Christian (Dis)Unity

January 18-25, 2008 marked the 100th anniversary year of the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity. Christians all around the world gathered throughout the week to pray for the unity of the Church. For my part, some of the religious life groups here at Duke organized five consecutive nights of vespers services, each hosted by a different campus ministry. Though the fact that the idea for the services came a little too last-minute to expect large crowds, those of us who did attend were able to meet representatives of other flavors of Christianity at Duke, experience nuances in how each group worships and talk about our own experiences of Christian unity.

The Wesley Fellowship, my campus ministry group, hosted the final service of the week. In lieu of a homily, we chose to split everyone up into small groups with people from different Christian groups for discussion. The questions put to us were simple: first, we were to talk about a time when we experienced disunity in the church; and second, we were to share an example of unity in the church.

Oddly enough, I found that my response to both questions lay in one place: at Eucharist. It was funny too, because in my small group was another Methodist from Wesley and a good friend of mine who is Catholic. So I got to have this conversation with someone with whom I share in the bread and wine on an almost weekly basis, and with another person with whom I most likely will never be able to be in communion.

I'm a Methodist with a very high understanding of the Eucharist (most Methodist call it communion...), so that particular sacrament is extremely important to me. Because of my field of study and my personal interests, I've read an awful lot about the theology of the Eucharist, so I understand the theological underpinnings of the arguments that have resulted in the varying restrictions on who can partake when and where. I'm intrigued by all of this on an intellectual level, but equally so on a personal and liturgical level.

Basically, here's where I see disunity: when, on a Catholic retreat, I sit through Mass and hear most of the very same words uttered in the consecration of the elements, but then must go forward with my arms crossed over my chest, asking for a blessing instead of the physical Host. The closed table has for me a sort of morbid fascination, an abiding sense of sadness but also a deep respect that would lead me never, ever to take a resentful or slighted attitude towards the differences in doctrine that make it so that I cannot receive the Eucharist in a Catholic church. You will never find me whining about why can't we all just get along. The differences are there and they are real. We may say the same words, invoke the same God, but something different happens at that moment of consecration, something that makes my communion and their communion two different things.

But let's not forget that I also named the Eucharist as the point at which I experience Christian unity. It's easy to see how I see it when I'm sharing in communion at my own church, when myself and other Protestants can share in the elements. But I'm not just talking about that—I actually am referring to those times when maybe I can't receive communion. Somehow, even when I've gone up only for a blessing when at Catholic Mass, tied up in the twinge of sadness and separation I feel is a deep sense of connectedness, even with those with whom I cannot sit at the Lord's table. Though the theological specifics may vary, Eucharist is a sharing in the body of Christ, and we, broken and confused, we are the body of Christ.

I know little about the ecumenical movement but I feel more and more called to seek out avenues of reconciliation and unification within the Christian Church. I hope to be able to have more conversations, especially with Catholics, about what keeps us apart at communion, and about what that particular instance implies for the broader body of Christ. I experience sadness when considering the division between Catholics at Protestants at the Eucharist, but it's not personal—it's not about me. In unity and disunity alike, I am not the focal point, but perhaps I can learn to dream of Christ's body made whole, in some form or fashion—if not here and now, then in God's due time.