Image description: Two pieces of Little Caesar’s Crazybread are on a white plate with the word THANKFUL written in black, all-caps. There is some marinara sauce on the right bottom of the plate.
Over the last few weeks during Coronavirus Time™ I’ve joined a congregation out of state over Zoom. This congregation has a tradition of sharing communion weekly. Due to their own rhythms (additionally affirmed by the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), they have been joining other congregations in participating in communion electronically. People are encouraged to bring to the moment whatever bread, wine, or juice they have in their houses.
I know there a multitude of views, theological convictions, and personal commitments behind the Eucharist, including how best to practice and honor this sacred tradition. That is all the more true during this time apart.
But I’ll just cut to the chase of this post. When I got to this moment on Sunday, I pulled out of the fridge the bread I had:
This is the first time I’ve ever experienced the spirit of communion over Little Caesar’s Crazy Bread.
I’ll be honest that this made me laugh when I pulled it out of the fridge. How could it not? But I’m not making light of the Eucharist or this moment either. I seem to recall that Jesus once fed a multitude with a tiny amount of meager food that seemed utterly inadequate to the moment.
And is this time we’re living not Crazybread?
The Crazybread of Christ, broken for you.
Thanks be to God.
2 thoughts on “The Crazybread of Christ”
I find these new elements to reflect the First Last Supper: whatever is at hand. I stop at the local gas station for elements on my way to worship—Triscuits and grape Kool-Aid do not lessen the sacred words and actions of the Eucharist.