Judy Chappus, artist
I'm a poor
historian. My mind mostly moves in fast-forward with more ideas that I'd like
to manifest than my entire life will allow. My Mom was like this, too. She
would ask about our plans for Christmas during our Canadian Thanksgiving dinner
in mid-October. Before she died from cancer two years ago, I would ask her to
tell me stories about my childhood, but she could only remember a few, like the
time I didn't follow her command to stay away from the wringer washing machine
(now I'm dating myself).
An ever
precocious child, Mom was on the phone with a friend when I decided to see what
would happen if I inserted the wet clothes into the wringer, as I had seen her
do. Mom heard my screams and came running to my rescue soon after my left arm was
being dragged along with the clothes into the vice grip of the wringer. This
memory is sketched into my body as a skin graft under my arm. Other than this
memory, Mom would usually make general statements like, "You were always
ahead of your time: six years old going on sixteen."
As I
approach July 1, 2020, the second anniversary of her death, memories of Mom flash
into my awareness in unexpected moments or as a visitation by her in dreams in the
middle of the night. I feel pleasure in these recollections, sometimes grief
and sorrow. I miss her.
In
Deuteronomy (8:2-3, 14-16), Moses reminds his people of the hardships they had
endured after their exodus from Egypt and the constancy of God with them. He
tells them that they cannot live by bread alone, but "by every word that
comes from the mouth of our God" (Deut. 8:3 ). In John's Gospel in the
Bread of Life discourse, Jesus invites His companions to be nourished by Him:
"I am the bread of life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry, and
whoever believes in me will never thirst again" (6:35). Now as the Word
made flesh we are reminded of our encounter with the Divine through Jesus.
Jesus also
reminds us, "The person who takes this bread for her food will live from
generation to generation" (Jn. 6:58b). Each time we share communion as the
Body of Christ we are embedded in generations of tradition. At the epiclesis,
we invoke the Holy Spirit to transform bread and wine, fruit of the earth and
labor of our hands, into the "real presence" of Jesus, the Risen
Christ. We are also praying for change in us. As Jesus did at His last meal
with his friends on Passover, we say, "Do this in memory of me" (Lk.
22:19; 1 Cor. 11:24). This is a dangerous memory. Why?
There's a wholeness in Sacrament of Word
and Eucharist when all are welcome and no one is excluded because of gender,
race, nationality, class, education, age, ability or sexual orientation. This
is not true of the institutional, Roman Catholic Church. How then, can the
"real presence" be present when not all are welcome to be fully
present?
For many
women and persons who are non-Catholic, non-believers or LBGTQIS+, sacramental
events in the institutional Church are occasions for profound segregation and alienation,
far from the intended celebration of unity within diversity, as explicated by
St. Paul. Our baptism, beginning in the early Church, acknowledges the full
potential of women and all persons to live the new life of the Risen One.
Through the gifts of Spirit, we fulfill the promise of our Creator as imaging
this Divinity in our day-to-day human experience. How is this possible when the
patriarchal system in which our sacraments are confected, solely by the
privilege of a male priest, makes Word and Eucharist politically and socially
oppressive?
If there is
one grace from the Covid-19 pandemic it is our longing for connection and community. Zoom technology has afforded
us the opportunity to connect in ways previously not possible.
Imagine a community where all persons are welcome as spiritual leaders, whether ordained or
non-ordained, believer or non-believer, Christian or another tradition, white or BIPOC, heterosexual or LBGQTIS+. We
flatten the hierarchy and denounce clericalism.
My sacrament
of Holy Orders is expressed through being in collaboration with others to
create encounters with the Sacred. I call myself a priestess not a priest. I support the empowerment of persons to become their own spiritual leaders.
Word is shared as scripture, a poem, a
song, a video clip or a piece of art. Wisdom
is a valuing of all voices in response to the movement of our hearts in
relation to the Word. Communion is
shared equally by all voices during the entire celebration, especially in the
epiclesis and memorial meal, with each person (not only the priest) making the
liturgical gestures of lifting bread and cup. Some spiritual leaders may choose
to favor an expression of Communion that is different than the Roman Catholic
Eucharistic Rite or exclude this all together, under the assumption that when
we gather we are symbolically in communion. Imagine the creativity and vast
expressions of prayer that will be ushered in by our diversity. This is already
evident!
Yesterday, I
saw a sign while driving on the expressway. On top and at the bottom of capital
letters 'JUNE 27' were the words 'A Miracle'. The smallest word in black at the
bottom right corner of the sign was 'Unity'. I had seen this sign elsewhere
earlier in the day. I wondered what the scripture reading is for June 27, the
afternoon when our Community gathers for our Word, Wisdom, Communion celebration.
I was overjoyed to read that Jesus says, "Whoever welcomes you welcomes
me, and whoever welcomes me, welcomes the One who sent me" (Matt. 10: 40
). My husband later told me that on June 27 people are asked to put a can of
food on their doorstep that will be picked up by volunteers and donated to food
banks. Record collections of cans have occurred in other communities where this
event has taken place.
We are in miracles now. As we continue to deepen
into our vision, I will forever remember this moment in our history as a time of becoming one body, many voices.
