A Sacramentally Suspect Episcopal Priest’s Take on Communion

One of my favorite Episcopalians (and I don’t know why) is this Korean guy that happens to share the same name with me.
He consistently reminds me how bad of an Episcopalian I am and, because of him, I want to be the worst Episcopalian he knows.

He accuses me of having low sacramental theology. I think he thinks it’s an insult.
I don’t take it as an insult. It’s a badge of pride I wear in front of him now because I know how much it bothers him. Besides, why get offended over something that’s true?

God knows I’ll never win the Episcopalian of the Year — if such an award exists. And to be fair, the current and past holders of the title Episcopalian of the Year would most likely not want to do anything with me. Because I have an antagonizing personality and antagonizing Episcopal Priests have been fun.

As low of a sacramental theology I have (I didn’t even know you could have low sacramental theology until I was accused of having one), I cannot tell you how many times I have been deeply moved by the sacrament of the Eucharist.

In 2019, when I had to discern what do to next: do I get a secular job? do I take a year of absence? Or do I take this generous offer given to me by the Episcopal Church? I mean, re-reading this paragraph, it’s obvious what to do: Go with the guaranteed money!!
But during that time… I was really hesitant. I didn’t want to learn a new language of how to do church.
The UMC was the “devil” I knew. I didn’t want to learn how to play a whole new game.

Yet.

It was the only guaranteed job on the table. In the back and forth, my soon-to-be boss sent me a video and said, “watch this before you make any decision.”
And he sent me this of then Presiding Bishop Michael Curry:

I was watching this while walking around midnight. I was near my son’s elementary school when I finally clicked on the link. And I stopped moving. There may have been some tears sent.
That story of the Eucharist that Bishop Curry told moved me. I got a glimpse of what we can be working towards. I also had the option of starting this new community as a layperson if I didn’t want to go through another ordination process.

I really didn’t want to go through another ordination process. The UMC process had already put me through hell and back, and now I was being asked to start all over again. But, I knew that whatever I had the task of building had to be a sacramental community and that I should be the one administering the sacraments.
Then I attended my first ever Episcopal liturgy at St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church in Pearland, our beloved sister church.
For thirty-nine years of my life, Welch’s Grape Juice — the unofficial sponsor of the United Methodist Church — was what was used.
Have you ever tasted something expecting one thing but then is blindsided by the actual taste?
39 years of Welch’s Grape Juice. Why would I expect anything else?

When I dipped my bread into the cup, and consumed the elements (Yes. There’s a mental barrier that prevents me from participating in the common cup), I was rocked by the wine. It came so unexpected. It sent shockwaves all throughout my body. I felt like it zapped me awake.
It was such a physical reaction that caught me off guard.
But that awakening feeling, it felt like a confirmation and an affirmation that I was walking towards the path God wanted me on.

I’m currently in Cincinnati, sitting at a coffee shop, not working on my sermon for Sunday.
On this past Sunday morning, I got to spend time with the Episcopalians. It was one of my first legit Episcopal liturgies. Lol. But Sunday evening, I got to spend time with Chapters, a worshipping community of Clifton UMC.
There’s something about Chapters that felt like home.
Their vibe was what Mosaic was like in the earlier days, something that we lost as we grew. And I’m not viewing this through the lens of: I wish I could go back to the time. It’s like looking at my 5’8”, 143 lbs son and wanting the days where I could carry him on my shoulders. Do I want to return to those days? Not really, because look at how beautiful my boy has grown, despite me.
It’s a nostalgic feeling where I look around and say, “I remember this phase. It was a fun phase. It was a nice phase. But look at how beautiful Mosaic has grown. Despite me.”

I had a message prepared, but I scrapped that and felt something pressing on my heart. And I think I made the absolute right choice of keeping my collar on and preaching my sermon. I think it carried more weight than me being Off the Collar (see what I did there?)

Then came time for communion.
Since July of 2019, it’s been nothing but wine in the cup. (Yes. I said cup. This is why I’ll never win the Episcopalian of the Year award.) Port Wine for us at Mosaic. That morning, I received communion twice with wine being in the communion cup.
I fully anticipated wine.
But instead, I got the familiar taste of Welch’s Grape Juice.
And that in of itself was jarring. But holy. And eye opening, once more reminding me of the presence of Christ amongst this group of people who could identify with the Canaanite Woman that not many could.

The funny thing is, both times, it was what I wasn’t expecting in the cup that got my attention. The wine wasn’t holy because it was wine. And the grape juice wasn’t somehow less holy because it wasn’t.
What made both moments holy was that somehow, through something as ordinary as bread and something poured into a cup, Christ got my attention.

In 2019, the wine welcomed me into something new. It felt like an invitation: There is room for you here.
Seven years later, the grape juice reminded me why I said yes in the first place.
Because there is room for you here.
And you.
And you too.

Maybe that’s why Rachel Held Evans’ description of the kingdom has stayed with me all these years: a bunch of outcasts and oddballs gathered around a table, not because they are rich or worthy or good, but because they are hungry, because they said yes.

And there’s always room for more.

I think that’s what my work, at least in this season, is really about.
Making sure people who have spent their lives wondering whether there’s a place for them know that there is.

There’s room at this table.
There’s room in this community.
There’s room in the kingdom of God.
There’s always room for more.