In Which Nick is Jazz Fluted out of the Lay Ministry

Every few months of so I get a call from St. Mark Lutheran Church asking me to be a communion assistant.  It's a pretty simple job - I basically present the wine to the pastor (while another person presents the Host), I stand next to the altar during the Communion prayers, and then I help distribute the wine.  At our Church we pass out these little plastic tumblers and I very carefully put some wine into each one as the communicants kneel at the rail.

Can I just say one thing?  I don't really like the tumblers because when I drink the wine I always feel like I am taking a shot of whisky.  Not that there is anything wrong with that, but there is a place for that and Church isn't the place.  You take a shot at home after a stressful day, perhaps, or when you saunter into a two bit mining town after a long day on the dusty trail, or when you need a little bit of courage to go ask that woman for a dance at the wedding reception (a woman who may well turn out to be your wife -- thank you, Stolichnaya!).  But you don't do it at the communion rail.  

Anyway.  I had been asked to serve with my wife at the 5:30 Christmas Eve service, and we were standing there with the communion implements (there has to be a better word for that) in the knave waiting for the offering to end.  We were being treated to a beautiful piece of music, a duet for flute and organ, and as I stood there listening I heard a little bit of syncopation.  

What happened next was a most unfortunate chain reaction of mental eclecticuity.

Syncopation makes me think of jazz.  Syncopated flute music makes me think of Jazz Flute.  Jazz Flute makes me think of this:

It was a very unfortunate thought to have before going up the altar.  I told my wife about it, thinking that sharing would help kind of keep it in the box, but it made her laugh instead; laughter, being infectious, only made things worse.  

Trish has a Theater degree from Virginia Tech; her education has equipped her well to deal with a situation like this, and she was able with some difficulty to pull her self together before we walked up to the altar.  

Did I pull it together?  While my education at Virginia Tech at least laid the groundwork for me being able to launch a submarine, it does very little to help me in crucial real life situations such as this.  But of course the communion liturgy is the commemoration of the Last Supper and in a way of Christ;s death on the cross, a reminder of what God has done for us through the Crucifixion and Resurrection of our Lord, a ritual that reminds us that God is present with us.  Clearly the emotions girding such a solemn (and yet somehow joyful) meal at altar would overpower any other considerations.

So as the Pastor said:

In the night in which he was betrayed our Lord Jesus took bread, gave thanks, broke it, and gave it to his disciples saying "Take and Eat; this is my body, given for you.  Do this for the remembrance of me."

...and then continued

Again, after supper, he took the cup, gave Thanks, and gave it for all to drink saying "This cup is the new covenant in my blood, shed for you and for all people for the forgiveness of sin.  Do this for the remembrance of me."  

...I totally Jimmy Falloned it. I am happy to say at least that I didn't actually laugh out loud, but the only way I could hold all in was with a series of very visible grimaces, grins, smirks, ticks, and a bit of head shaking.  I just couldn't get the whole jazz flute thing out of my head, no matter how I tried.  

At last the prayer had past and I went with my wife with a chalice to administer communion by intinction, which is what we usually do for larger services such as Christmas Eve (for those of you unaware, intinction is the method by which the bread is dipped into the wine by the communicant -- and I say bread, but really its a wafer with very little absorbency, which is perfect for intinction).  My job was easy:  I stood with the chalice and as the communicants dipped their wafers into the aforementioned vessel I simply had to say "The Blood of Christ, shed for you" as they did so.  My wife and I were administering communion at one station, and the pastor was at the other with the acolyte of the day.

I was putting in a workman like performance when a family came up to me that I didn't recognize, probably because they go to a different service.  The children did not take communion and the mother said  "The children get a blessing."

"I don't know if I can do that," I quietly protested, raising my free hand up towards my neck to indicate the absence of any kind of clerical collar.  But she was insistent, and said again: "The children get a blessing."

I have heard many a Blessing in my day.  Even now, sitting here, I can say "The Lord Bless you and keep you, The Lord maketh his face shine upon you and be gracious to you, the Lord look upon you with favor and give you peace".  Maybe not quite right, but any one of those would have sufficed.  I could have easily simply said "The Lord give you peace on this blessed Christmas" or something like that.  

But no.  I was frozen with fear so that I could not think, and as I tentatively placed my left hand on the blond head of the first child I stammered out the now immortal Marickovich Christmas Blessing:  "Oh God....bless this kid.  Have a Merry Christmas".

I knew it was pretty bad for a blessing, but to stay consistent I said the same thing to the child's three brothers and sisters.  

After that, my wife took over the blessings of the children that came up to us, and after the communion stuff (again, there has to be a better word for that) had been properly put away and my wife and I were allowed to return to our seats I excused myself, went out of the sanctuary and into the hall, and finally burst out laughing.