-one, and teach us the mysterious power of Emmanuel: God With.  

From Which All Things Proceed, we long for joy, but too often we settle for happiness. You promise communion and living water, and we gorge ourselves on frosting. Give us the courage to be with each other, even when it hurts—even when we can’t stop pain or grief or rage. Hold our frail mettle to the tempering flame until we are able to sit shiva in silence. Strengthen the fibers of our communities until we are able to hear broken stories without reaching for glue. 

Spirit of Salvation, do not abandon us. We move through the hours of our confinement with anticipation and dread—the hope of birth muted by fear. The preponderance of the evidence implies that this year the hovering wing will be insufficient to cover us: broken and viscous brood. Woo us to hear the cooing of your love, Sweet Gentleness. Help us to hear the lullaby of the universe echoing through our souls. In the chill of midwinter, ensnare us in the perplexity of resurrection.

Oh, Heart of Immense Song, teach us that it is through listening that we learn to sing, it is through suffering that we widen, and it is through labor that we participate in birth.

Let us wait,

Amen