Have we allowed our preference for president to interrupt our communion with God \and each other?

It is Tuesday evening, Nov. 4, 2008. I am alone, and the church building is dark except for the light in the basement kitchen. As I prepare the baskets for the bread and fill each thimble-sized cup with juice, I silently repeat the words that will accompany the eating and drinking to come: “This is the body of Christ, broken for you; this is the cup of the new covenant in Christ’s blood.”

The more I repeat these words, the more it seems I can hear these words being spoken. To me. My spirit is stilled, my mind is at rest, my body is calm. I am at peace. As I prepare for Communion, I am aware that I am in the presence of the Holy.

The phone rings, rings, rings. I reflexively turn to answer, leaving behind the bread and the cups.

It’s Sarah Palin. Her recorded voice tells me the polls are still open. Virginia is still too close to call. John McCain still needs me. I can still make my voice heard, she says. But not on this call, I think. This unsolicited robocall has left no room for my voice.

Like Barack and Joe, John and Sarah want my vote, not my voice. They want my vote, not my thoughts. They want my vote, not my reasons. They want my vote, not my convictions, not my passions, not my faith. I don’t blame them. On Election Day, they count votes, not voices.

As I return to the bread and the cups on the kitchen counter, I think about how fitting it was to receive Sarah’s call as I set the table for the Lord’s Supper. The practice of Communion is an inherently political act. It is both a pledge of allegiance to Jesus and a protest against the powers and principalities that lay claim on our bodies, minds and souls. Politics belongs in the church, for we are to place all things under the lordship
of Jesus. But we have abandoned Christ’s call to Communion for the siren’s song of political parties promising protection, prosperity and peace.

Haven’t we allowed our preference for president to interrupt our communion with God and each other? Haven’t we made the same mistake that Sarah made, allowing our votes to carry proxy for our voices and our bodies? Haven’t we given our passions to those of political parties rather than to the passion of Jesus? Doesn’t the amount of time, attention, tweets and Facebook posts given to the presidential election indicate the power we both covet and fear? Perhaps our answers to these questions betray our confession of Jesus, Lord and Savior.

The bread and the cup are God’s antidotes to our ballot box idolatry. Amid attack ads and robocalls and lies and fear-mongering, we quickly forget God’s choice for the transfer of power. The Lord’s Supper calls us back to the table inscribed with memory.

At the table, we remember that the power to redeem, to save and to transform does not come from atop the seat of power but from within the life, death and resurrection of Jesus. Through the Holy Spirit, this power dwells within us. As one body, we continue the mission of Jesus: preaching good news to the poor, freeing the captives, giving sight to the blind, releasing the oppressed and proclaiming the year of the Lord’s favor. This mission ultimately has been given to the body, not the ballot. It will continue regardless of the succession of presidential power.

At the table, we remember the greatest commandment to love God with all of our heart, soul, mind and strength and the equally important commandment to love our neighbor as ourself. Jesus fulfilled these commandments with his body and his blood. Our votes are weak imposters of our voices and pale imitations of our bodies.

At the table, we re-member the body of Christ as the body of Christ, confessing the sin that separates us from God and each other. Our votes—the votes that truly matter—begin, end and continue as we live in faithful, joyful communion with God and each other.

This is the body of Christ, broken for you; this is the cup of the new covenant in Christ’s blood.

I use a cooking syringe to fill the cups circling the silver-plated Communion trays. How appropriate, I think, to be using a syringe to inject the juice that is the sign for Christ’s blood. We need Christ’s blood in our veins, carrying throughout our body the death of Christ so that we may know the life of Christ more fully.

It’s time for Communion. The lights in the church building are on, music is playing, and the bread and the cups are on the table in front. On this Election Day, we have made different choices for different reasons, hoping for different results. But as our votes are counted, we are making the same, different choice together: to gather around one table as one body with the same host.

This is the body of Christ, broken for you; this is the cup of the new covenant in Christ’s blood.

Again, I hear these words spoken to me as I speak them to others. My spirit is stilled, my mind is at rest, my body is calm. I am at peace. At the table, with my sisters and brothers, I am in the presence of the Holy.

It’s now 2012. Election Day is Nov. 6, and I am again preparing for a Communion service that evening. This time, many congregations of many denominations and many states are preparing for Communion, too. Will you join us? I hope so. That day is shaping up to be a good day to remember. And in a season that so easily divides us, may we find that preparing for Communion cannot be separated from its practice.

Mark Schloneger is pastor of North Goshen Mennonite Church in Goshen, Ind. Learn more about the Election Day Communion Campaign at www.
ElectionDayCommunion.org.