The island of Iona, in the Irish Sea, is said to be full of “thin places,” places where the division between this life and the afterlife are very thin. That may be why St. Columba built a monastery there, because the place was already considered to be holy ground.
In Saving Paradise, Rita Nakashima Brock and Rebecca Ann Parker describe the early church’s understanding of Holy Communion as a numinous moment, when the veil between the “saints above” and “saints below” was drawn aside. When the church gathered to share the bread, believers feasted with the saints in paradise.
You know I lost my dad in 1992, and my sister and her husband in 2001, and my mom in 2003. Some weeks after my sister’s death, on an ordinary Sunday when we were sharing communion, I was suddenly surprised by the presence of my family. This is not a ghost story. It was not a hallucination. As I sat in the choir loft, while the ushers passed the trays of bread and wine, I felt my sister beside me, and my parents too. I had a sense that Cindy was stifling a giggle (something we often did in worship—try to make the other laugh). And then the moment passed. It was numinous moment. It was as if the difference between us, the living members of the family and the dead, was meaningless. We were all communing together.
When you come for communion this Sunday, remember you will share the feast with all the saints, the ones in the pews and the ones who sit at the table in Paradise, and in that moment, we will all be united in the presence of Christ. Amen.
Cindy and I, ready for Thanksgiving Worship at First Congregational in Moline, c.1980
