“By eating bread and drinking wine at communion, we act out our acceptance of Christ into our lives, the divine human interaction through which God transforms us by the life of Christ. This we remember and internalize our relationship with him.” Altar Call pg 83
We had communion today in church. For those of you who don’t know what communion is, it is a tradition that Seventh Day Adventist perform (other denominations do it to but they don’t all do the foot washing) where we act out what Jesus did in the New Testament. First of all, Jesus took on the role of a servant and washed the feet of his disciples and then later he took bread and wine and gave it to them showing them what he would do by dying for them. (this is a very brief explanation).
When I was a kid I loved communion because that meant that I got a little snack in the middle of church. As I grew older I stopped performing the foot washing because I was self-conscious about my feet being handled by other people (I know it is weird). It was just to weird for me so I would sit and not participate in that part. In America it seems that we don’t understand the significance of what it means to be the “servant” of another person. We don’t have servants so it doesn’t seem to “apply” to us in a personal way. We are just thankful that Jesus died for us.
In Bangladesh there is distinct differences of people who are wealthy and people who have nothing. Being from America I am automatically wealthier than most of the people here. I hate that this distinction can be felt as I walk around the campus. The woman in Bangladesh cannot wear a sharwa camis if they have not had an education. If they have never been to school they are confined to a plain everyday shari. Since I wear a Sharwa and I’m American.. there is definitely a distinction. I feel like I should be their equal since we are both human beings that have emotions, thoughts, feelings, and opinions. Yet in our exchanges I sometimes feel as if they feel as if they are obligated to treat me in a different manner because of my “superiority” (which I don’t believe I have).
So today when I had the chance to wash the cute little feet of Shati (our cook) I began to understand a fraction of what it was like for Jesus to kneel down and wash the feet of his disciples. It was a privilege for me to mimic Jesus and wash the feet of Shati who has done nothing but spoil us since we arrived in Bangladesh. I finally felt like I was repaying her for everything she has done for me. Yet Jesus didn’t owe the disciples anything. He humbled Himself (the King of the Universe) and washed the dirty feet of men who would desert him when he was handed over to be killed. (The foot washing also meant more because I now understand what it is like to have disgusting feet from walking everywhere with just sandals on. It is so nice to have them be squeaky clean).
After the foot washing we went back into the cafeteria (where we have our church) and we ate the bread and drank the juice that represented Jesus’ death. When handed the juice I knew immediately that it was not grape juice but I drank it without questioning. I later found out that it was raisin juice. Apparently they soak the raisins and then squish them somehow so that it makes a juice… it wasn’t that bad. Even though we didn’t have real grape juice the symbolism was the same. By drinking this I acknowledged that Jesus Christ died for me so that I could live a new life for Him. I think I'm going to look at communion in a different way from now on.
We had communion today in church. For those of you who don’t know what communion is, it is a tradition that Seventh Day Adventist perform (other denominations do it to but they don’t all do the foot washing) where we act out what Jesus did in the New Testament. First of all, Jesus took on the role of a servant and washed the feet of his disciples and then later he took bread and wine and gave it to them showing them what he would do by dying for them. (this is a very brief explanation).
When I was a kid I loved communion because that meant that I got a little snack in the middle of church. As I grew older I stopped performing the foot washing because I was self-conscious about my feet being handled by other people (I know it is weird). It was just to weird for me so I would sit and not participate in that part. In America it seems that we don’t understand the significance of what it means to be the “servant” of another person. We don’t have servants so it doesn’t seem to “apply” to us in a personal way. We are just thankful that Jesus died for us.
In Bangladesh there is distinct differences of people who are wealthy and people who have nothing. Being from America I am automatically wealthier than most of the people here. I hate that this distinction can be felt as I walk around the campus. The woman in Bangladesh cannot wear a sharwa camis if they have not had an education. If they have never been to school they are confined to a plain everyday shari. Since I wear a Sharwa and I’m American.. there is definitely a distinction. I feel like I should be their equal since we are both human beings that have emotions, thoughts, feelings, and opinions. Yet in our exchanges I sometimes feel as if they feel as if they are obligated to treat me in a different manner because of my “superiority” (which I don’t believe I have).
So today when I had the chance to wash the cute little feet of Shati (our cook) I began to understand a fraction of what it was like for Jesus to kneel down and wash the feet of his disciples. It was a privilege for me to mimic Jesus and wash the feet of Shati who has done nothing but spoil us since we arrived in Bangladesh. I finally felt like I was repaying her for everything she has done for me. Yet Jesus didn’t owe the disciples anything. He humbled Himself (the King of the Universe) and washed the dirty feet of men who would desert him when he was handed over to be killed. (The foot washing also meant more because I now understand what it is like to have disgusting feet from walking everywhere with just sandals on. It is so nice to have them be squeaky clean).
After the foot washing we went back into the cafeteria (where we have our church) and we ate the bread and drank the juice that represented Jesus’ death. When handed the juice I knew immediately that it was not grape juice but I drank it without questioning. I later found out that it was raisin juice. Apparently they soak the raisins and then squish them somehow so that it makes a juice… it wasn’t that bad. Even though we didn’t have real grape juice the symbolism was the same. By drinking this I acknowledged that Jesus Christ died for me so that I could live a new life for Him. I think I'm going to look at communion in a different way from now on.
:)
Chantel, that's one of the best descriptions of communion that I have ever heard. Thank-You!
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