Let us break bread together on our knees.
Angie opens her eyes to three robed men walking out of the small room at the left side of the pulpit area, and down the steps from the rostrum. They sing a cappella and in harmony. The congregation joins in
When I fall on my knees
with my face to the rising sun
O Lord, have mercy on me.
The second verse says “drink wine together.” By the time they get to the third verse, “Let us praise God together” everyone is standing and singing loudly and joyfully.
Angie is a little surprised that they’re standing instead of kneeling, but she stands along with the rest of the congregation gathered here this morning. Though there are significantly fewer folks than attend the regular camp meeting services, those in attendance fill the tabernacle with their song of entreaty, “O Lord, have mercy on me.”
The three robed men now stand side by side in the narrow space between the rostrum and the communion table, still singing in harmony as though they are a trio who has practiced for months.
But Angie recognizes these ministers; they’re from different states…still they sing in close heavenly harmony. The shorter man on the left has a pure high tenor that floats above the others, yet fits right in. Strange that thought – floating, but fitting.
The men lead a repeat of the whole song, and by this time Angie has picked up the tune and joins in, feeling very much an integral part of the Faithful gathered in the tabernacle this morning.
Her grandfather’s rich baritone rumbles from his chest. Her grandmother’s voice is not all that melodious, but she does know all the words and sings with gusto. Angie hears a throaty alto behind her to the left and a lyrical soprano to the right. What joyful sounds, and she’s right in the midst of them all.
The song ends, and the minister in the middle leads an opening prayer. The ministers on the left and right go sit in the front row. By this time the sun is a little higher and the room is a little lighter. Still, with no artificial lighting, the room remains shadowy and mysterious.
The minister behind the communion table opens a big blood red leather Bible with those gold edged onion skin pages. Will he read the same verses her pastor reads when they celebrate this sacrament at her church? He doesn’t.
Instead, he closes his Bible and declares, “Saints, we just sung a familiar old song about breaking bread together on our knees and praising God on our knees, but all we done is stand up and sit down. Brothers and Sisters, I’m gonna invite you to turn right around at your seat and get down on your knees and thank the Lord for what he’s done for you. On the cross and in your life. Let’s give him a little time this morning. Let’s give him some praise and thanksgiving.”
And, then he breaks out into singing and clapping. “Oh, Oh, Oh, Oh what He’s done for me. I never will forget what’s He’s done for me.” Most of the congregants know the song and join him as they get up, lay their Bibles and purses in their seats, and kneel down on that concrete floor. Singing ceases.
Settling down, they fold their hands and bow their heads as though kneeling on cushioned pads. Angie copies what her grandparents do and kneels too. And also looks around wondering what she should be doing now.
All at once, folks all around her start praying out loud. Out loud. Everybody talking at the same time.
“Thank ya. Thank ya. Thank ya. Lord,” erupts from grateful worshipers.
“You has been a good God and I just wanna thank ya for it,” from the right.
“God, you done took care of me good this year. You has brung me back to these hallowed grounds and I just praise yo’ name for it,” from the left.
“You’ve taken care of me and my family. You’ve made a way outta no way,” from another lady a couple rows away.
“Lord God Almighty. You’re a wonderful friend. I lost my wife and you haven’t let me feel too lonesome,” comes a deep voice from further right.
Angie kneels there feeling like an eavesdropper. Should she be listening? Should she be praying herself? What should she be saying? She glances over at her grandmother. No clue. Grammama’s just kneeling there with tears dripping onto her knuckled hands. She’s not even trying to wipe the tears away.
Angie peeks at Grampoppa. His lips are moving, but no words are vocalized. So she just kneels there taking it all in. It feels strange, but somehow right, whatever that means. She’s puzzled, but not frightened by the unusual sights and sounds.
Soon, from the front comes the booming voice of the middle minister leading out the Lord’s Prayer, “Our Father, Who are in Heaven…” which the congregants join one or two at a time until they all are saying the prayer in unison, while, as though signaled to get up, they pick up their Bibles and purses and return to their seated positions.
