Copyright: © 2001 Paul F. Bosch.
This document may be freely reproduced for non-commercial purposes with credit to the author and mention of the Lift Up Your Hearts web site http://www.worship.ca/ as the source.

Item:

I officiated recently at a baptism in a congregation in another city where I was an invited guest. The church building was an enormous, handsome neo-gothic structure, built in the early 1900's, with an enormous, handsome stone baptismal font located in an enormous, handsome alcove near the "west" entrance door. The bowl of the font was fully two-and-a-half feet across by two feet deep: a splendid place for baptisms. The font could accomodate perhaps twenty gallons of water; an infant could easily have been immersed in it up to the neck. But the pastors and people had apparently decided that it was too much bother to fill and empty and clean and re-fill such an imposing font. In any case -- not unlike many another congregation with a large and lovely font -- they had placed a kind of wooden cigar-box in the bottom of the font, and, on top of the cigar-box, and thus elevated by it, a silver serving bowl of the kind you'd present mashed potatoes in, at home; it held perhaps a quart-and-a-half of water. As you might guess, I was cruelly disappointed by what appeared to me to be a lack of respect for a magnificent treasure. But as guest, I felt I had no recourse but to follow local practice and use the mashed-potato-bowl they had provided.

I've spoken of the font before in this space, in Essay 38 above. It suffices here only to stress, yet once again, the current ecumenical consensus that the ideal baptism is by (nude!) immersion, with the use of copious amounts of water, in a font of generous capacity --you Baptists have been right on this point all along! And it does not detract from the terrible and holy potency of that ideal to observe that this ideal is seldom realized among those of us in the so-called liturgical churches. More's the pity!

Essay 38 suggests several ways of moving, however timidly, toward that ideal, even in our own "liturgical" churches.

And it suffices also to stress, yet once again, that convenience and practicality and efficiency and propriety --and indeed even sanitation!-- are not the first considerations in any question of worship practice. What is the first consideration, you ask? Answer: Paying attention to "primary experience"; to the naked sign itself, and what it is trying to tell you. It should be simply a part of the janitor's weekly job-description to empty, clean, and re-fill the font, every Monday morning, in every parish. A footnote on some notable fonts, out of my personal experience: In Europe: the baptistries in 1) Florence, Italy; 2) Piza, Italy; and 3) Speyer, Germany; and 4) Iona, Scotland. In North America: the fonts at 5) St. Mary's in Red Deer, Alberta; 6) St.Peter's in Manhattan, NYC, New York; 7) St. John's Abbey in Collegeville, Minnesota; 8) Our Saviour's in Jackson, Minnesota; and 9) Luther Seminary in St.Paul, Minnesota. (I await with trepidation the day when some of these last-named get the cigar-box-and-serving-bowl make-over...)

Item:

Some seasons ago I paid my registration fee and attended, in a distant city, a four-day workshop on "contemporary worship" sponsored by an enormously successful and popular "mega- church" congregation in the American Southwest, featuring lectures and demonstrations arising out of principles put forward by the so-called "church growth" movement. The event was to conclude with a Service of Holy Communion, and five minutes before the hour when that Service was to begin, one of the leaders addressed the gathered group in somewhat the following terms: "Guess what, friends! Would you believe this? We had everything ready for this Service: the sermon, the Bible reading, the music, the five-piece band, the overhead projector, the Gospel quartet, the drama troupe. But someone forgot the bread! Hah! We've sent out a runner just now to the local Supermarket, and we should be able to begin shortly, so stick with us. But isn't that a riot?..." As you might suppose, I clucked my tongue, and wasn't at all surprised.

Anthropologists tell us that the chief advantage humans beings share over our closest relatives, the great apes, is our bi- pedalism. Unlike apes, that is, we homo sapiens can walk upright, on two feet, not four, leaving our hands free -- to carry water, food, and fire. (Not incidentally, as Gordon Lathrop points out, these are precisely the items we carry in the great Easter Vigil! "Primary experience," indeed!)

Henri Nouwen has reminded us that, whatever other meanings the Holy Communion may hold for Christians, it is first of all a ritual meal: You are invited to eat a morsel of bread and drink a sip of wine at this table. In Essay 26 I have addressed the importance of providing wine at this meal, and not, for example, grape juice or Gatorade. Let me turn today to the bread, the loaf.

Like the common cup, a common loaf speaks more eloquently of our unity in Christ than individual communion wafers. (The term "individual communion wafers" is itself an oxymoron, as I have pointed out in Essay 26.) Among the lost causes I continue to champion, therefore, is the use of real bread, in a real loaf, at Communion -- at least at the altar for ceremonial purposes, if not for the peoples' reception.

As one wag suggests, utilizing individual communion wafers in worship presents you with the necessity of making not one but two professions of faith: not only that Christ is present in this bread, but that this stuff is really bread to begin with! (Wafers look like nothing so much as fish-food!)

And no, it doesn't matter whether the bread is leavened or unleavened. Unleavened bread has associations with the Passover meal, and thus honours the tradition recounted by Matthew, Mark, and Luke in their Gospels; Western Christians have followed this tradition for generations. Leavened bread has equally been used for generations by Eastern Christians, following the tradition recounted by John in his Gospel, which implies that the Last Supper was not the Passover, but rather a simple ritual meal which rabbis and teachers in antiquity were likely to share with their disciples on a regular basis. Leavened or unleavened: Take your choice. My personal favourite is a kind of pita loaf, and not a loaf of Wonder Bread, for example. Besides looking more like, and tasting more like, the bread of the Near East that would have been familiar to the earliest Christians, a pita loaf has the advantage of not crumbling when you handle it. You've had the experience of noticing a chancel floor strewn with bread crumbs at the conclusion of a "contemporary" Service of Holy Communion, I'm sure. That's greatly offensive to many pieties.

Kathy Bosch's Altar Bread

Here's a recipe for a pita-type loaf that I have found particularly useful, not only for its taste and texture, but also for its splendid ceremonial appearance. For a photo, see Essay 83 below.

1. In a bread bowl, sift together 3 times:
   • 2 1/2 cups whole wheat flour
   • 1 cup white flour

2. In a small saucepan, mix together and heat until liquid becomes syrup:
   • 3 tablespoons honey
   • 2 tablespoons butter (or oil)
   • 1 1/2 cups milk

3. Add liquid to dry mixture.

4. Knead until mixture become dough, but do not over-knead. The dough will be a bit sticky. A little flour may be added.

5. Divide into 6 to 8 portions, round into balls and press into flat circles on greased baking sheet.

6. Score bread half-through with knife-back into breakable pieces for use at communion.

7. Bake at 375 degrees for 10 to 12 minutes. May be frozen until used.