We are living in unprecedented time. We are all affected by the COVID-19 pandemic. These past few weeks, we are reminded that our lives are fragile, vulnerable, and ultimately subject to the power and grace of God. Life certainly does not go on as normal.
This is probably the first time that we could not meet together physically as a family of God during the Movement Control Order (MCO) imposed by the Malaysian government. This affects all our services for the Holy Week, one of the most important seasons for Christians. We cannot come together physically to commemorate the death and resurrection of our Lord. We cannot come together to celebrate the Holy Communion.
This is probably the first time that we could not meet together physically as a family of God during the Movement Control Order (MCO) imposed by the Malaysian government. This affects all our services for the Holy Week, one of the most important seasons for Christians. We cannot come together physically to commemorate the death and resurrection of our Lord. We cannot come together to celebrate the Holy Communion.
Photo credit: St Paul's Church, Petaling Jaya
Celebrating the Holy Communion is probably one of the most sacred rites for me as a priest. There has been ongoing discussion whether the Holy Communion can be celebrated virtually or not (for example, see the excellent essay by Ian Paul, “(How) can we celebrate Holy Communion as ‘online’ church?”). Biblical Graduate School of Theology, Singapore, has also produced a theological advisory on remote celebration of the Holy Communion. At the moment, there is no virtual Holy Communion for the Diocese of West Malaysia.
There is a sense of emptiness in me, a sense of despair, and a sense of frustration for not being able to gather together as a community to celebrate the Holy Communion. While I do participate in virtual services online, somehow it can never replace a real physical community where we recite the Nicene Creed together, we confess our sins together and hear the absolution pronounced, we share the peace of God with one another, and where I serve the host to those who come forward to receive the body of the Lord. For me, there is something missing.
This reminds me of how the Israelites of old lamenting and crying out to God while they were in exile. They could not worship in the Temple. They could only look back to the time they worshipped the Lord in his holy place. They longed for the coming of the Messiah to deliver them.
There is a sense of emptiness in me, a sense of despair, and a sense of frustration for not being able to gather together as a community to celebrate the Holy Communion. While I do participate in virtual services online, somehow it can never replace a real physical community where we recite the Nicene Creed together, we confess our sins together and hear the absolution pronounced, we share the peace of God with one another, and where I serve the host to those who come forward to receive the body of the Lord. For me, there is something missing.
This reminds me of how the Israelites of old lamenting and crying out to God while they were in exile. They could not worship in the Temple. They could only look back to the time they worshipped the Lord in his holy place. They longed for the coming of the Messiah to deliver them.
By the rivers of Babylon--
there we sat down and there we wept
when we remembered Zion.
On the willows there we hung up our harps.
For there our captors asked us for songs,
and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying,
“Sing us one of the songs of Zion!”
How could we sing the LORD’S song in a foreign land?
(Ps 137:1-5)
there we sat down and there we wept
when we remembered Zion.
On the willows there we hung up our harps.
For there our captors asked us for songs,
and our tormentors asked for mirth, saying,
“Sing us one of the songs of Zion!”
How could we sing the LORD’S song in a foreign land?
(Ps 137:1-5)
Taking it positively, the MCO creates in me a strong thirst and hunger for the day when we could finally meet together again. It creates this deep longing and anticipation in wanting to run back to the church the day it is permissible to do so, and to worship as a community, sing praises to God, share the peace of God with one another, bring our offerings and the fruit of our labour to the altar, and celebrate the Holy Communion with the saints. As a priest, I long for the day where I could hold and lift up the host and break it. It is a true hunger, longing, and anticipation to have a foretaste of the promised heavenly banquet here on earth.
Celebrating the Holy Communion is not merely to remember the death of Jesus (1 Cor 11:23-25). It is also a proclamation of the coming of the Lord again. St Paul reminds us: “For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes” (1 Cor 11:26). The Holy Communion itself expresses this deep longing and anticipation of the coming of the Lord. We look forward to the Great Banquet. It creates in us the cry: Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus (1 Cor 16:22). And this is the greatest hope of our Christian faith.
Celebrating the Holy Communion is not merely to remember the death of Jesus (1 Cor 11:23-25). It is also a proclamation of the coming of the Lord again. St Paul reminds us: “For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes” (1 Cor 11:26). The Holy Communion itself expresses this deep longing and anticipation of the coming of the Lord. We look forward to the Great Banquet. It creates in us the cry: Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus (1 Cor 16:22). And this is the greatest hope of our Christian faith.
Photo credit: St Paul's Church, Petaling Jaya
The current global crisis causes me to rethink the meaning of gathering together as the people of God. Never before do I truly appreciate the church, the body of Christ. Not being able to celebrate the Holy Communion allows me to have a deeper appreciation of the salvific work of Christ, more so in this Lenten season. Despite the lament of the current crisis, I remain hopeful in the Lord.
I can’t imagine how it would feel like when the church meets again in the future. I think tears might just roll down my face when I can finally hold and lift up the host, and break it and hear the “piak” sound and say: “We break this bread to share in the body of Christ.”
I can’t imagine how it would feel like when the church meets again in the future. I think tears might just roll down my face when I can finally hold and lift up the host, and break it and hear the “piak” sound and say: “We break this bread to share in the body of Christ.”
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