“… for thine is the Kingdom, and the Power, and the Glory forever and ever. Amen.”
What next?
“Don’t you feel better, Brothers and Sisters? Don’t it feel better spending a little time giving thanks? Giving thanks and praise for all God has been and all He’s gonna be to each and everyone one us? Don’t you just love this great God of ours? Can somebody say, ‘Thank you, Jesus!’”
Thank you Jesuses and praise the Lords reverberate.
“Don’t you just love Him? You know He loves you, don’t you? And He’s been loving you for a long time. You know the Bible says in the fifth chapter of book of Romans, verse eight, that ‘… God demonstrates His own love toward us, in that while we were yet sinners, Christ died for us.’”
“That’s what we’re here to celebrate this morning. The love of God. The love of His Son, Jesus Christ. The love that got us up this morning. Thank you, Jesus!” He does a little hop, skip and jump.
“The love that started us on our way.” He claps his hands.
“The love that drew us to this hallowed campground O praise His Holy Name!” He shakes his head incredulously.
“The love that says we gotta do what Jesus did. We gotta show His love to others. You all were here last night. You heard our sweet little children singing “Jesus Loves Me This I Know.” Do you know it, Saints? Do you know it deep down in your souls that Jesus loves you?” He pauses a second or two.
“No matter how you may have felt this morning getting up and getting washed with cold water because the folks ahead of you had run out all the hot water. No matter how pained you feel ‘cause Ole Arthur slowed you down with a crick in your side or a creaking in your knee.
“No matter how sad you feel ‘cause you here on Zion’s Hill for the first time since a loved one passed away. Jesus loves you. He showed His love on the cross when He stretched out His arms and died for my sins and your sins.
“But, hallelujah! He didn’t stay on the cross; He didn’t even stay in the tomb. Praise God, Jesus rose again on Easter morning! Praise God, He’s coming back to take us home with Him in heaven. He gonna come back and get those who’ve trusted in His death and resurrection, and we gonna go and live with Him forever. Can somebody say Amen?”
Thoughtful, cogitating silence.
“Can’t anybody up in here say ‘Amen’” he implores again.
Amens roll across the tabernacle, along with some hand clapping, glories, and hallelujahs.
“You all were here last night when the Sister preached about trust. That’s what we gotta do Brothers and Sisters. We gotta trust that the same God who raised Jesus from the dead is gonna raise us up, too. In the meantime we gotta trust that the Holy Spirit that He sent to comfort us, to strengthen us, to teach and guide us is gonna be here when we need Him.
“Praise the Lord! God don’t leave us alone. He got Him some sons and daughters, some Saints like them sitting on yo’ left and yo’ right who gonna be here for you. Who gonna show you the love of God? The love of God we come here to share this morning at this here communion table.”
Angie notices that he slips in and out of a dialect…one she’s heard lots of times at her home church. Sometimes the ministe
r sounds real intellectual. Sometimes he sounds real conversational. Breaking it down. Sounding comfortable, easy to follow.
“Communion. Do y’all know what communion means? If you look it up in the dictionary, it would say something about being a Christian sacrament with bread and wine eaten and drunk to remember what Christ did for us way back on Calvary. That is true. That’s one meaning of “communion.” It also means ‘intimate fellowship’. Intimate fellowship.” He pauses again to let the thought sink in.
“That’s what we celebrating here Brothers and Sisters. We all in the old ship of Zion, right here on Zion’s Hill, sharing in the joys and sorrows of one another. Why? Because we becoming more and more like Christ. The Christ who loves us tells us if we wanna show we like him, we gotta show love.
“Y’all heard the children singing last night about being a servant of all. That’s a nice song and all, but the Bible say, if we gonna be like Christ, we gotta serve one another. That’s just what we gonna be doing this morning.
