Serving Holy
Communion is one of the greatest of privileges for me as a minister. I deal
with this part of ministry with great reverence and a sense of great humility.
I have noticed since my arrival here that he does not put the communion bread
into his mouth. In fact, when I place the bread into his hand, saying: “this is
the body of Christ”, his hand make an automatic movement towards his pocket. After
a few such encounters, thinking that he must have some kind of gluten
intolerance, I ask him: “Why do you put the bread in your pocket?” It feels
like cold water in my face, when he responds: “Because your black hand touched
it!”
It is now
about four years after my encounter with him regarding the communion bread. He
is in hospital, busy dying. His wife calls me and requests that I give him
communion. I rush to the hospital and find him and his wife there. I go through
the liturgy with great care and compassion, give him the wine and then turn to
his wife, requesting her to give him the bread. Then I feel his hand on my arm
and he says with tears rolling down his face, “No, you put it in my mouth. I am
so sorry. Forgive me.”
My natural
tendency is to retaliate, and to refuse granting him this last wish. But great
compassion rises up within me. Tears roll down my face as I speak words of
forgiveness to him and place the bread in his mouth.
Moments
later he dies. He is free – I am free.
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