Despite attending church on a fairly regular basis over the past six years, I have never participated during our monthly observance of communion.
Communion was a very rare occurrence in the Holiness church I grew up in. I would be surprised if we observed it more than once in a five-year span, and it was typically accompanied by foot-washing. Because they were dispensed so infrequently, the sacraments were considered extremely sacred by our congregants.
Before the unleavened bread and cup of grape juice were presented, a preacher would deliver a sermon about the significance of what we were getting ready to do. These sermons always included the following verses from 11th chapter of 1 Corinthians:
23For I received from the Lord what I also passed on to you: The Lord Jesus, on the night he was betrayed, took bread, 24and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, “This is my body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of me.” 25In the same way, after supper he took the cup, saying, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of me.” 26For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.
27So then, whoever eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be guilty of sinning against the body and blood of the Lord. 28Everyone ought to examine themselves before they eat of the bread and drink from the cup. 29For those who eat and drink without discerning the body of Christ eat and drink judgment on themselves. 30That is why many among you are weak and sick, and a number of you have fallen asleep. 31But if we were more discerning with regard to ourselves, we would not come under such judgment. 32Nevertheless, when we are judged in this way by the Lord, we are being disciplined so that we will not be finally condemned with the world.
We were told in no uncertain terms that we would damn ourselves if we partook of the bread and juice without being worthy. Although I might have participated in the ritual as a child, I have no memory of ever receiving communion. I simply never felt worthy.
I stopped attending church sometime around the age of twenty, and didn’t start again until 2006. The church I later joined offers communion on the first Sunday of each month. Sometimes it is passed out to the congregation on silver trays; other times it is given by intinction and recipients must line up the center aisle to dip their piece of bread in the cup.
Our communion is open to everyone, and although I have been warmly encouraged on several occasions to partake, I never have. Fear holds me back.
I suspect I hold myself to a higher standard than most, because I have seen several people treat it with little reverence. Some talk and laugh to the person beside them as the elements are passed. I even watched in dismay after one service as a woman ripped off a piece of leftover communion bread from the altar, said, “I’m hungry,” and shoved it in her mouth.
Even though I realize that no one is ever worthy of Christ’s mercy, I am surely no less worthy than they. I just can’t seem to overcome the mental hurdle, most of which is a result of those childhood sermons. The rest are my own hangups about being homosexual. Even if the jury is still out on whether homosexuality is a sin, I’m pretty sure we have a clear verdict on fornication. But then it’s not like we have the option of getting married in Kentucky.
I have accepted the fact that I may never receive communion as long as I live, and I’m okay with that.