“We, my brother ministers here, we gonna be like Christ told us to be. Servants. Just like Christ took the bread and broke it and served it to his disciples, we gonna break the bread this morning and serve it to you. Brother Jefferson and Brother Marshall, y’all come on up here and help me prepare this bread and wine to serve this morning.”
The two ministers rise and join the middle minister at the communion table. He goes on…
“To illustrate this is intimate fellowship, we gonna do something a little different. We gonna share the same loaf and share the same cup. But we ain’t gonna be drinking out of the same cup,” he chuckles. “We got health codes we gotta follow, but we are gonna use one cup.
“This what we gonna do this morning. We gonna ask y’all to come up row by row and take a little piece of bread and then dip the corner of that bread into the cup and eat it. This way we gonna be sharing the cup and the bread a little more intimately than if we was to pass the little hunks of bread and those little bitty cups.
“Yes, we know. This gonna take a little bit longer, but as you wait yo’ time to come up, we gonna ask you to be in prayer for those who didn’t come join us this morning or couldn’t come for one reason or another. Be in prayer for those who made decisions for the Lord this week and those who are being nudged by the Holy Spirit to accept the salvation we celebrating here this morning, by joining in this intimate fellowship, by taking the bread and wine representing the body and blood of Jesus Christ, who loves us every one.
“Brother Smitherman, will you go on up to the organ and play us some quiet music that will keep our minds focused on the love of God and the sacrifice of His Son as we come take the bread and the wine?”
The organist quietly climbs the steps and flicks the switch on the organ. He scoots onto the bench and begins playing softly, in a minor, “Let Us Break Bread Together”.
The two robed ministers join the preacher at the communion table, stand at attention as he washes his hands in the basin and dries them on the towel that lay on the table. At the right, Brother Marshall, takes the hankie off the top of the golden goblet. He neatly folds the cloth and lays it there. At the same time, Brother Jefferson, at the other end of the table, ceremonially removes the linen cloth revealing the oblong shape that turns out to be two loaves of uncut bread. He too folds and lays the napkin neatly on the table.
The preacher looks at Brother Jefferson, who picks up the red Bible, and this time the preacher does read from it. It’s the same scripture from Corinthians that Angie hears at her church, “…the Lord Jesus the same night in which he was betrayed took bread.”
Brother Jefferson holds the Bible for the preacher so his hands stay clean. The preacher picks up the one loaf, holds it up high so everyone can see it and then he breaks it and as he sets one half back down on the plate, he continues with the reading… “Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you: this do in remembrance of me.” He lays the bread on the plate.
Then he steps over to the golden goblet and gently clasps it with both hands and raises it high so everyone can see it. He finishes reading the passage from Corinthians, “After the same manner also he took the cup, when he had supped, saying, this cup is the new testament in my blood: this do ye, as oft as ye drink it, in remembrance of me.”
Brother Jefferson closes the Bible and reverently places it on the rostrum floor behind him and steps back to his end of the table. The preacher prays and then hands the plate of bread to Brother Jefferson and the cup to Brother Marshall. Now, standing with his arms spread wide, he gestures with upturned palms, signaling the ushers to direct the congregants to come to the supper table. They begin from the rear and move forward row by row, orderly, not really needing the ushers this morning.
The organist continues softly playing a medley of songs. Some are familiar; some are not. All make Angie think of Jesus and about the decision she made to trust him with her life. When it’s time for her row to go forward, she files out behind her grandfather. They approach the table.
She remembers she’s supposed to take a little piece of bread and dip into the goblet and then eat it. Break, dip and eat. Break, dip and eat. Break… She notices that Grampoppa stops a foot or so behind the man in front of him…giving him privacy at the table. Angie decides to do that too.
She’s close enough to hear Brother Jefferson say, “This is my body broken for you.” as the man breaks off a little piece of bread. He walks over to the other side of the table and stops in front of Brother Marshall. Angie hears him say, “This is my blood, shed for you.”
