About seven years ago, I was driving the car with my four year old son Ian in the back seat. Ian was a little chatterbox, and I was only half-listening as he happily jabbered away in his car seat. But as we drove along, something in his babbling suddenly caught my ear… something about the way he spoke… something about the rhythm of his words... I glanced over my shoulder and asked, “What did you say, honey?”

And raising his hands, he repeated, “This is my body broken for you; this is my cup, for forgiveness. Do this in remembrance of me.”

My mouth dropped open. “Honey, where did you learn that?” I asked with amazement.

And he looked at me like I was crazy. “From you, mummy. You say that in church when you give us the bread and grape juice.”

I couldn’t believe it. I mean, I didn’t exactly go around the house reciting the words of institution. Ian had heard the communion liturgy only in church, and only on the first Sundays of the month when we celebrated the sacrament. And yet, somehow, the act of blessing and partaking of the bread and cup had penetrated his being; somewhere in here, something had happened.

Today we celebrate the sacrament of Holy Communion with our Christian brothers and sisters around the world. It started some time yesterday in New Zealand. Someone blessed the bread and the cup. Then someone served it in Guam, and someone took it in Korea. Someone blessed the bread and cup in Indonesia, broke it in India and gave it away in Moscow. Someone took it up again in Jerusalem, blessed it early this morning in Rome and served it in Great Britain. As we gather this morning and over the next several hours, Christians throughout North and South America will break the bread and bless the cup. And tonight, it will be shared in Hawaii. Throughout the world, those who love Jesus and those who want to love him more are meeting him at this holy table. He invites us not because we are worthy, but because we are loved. We come not because we are good, but because God is good.

In some places what we do today will be called The Eucharist, from the Greek word for thanksgiving. In others, it will be called The Lord’s Supper, or The Table of the Lord. As varied as the titles are for what we do today, so will be the means by which our brothers and sisters come to the table, and the kinds of bread and wine offered.

Some will come forward to receive into their hands unleavened bread in the form of a wafer. Others will tear a piece of bread from a broken loaf and the dip it into a common cup. Still others, like we today, will be served in their seats.

Some traditions will welcome to the table only those people who have made a public profession of their faith, while others will open the table to everyone. Indeed, there will be differences, but whether we use wafers or pita bread or plain old white bread… Whether we use wine or grape juice… Whether it is served in the pew, or received at a railing, or passed around in a circle… Whether it is celebrated in a sanctuary, a home, a hut in the jungle, a clearing in the forest, or on a patch of desert... This is a day for Christians all over the world to pause where we are and remember that we are called to be the universal, inclusive church, the body of Christ in the world.

And as we do, something that is beyond words will take place not only in our individuals hearts, but also in the heart of the gathered community.

The word “sacrament” is derived from the Latin word for “holy.” St. Augustine, a fourth century theologian, described a sacrament as “the outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.” In other words, a sacrament is a communal act of the church through which God's love is made visible.

And as we celebrate the sacrament of Holy Communion, we must set aside our culture’s tendency to examine, describe, define and explain. When we speak of "what happens" in a sacrament, we must lay aside our detailed, technological language. Because trying to find the words to describe what Holy Communion means to us, what it does to us here in our hearts – that is an attempt at the impossible. Words alone are never sufficient to describe what takes place in the human spirit when we are surrounded by the Holy Spirit.

Have you ever tried to describe something meaningful to someone, only to be frustrated because you knew you that words could not come close to expressing your experience? Have you ever encountered the beauty of a newborn infant, a mountain view, a symphony, an ocean and been left speechless? Have you ever been the recipient of a kind act, a tender word, a generous deed, and saying “thank you” just didn’t seem enough?

These very human experiences contain more than a touch of the divine. And when we are faced with the holy, words are insufficient for expressing the sacred movement of God within us, around us and among us.

How can I begin to explain to you how or why my hearts swells when I am at that table, singing “One Bread, One Body,” and readying the bread and the cup to be shared by us all?

How can I tell you, on those occasions we serve communion by intinction, how beautiful each one of your faces is to me and how much I cherish being able to look directly into your eyes and saying, “The body and blood of Christ, sacrificed for you?”

How can we even begin to understand, much less describe, what happened in the heart of my little boy as he felt God’s presence through the bread and cup?

When we use words to describe the meaning of Holy Communion, we are attempting the impossible, for if words alone were adequate, the sacrament would not be necessary. While the liturgy can help us explain Holy Communion, and our prayers can help us prepare and give thanks, words alone cannot fully express the deeper spiritual reality of the experience; nothing can convey its meaning as well as the sacrament itself, for finite human language is insufficient to describe the mystery and the presence and the working of the Holy Spirit in the human heart. I think perhaps the closest we can come to explaining it is to say, simply, that “God happens.”

And when God happens, we are called to be more than we were before; our eyes are opened to see differently, and our hearts are expanded to love differently. When God happens, we are together where before we were separate, we are gentle where before we were harsh, we are compassionate where before we were angry. When God happens, we are met by Christ right where we are and brought into the light of God's love. And when we are truly open to God happening in us, we want others to know, as we know, God's love, God's peace, God's deep joy.

It is my prayer that something has happened in your heart this morning, something that can’t be explained because mere words are insufficient. It is my prayer that having shared the bread and cup with the Christian community within and beyond these walls, you leave this place a little different than when you came in, because you have experienced the ineffable, inexpressible, holy and transcendent love of God. Amen.

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