Christ Died Even For You Taylor

“This is the cup of life.” “This is the body of Christ, broken for you.” “Christ’s blood poured out for you.” “The body of Christ, the bread of heaven.” “The blood of Christ, cup of salvation.” “The body of Christ, given for you.”

These things, amongst others, are said by pastors, or people serving communion, as they administer the elements of communion. Jesus Christ goes out of his way to rid his followers of any need to continue the practice of blood sacrifice and ritual, yet we (most Christians), because Jesus said to remember him when we do it (presumably take communion though I argue he meant every time we eat together — I mean communion was not even a thing yet), go out of our way to focus on the blood sacrifice of Jesus every chance we (again, most Christians) get. Going for the longest sentence ever there.

And I understand this desire, this deep need. Like Paul, we all came from a place where our theology does not allow for much wiggle room on certain ideas. Paul continually struggled with the concept of grace his whole life, even as he desperately tried to tell churches about how radical it was in the same breath. In a similar way, we have been freed from the need for the blood of an animal to stand in for our own iniquity, yet we still find ourselves obscenely obsessed with the very blood spilled to make us clean. As I said, I understand this concept deeply. I stand under the blessing. I do, however, often wonder at what Jesus envisioned for his followers.

I want to tell you a story and then I will revisit this train of thought. Choo choo!

When I was a youth minister I had a student we will call Taylor, because that is his damn name. Taylor was one of those kids who was always at the youth group—I mean always. He and I bonded pretty quickly and we spent a lot of time together, especially over the summers when I was an intern. Taylor seemed to see it as his goal to push me to the brink of kicking his ass. Seriously, if he could do something to piss me off, the little asshole would run off giggling like a child. And Taylor and I hung out so much, he was able to throw enough shit at the wall that he eventually found a few things that stuck. I, of course, knew I could almost never let him see that anything he did bothered me, but eventually he found the weaknesses were sniffed out.

After knowing one another for a couple of years, we were working on some project when he made a ridiculous noise. I probably said, “Uh, Taylor, what the hell was that?” He replied with, “That was a German porn noise.” Oh hell no. While you may assume Old Ye Baldhead has no lines in the sand, I do in fact have several, even when I do not know where they are until Taylor shows me—yes, in case you are wondering, we are still friends. I told Taylor that shit was off limits. You can’t have some kid in the youth group walking around making any kind of porn noises, or whatever the hell he was doing.

Needless to say, he had found something that pissed me off. Like he was playing the longest game of “penis” ever (you know the game where immature boys say the word louder and louder till someone wins, if winning is even a possible scenario), Taylor would discretely, if I can say that, drop his noises every now and again. Not enough to really warrant any action on my part, but enough to piss me off. The little fucker was smart.

When my wife and I got married I convinced her to let a certain number of my youth come to our wedding (just not the reception). We had decided we wanted to share communion at our wedding service. The Methodist church where we had our ceremony said this was only possible if communion was offered to the all of our guests. OK. It was a beautiful set up. The ministers served us and then allowed us to serve all of our friends and family—seriously, how amazing is that!? So there I am having the most meaningful experience of communion in my life, when the next person I see coming toward me is Taylor. Glad to see him I smiled. As he drew near me, he chose to lowly make one of his German porn noises. Cleverly just so only I could hear him. I could not punch him or react really in any way. I put my hand on his shoulder and served him the bread with grape juice while saying in a gruff low voice just for him, my grip tightening on his shoulder, “Christ died even for you Taylor.” Then I patted him and pushed on his merry way.

In a weird way this moment encapsulates our entire relationship. As a musician, Taylor has gone off into the world to make his life. I would get calls sometimes, which I quickly learned were almost always on speaker phone and almost always pre-explained to whoever was listening, where he would just call to mess with me. “Remember that time…” and then he would embellish some story for the listener. Other times we have real conversations about his life and mine. More of the latter as he gets a bit older. For us, for me and Taylor, this ridiculous back and forth is our method of communion. It is how he chooses to remember me and our time together. As this evolves I have enjoyed watching how some of his behavior shifts. The stories Taylor recounts change or become more based in reality. The telling of the tales, for two people who rarely see one another anymore, are the communion. And yes, he still sometimes cannot help himself and the German porn noise comes out, almost in lieu of a goodbye because he knows I will just hang up on his ass at that point.

So, ya, communion. I am not trying to shit all over how anyone does communion. Not at all. I just do not read the story about Jesus in a way that inspires people to create a ceremony for it in a church. Jesus has a last Passover meal with his disciples where he breaks bread and pours out some wine. He draws an analogy between the broken bread and poured out wine, and his body and blood with what is about to happen to him. When he says, “Do this in remembrance of me” just after breaking the bread, people have basically said, “We need to remember this important moment by breaking bread in a holy service.” I on the other hand, hear Jesus saying, “Every single time you are together and break bread, remember me.” It’s not a service or a ritual or a mysterious act of magic where bread become flesh. It is simply a meal.

But also it is not simply some meaningless meal, it is every single time we eat for the rest of our lives. With the advent of pre-sliced bread, we do not really break bread when we eat at meals any more, but perhaps we should (or a few other reasons too) start doing it again for the metaphor’s sake. I think Jesus was saying, “Whenever you sit down for a meal, remember me—the broken body and poured out blood. Remember you have been set free.” Furthermore, with an all-encompassing reading of the gospels and looking at everything else Jesus said, I do not really think he intends us to focus so overtly on his death. Rather, I would argue it is a message to remember all of what he did and said. Remember me!

Remember that I gave everything. Remember that I was resurrected. Remember everything else I told you about God and life. Remember that you too are called to love God and others in the same way.

To me, the miracle of the breaking of the bread, is the message of how we are to break ourselves in the loving. We follow suit and love those around us in such a way that eventually the powers that be, kill us for a lack of being able to understand our love and how it works.

I suppose I have been told one too many times that communion is a serious thing that reminds us of how our asshole selves were saved through the bloodletting of the Son of God. Yet at it’s core it is a reminder that our asshole selves were saved and we no longer need to ever worry about blood oaths again. The real reminder is to move forward and love as Jesus loved.

I definitely fucked up a bunch as a youth minister. For as many success stories I could share with you there are a few that just suck. Maybe it is because Taylor was such a little bastard that we got along so well. I after all happen to speak bastard fluently. I think part of why it has always worked for us, is because somehow in my attempt to emulate Christ I was able to give space for Taylor to be a middle school kid—and then a high school kid—and then a twenty-year-old young man in a band—and then a guy I can hardly reach because he is traveling the world playing in bigger bands. Sure the German porn noises used to piss me off a lot, and while I never condoned them in any way, I was somehow still able to affirm Taylor. I am not going to say it was not tricky or that he is done throwing me curve balls, but I can say I have often sensed the divine hand in our relationship.

Who knew communion could mean so much? Who knew it could mean serving a kid communion who was just making German porn noises? Who knew it could be a thing I daily celebrate with my family as I sit down to dinner every single day?

However you take, or don’t take your communion, good for you. Remember sometimes an asshole shows up looking to take communion. I was one. I have served it to many. Whatever it is we are supposed to remember while taking communion, sometimes the assholes in the crowd need that reminder the most!