The bread, Angie can see and understand that. There’s a real loaf of bread here. But the Bible reading said “Wine,” and now the minister is saying “Blood”. Her stomach flips and flutters. It was weird enough thinking there would be real wine.
The folks in her church don’t believe in drinking wine so they serve grape juice for communion. If it’s not grape juice, maybe a teeny dip of wine wouldn’t be too bad. But blood. Yuck! By this time Grampoppa’s gotten his bread and is walking over to the cup. The usher’s gloved hand beckons Angie to move forward to get her bread.
She steps up and stands in front of Brother Jefferson. Listens to “broken for you” and reaches up to get her piece of bread. Wouldn’t you know it? The closest part of the loaf is the crust. She tries to break off a teeny, little piece and the bread starts to slide on the plate. She stops. Looks up at Brother Jefferson. He smiles at her and nods his head, encouragingly. She takes a deep breath and reaches up and a little more firmly, easily tears off a little hunk of the crust. She lets out her breath and walks over to the golden goblet.
She stops and stands in front of Brother Marshall. Listens to “shed for you” and reaches up to dip her bread. Brother Marshall holds the cup down a little so she can see inside. It’s really dark and red in there. She takes a deep breath. Decides to go for it and dips the corner of her bread in the cup with shaking hands.
She dips too deep, and the whole piece seeps red. Even her fingers go into the liquid. “Oops,” she gasps. She looks up and Brother Marshall simply smiles and nods. Whew! Angie puts the soggy bread into her mouth. Hmmm. It’s a little sour. Not sweet like grape juice at all. Angie smiles back at Brother Marshall and returns to her seat. Maybe, she postulates, it really is wine. She’s taken communion. She’s had the bread and the wine. She’s doing just what Jesus told them to do – in remembrance of Him.
“IN REMEMBRANCE OF HIM,” older Angie deliberates lying abed after her grandparents leave for the sunrise communion service. “In remembrance of Him.” In the seven years since that first communion, Angie’s read the Bible regularly and recalls that when Jesus felt out of it, tired and maybe out of sorts, He’d go off someplace by Himself to spend time alone…alone with God. Angie’s got to do something to get herself together. The attitude she’s been showing is not the least bit like Jesus.
So she rolls out of the cot, slips on her house coat and slippers, gathers her toiletries and heads down to th
e ladies’ bathroom. Thankfully, no one’s there and she quickly washes, brushes, and combs, and then scurries back to her room to dress. She drapes a sweater around her shoulders and grabs her Bible. She’s got to find a quiet place where she can spend some time alone with God.
It’s still dewy outside and Angie’s glad she’s got on shoes she doesn’t mind getting wet. She’s put on the clothes she’d worn last Saturday when she helped Stella clean the ice cream stand before opening it to the public. The wrinkled clothes she’s donned smell a little rank from the sweat and all, but Angie doesn’t plan to be with anyone else this morning, so she’s okay looking a little less put together than other times.
She’s heading up to a spot higher up the hill to a section of the grounds where little cutting and trimming is done. She’d heard in one of the business meetings that the Zion’s Hill management is reserving that acreage of the campgrounds to build a senior citizen retirement village.
They envision an attractive planned community for the church folks to invest in while they’re still working and then move up here to live when they retire. The plans call for a community center with a small chapel, dining room, recreation facilities, and a clinic staffed with medical professionals trained in geriatrics who will live on site to assist with health issues of aging residents. The plans even showed closed-in walkways between the condos surrounding the community center.
On the drive here this year, Angie learned her grandparents have looked at the retirement community prospectus, but haven’t made a decision. They’d both prefer living nearer to family when they retire. Angie’s all for that. She wants to be able to visit them all year long. The campgrounds would be pretty cut off in the winter.
The trail she follows this morning is rocky and steep, but Angie’s in good shape and soon crests the hill. To the left, she can’t see it, but hears water rippling and roiling. She imagines it twisting and tumbling over the rocks along the hillside just like her agitated feelings. She searches for a ledge she’d seen before.
On Zion's Hill Page 17