For most Universalists and Unitarians, including many who profess to be Christian, the observance of Communion, or the Lord's Supper is as dead as the proverbial doornail. Ralph Waldo Emerson is thought to be its assassin -- it did not interest him, nor did he believe Jesus instituted it for perpetual observance -- but he was not the lone gunman. Fear whittled away interest in this ordinance long before Emerson was even born.
      Imagine living in colonial New England, and attending one of the churches of the Congregational Standing Order. It was out of this Order that many Unitarian churches were born; the Universalists gathered churches against the Order, but despite the opposition, bears many of its marks. Chances are you are not a member of the church, even if you have attended worship there all your life. In most of those churches, one must have had an experience of God's grace -- a sign of salvation -- to be admitted to the church. Out of dozens or even hundreds of members, only a handful might be actual church members. And only church members would dare approach the communion table. The Apostle Paul's admonition "For he that eateth and drinketh unworthily, eateth and drinketh damnation to himself, not discerning the Lord's body" (1 Corinthians 11:29, KJV) was strong stuff, and kept the lukewarm and unrighteous at an arms reach. Part of the liberalizing movement which bought Universalism and Unitarianism into being was the certainty of God's love and possibility for human improvement. Such optimism opened the doors to the church. The Lord's Supper was recast in terms of remembering Jesus sacrifice for us: a selflessness which does not ask the cost. But by that time, the eucharistic piety, or the life-transforming power of the practice of the Lord's Supper was gone.
      Thus, in a sense, it never had a fair chance. We, decendents of the Congregational Standing Order, are also heirs to a reforming streak in faith which does not trust outward signs. We value plain words over symbol. We value deeds over ritual. We value practicality over speculation. The most obvious sign of this tendency is the traditional New England meetinghouse: a largely unadorned white clapboard box. Clean and austere, there is little in the meetinghouse to distract the worshipper, which is, of course, the point. Our own churchhouse is like that, the Good Shepherd window notwithstanding.
      The Lord's Supper must have seemed messy, both literally in the sharing of bread and wine and figuratively, because it blends emotion, and thought, and ethics, and hope, and memory. It invites speculation. There is a lesson in it, but the lesson is not always clear.
      I, for one, am not afraid of Paul's injunction, but I do take it seriously. The Lord's Supper is at the same time an expression of the unity of worshippers in one place and time, and of all Christians in all places and times. It also is a living lesson of how life should be, and what the Kingdom of God will be like. We are fed. We are equal. We are worthy. We are sisters and brothers to one another. But Paul's injunction reminds us to take the Lord's Supper seriously. This Reign of God is no small thing, but is very precious, and the reward of our faith. Reading the surrounding passages, we can imagine an early Christian church (1 Corinthians 11: 18-34) where the rich and poor gather for the breaking of holy bread, and yet unseemly divisions arise.

For when the time comes to eat, each of you goes ahead with your own supper, and one goes hungry and another becomes drunk. What! Do you not have homes to eat and drink in? Or do you show contempt for the church of God and humiliate those who have nothing? What should I say to you? Should I commend you? In this matter I do not commend you! (v. 21, 22, NRSV)