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“Take and eat this in remembrance of me…. Take and drink this in remembrance of me.”
Paul focused on the motion, the words, the ritual, but his eyes kept darting back to Ian. He felt a tangible sensation in the center of his abdomen that grew stronger every inch Ian came closer to the altar.
“Take and eat this in remembrance of me…. Take and drink this in remembrance of me.”
Maybe the Catholics had it right after all. Paul might have been holding a tray with bread crumbs and cups of juice, but the objects were transformed. They had not become lumps of flesh or goblets of blood, but they were no longer what they had been. They had a meaning in the church, in the context of the service, that they did not have outside those walls or outside the moment. It was a meaning that could not be articulated, only experienced. There was the collective meaning, the history, the union of the community, and there were meanings that no one but each individual could know.
“Take and eat this in remembrance of me…. Take and drink this in remembrance of me.”
The word “holy” goes back before Christ. It is related to the word “holistic” and the word “whole” and means “that which is inviolate, intact, complete.” To feel holy is to feel whole. In his ministry, Paul had felt moments of awe and reverence; he had felt satisfaction and pride; he had felt stimulated intellectually and moved by the music and poetry. But he could count on one hand the moments when he truly felt holy—when all of the energies of his life aligned, his ego slipped away, and he felt the Lord working through him.
Only two people now stood between the minister and Ian. Paul felt his hands begin to tremble.
“Take and eat this in remembrance of me…. Take and drink this in remembrance of me.”
It was a communion just like any other in a Protestant church on a given Sunday. The ritual was performed over and over again. For a minister, communion was a repeated experience, mundane and commonplace. Yet today it was singular, an experience fully shared by only two.
Ian had lived disconnected, outside of society, out of touch with his soul. He was a man eclipsed by his body. How many men had tried and failed in a vain attempt to possess his physical beauty? The skin, which marks the boundary between the self and the non-self, can be touched and caressed, but physical consummation doesn’t transfer beauty from one to another. It remains a property of only one. Had the men blamed him when they didn’t get what they wanted?
Somehow Ian had come to believe he was a pretty package with nothing worthwhile inside. By taking communion, he was acknowledging the divine nature of his immortal soul. His inner and outer beauty merged and became one, inviolate, complete. Of course, a person’s soul can never truly be possessed either. But unlike physical beauty, it can be shared: a pair of souls in holy, holy communion.
Ian stood before him. His eyes (in this light they were blue) tilted toward heaven. Paul dropped his normal cadence. He paused, took a deep breath, and said, more slowly than usual: “Take and eat this in remembrance of me.”
Ian took a piece of the bread and put it in his mouth.
“Take and drink this in remembrance of me.”
Ian took a drink from the small cup. Then he turned right and circled back to his pew with the others. The entire exchange had taken only seconds, yet the moment felt so big, it was almost infinite. Paul was humbled and small.
Maybe all of it, the angelic vision, the fascination, the desire—maybe he had found its purpose. Maybe it all led up to this moment.
A Dormant Volcano
The serene, peaceful face of Mount Rainier disguises the fact that it is actually the most dangerous volcano in America. We try not to tell you too much about that when you’re actually on the tour—but we’ll have a video for you later. We’ve titled it “Things We Don’t Want to Tell You Until You Get Away from the Mountain.”
You don’t see any lava flows right now because the volcano is dormant. “Dormant” means it’s taking a nap. It is not dead, just sleeping. Molten lava can’t be contained forever. It will happen one day. Rainier will come down. One thing you don’t need to worry too much about, though, is a sudden explosion. Geologists say the mountain isn’t going so much explode as it will fall to pieces. The seemingly solid foundation will crack and fall apart, burying the surrounding population in soot and ash. Enjoy your stay!
Sergeant Tim Goddard of the local police force was a longtime member of Hope Church and considered its minister to be like part of the family. Like everyone in the church, he knew Ian. He knew about his history, that Ian had agreed to go to rehabilitation and to abstain from drinking as a term of his plea bargain for a DUI. He also knew about Paul’s special project to help the kid turn his life around. So when he looked out the window of his cruiser on a Wednesday evening and saw Ian wandering along the side of a busy road, clearly drunk, instead of turning right and taking him to the police station, Tim turned left and brought Ian to the church. He knew the church building would be open because his wife, Jenny, participated in Paul’s Bible-study class before her choir rehearsal, which usually ran until 9:00 p.m.
Bible-study class was finished, and Paul was checking e-mail when he heard a rap on the sliding window of the locked outer office. He got up, walked to Julie’s desk, and spotted Tim in his police uniform with his hand on the shoulder of a hunched Ian.
“Damn it, Ian!” he muttered under his breath. He unlocked the outer office door and let Tim bring Ian in. Ian turned his head and looked down over hi
s left shoulder, away from Paul.
“I’m sorry to bother you, Paul,” Tim said. “I found him wandering along Harbor Street. I thought he might get himself hurt. He blew a .19. I didn’t want to violate him. I know you’ve been helping him out.”
“It looks like I haven’t been doing a very good job of it,” Paul said, glaring at the side of Ian’s face. He sighed and then turned to Tim. “Thanks for bringing him here. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem,” he said. “Hope you can sort it out.”
Tim closed the outer office door behind him when he left. Ian turned his head slowly to the right, still tilted down. He raised only his eyes to Paul and flashed his best injured-faun expression. Paul was having none of it. He raised his hands as though he might strangle the young man.
“What were you thinking?” he nearly shouted. He turned his back on Ian and walked into his own office. Ian followed and closed the inner office door behind him.
“I wanted to see you,” he said. “So I walked.”
“And you happened to stop by a distillery on the way?”
