The Church of England has always been clever at producing theology to suit itself. If we don’t start protesting, we may never get communion wine back again. Too many risk-averse clergy have discovered how efficient, hygienic and cheap it is just to give us a wafer each. They explain it away by reminding us that ‘Christ is sacramentally and equally present in both the bread and the wine, so if you receive only one, nothing is lacking’.
‘But it’s so unfair,’ I want to hiss at the presiding priest when I see him or her having a sip of wine ‘on behalf of the congregation’. ‘It’s one rule for you, another for us.’
How docile we’ve all become, as we tramp forward via the hand sanitiser to receive our Styrofoam-like circular wafer from the outstretched fingertips of a silent administrator, then walk back to our pew, chomping self-consciously as we go. What a prosaic, dismal and antisocial process it has turned into.
By that time in a Eucharist service — about 11.50 a.m. on a Sunday — I’m longing for a slug of sweet wine and the warm feeling brought on by its alcohol content. This is what Jesus intended, for goodness sake. ‘Drink this, all of you.’ Not just one of you.
Don’t try to theologise me out of my right to both kinds. With only a dry wafer for sustenance — a food item as far removed as can be from anything resembling a holy supper — I feel decidedly short-changed. I miss the whole ritual of kneeling on the oblong velvet cushion in front of the High Altar, waiting for the wafer and the wine to come along, administered with beautiful words spoken to each of us. I love watching the slowly rotating chalice, wiped after each sip with the purificator, otherwise known as the ‘holy hanky’.
Comments
Join the debate for just £1 a month
Be part of the conversation with other Spectator readers by getting your first three months for £3.
UNLOCK ACCESS Just £1 a monthAlready a subscriber? Log in