I sat in the back half of Saint Patrick’s sanctuary, neither friend nor family of the man whose picture and ashes were placed at the front before the altar. I was there for a son who lost his father.
After the usual prayers and sermon came the Lord’s Supper, accompanied by the terms of participation:
A member of the Roman Catholic Church; currently practicing the faith and attending church regularly; having made confession recently. Anyone else should remain in the pews or come up, arms crossed, and receive a blessing.
Neither the son I was there to support nor I met the requirements. He remained seated. I went up for a blessing.
The priests certainly didn’t mean to do harm; most likely, they believed they were preserving the sanctity of the Lord’s Supper. But designating the worthy and the unworthy in this gathering, making family and friends feel unwelcome or uncomfortable while saying good-bye to a loved one is harmful. Ironic, considering Jesus didn’t seem nearly so picky about the people who joined him for dinner – and a person’s worthiness or unworthiness seemed to rest in their compassion toward others more than in their denominational credentials.
On my walk back afterward, I pondered the words of the priest: death leads to everlasting communion with Christ. Considering the brevity of the years we spend in this life, taking into account the eternity that embraces us in death, wouldn’t it be wiser to let go of the terms of participation? Instead of keeping the Lord’s Supper for those who meet the terms, wouldn’t it be better to reflect the expansive and merciful love that welcomes us home after death?
Life is too short to hold a grudge over being excluded from the Lord’s Supper, so I let it go. Going up for the blessing was my way of showing love for the family and respect for the rules of the church.
But I wonder how many who remained in the pews, and how many who walked past all those seated on the way up to receive the wine and wafers, will be able to do the same in this time of grief. I wonder about the son.
I recently experienced the same during the funeral of a dear family friend held at St. Mary Parish in North Plymouth. The unwelcoming requirements invoked sadness and a false sense of nonacceptance for me, and, I would imagine, others. Over the years, the exclusionary words, whether spoken at a funeral or a wedding, have presented a fresh sting each time. Refreshingly, a few years ago at a former Roman Catholic priest friend’s funeral—in which a Roman Catholic bishop and five Roman Catholic priests took part—ALL in attendance were invited to partake in the Lord’s Supper, if desired, in accordance with our departed friend’s wishes. That particular wish made for a most wonderful inclusionary experience indeed!
So good to hear about that inclusive service! Thanks, Laurie! peace, Johnna