When I was young, my Irish Catholic mother made sure that I received all of the necessary rites of passage that were available in our church. That began with baptism, but I have no memory of being baptized. The first rite that I was old enough to remember was my first communion when I was about 9 years old. And it was very memorable for a number of reasons.

First, because I had to give up several of my Saturday mornings to attend special catechism classes that would prepare me for receiving the Eucharist.

And then because, somehow, I ended up missing the scheduled event at church, and so my mother had to arrange a special private meeting with the rector, Fr. Graham, for me to receive my First Communion. I was very shy, and the thought of being the sole focus of the priest's attention in this big empty church, after I had missed the official First Communion event, made me very anxious, and on the way to the church I started crying and I couldn't stop. So we sat in the car outside of the church until my mother was able to calm me down enough to go inside. All of that emotion certainly made it a very memorable experience....

But now, as an adult, when I look back on that situation, it is memorable to me for other reasons as well....

I suspect that there was a lot more going on back there than just a shy little boy who was afraid of becoming the focus of the priest's attention. Looking back, I actually had quite a bit to feel sad about. My parents' marriage was very troubled, and I had often wondered if perhaps their problems were my fault. So when this gush of tears came flooding out, I suspect that a lot of the anxiety and the sadness I was feeling had actually been building up within me for quite a long time.

And so, there I was, in that kind of drained, but heightened emotional state that you are in after you have been crying for a long while. And all the concepts from catechism about the Eucharist were floating through my mind. So I felt sad, and I felt tired, but I was also expecting that something amazing might now be about to happen in this holy rite.

As it turned out, Fr. Graham was very kind and helpful, which helped me relax. And it was a very simple ritual that was over in just a few seconds. But, ironically, it was that lack of drama, the simplicity of the whole experience that I remember as being more unsettling to me than all of the upset that had preceded it.

I had been in such an intense state of expectation; but for what? A little wafer... that felt more like styrofoam than bread in my mouth. I felt so disappointed as soon as that host made contact with my tongue. It was too small, too ordinary and too fragile to make any real difference in my world. And in a moment it was gone, but my sadness was still there.. And surely all of the difficult family dynamics, that were so beyond my comprehension at the time, were still there as well...

So in my 9-year-old mind, Holy Communion, the Eucharist..... just didn't work. In fact, it had failed miserably, because it had gotten my hopes up, but then nothing really changed. Or, at least, it wasn't the kind of magical experience that I had expected, and I think longed for it to be...

I was reminded of this early experience of mine by this evening's gospel text (Isaiah 35:1-10 & Matthew 11:2-11), in which Jesus questions the crowd about their experience of John the Baptist. Jesus essentially asks them: What is it that you were expecting? What is it that you were hoping to find in John? To me, these sound like words that would be spoken to people who were feeling disappointed, perhaps very disappointed..

Perhaps they were expecting a prophet with a more glamorous self-presentation, instead of this ragamuffin monastic figure who lived in the desert and ate wild honey and locusts. Maybe they wanted someone who would cheer them up... instead of preaching sermons and offering rituals that seemed to just bring them closer to the darkness in their lives.

From all that we know, it seems that John was indeed mining for sadness in the hearts of his listeners. And his intention was not to make their sadness simply go away... but rather to show them a way that their sadness could be sanctified, a way that it could become for them a kind of portal into a deeper knowledge of God.

It is true. Blessing and comfort and new life bursting forth – are indeed what Judaism and Christianity are “all about.” And John was certainly not opposed to these divine breakthroughs. It was just that John's vocation was focused on preparing the way for these breakthroughs to happen... by helping people to face and to accept the realities which they had very good reason to be sad about... so that they could offer up all of these experiences to God in worship... rather than continuing to carry them as their own private burdens. Unlike the Pharisees, John understood that a new life which is genuine – and not just a showy facade – only emerges from these humbling waters of mourning – from an acceptance and expression of our deepest sadness. The blessing and comfort and the real epiphanies of the spiritual life come to us within and through this gift of mourning, not by avoiding it (Mat. 5:4).

This is not a theme that we are accustomed to hearing in our culture. Especially in this Christmas season, it often seems that there are “sadness police” on every corner, shouting: “You'd better not cry!”.... “Tis the season to be jolly!”... and so on... Maybe their intentions are good...?

Actually, this kind of “banish-the sadness reflex” is very natural. It's like the “knee-jerk” reaction that you experience when the doctor taps just below the patella on your leg. It just happens. You don't have to think about it. In the same way, we just reflexively move away from painful experiences. And that is a good thing, as far as it goes. It protects us from certain kinds of harm.

But when it comes to the more spiritual aspects of our lives, like love and loss, this “banish-the-sadness” reflex can lead us astray. Because it prevents us from recognizing and accepting that there are some painful things, some frustrations and disappointments, that are built right into the very fabric of our mortal existence (Romans 8:20-21). We can't make them just “go away.” They can't be “drowned” or otherwise “eliminated.” We have to find a way to be at peace in the midst of them. For example, mortal beings (whether they are parents or priests, spouses or friends) disappoint us. They cannot be for us all that we sometimes need them to be. And that is painful. Accidents can happen or, even worse, violent acts—sin's legacy, which lead to losing the persons whom we love. And that is very painful.

But even if the ones we love seem to be relatively perfect..... never disappointing us... and even if no accidents or injustices ever happen to them... we still encounter their fragility and their limitations eventually because, in time, like all mortals, they get sick; they start to lose the wonderful capacities that they once enjoyed; and eventually they die. And that is painful.

It is on spiritual terrains, such as these, that the reflex of “banishing the sadness” can get us into real difficulty. Because having a mortal nature, as we do, means that, again and again, over the course of our lives, we are going to be faced with the experience of loss... and with the sadness that is an integral part of that loss. This fragility and vulnerability is part of who we are as human beings, and eventually we have to find a way to be reconciled with this reality. It was a taste of this reality that I encountered at my First Communion, when I discovered that the Sacrament was not a kind of magic pill that would somehow banish the sadness I had been fending off in my life, without me ever having to face or feel it.

When it comes to the more personal and poignant areas of our lives, like love & loss & sadness, we need a wiser kind of reflex that can inspire and enable and guide us to respond in ways that actually makes things better instead of worse. Such a reflex needs to be unceasing in our lives (1Thes 5:17).

We might call this wiser kind of reflex a “communion reflex¹” because it is a way of responding that forms over time, within our worship, and our prayer, and within any of our genuine love relationships. In this communion reflex, there is no need to hide our fragility, our vulnerability, our sadness... because we find ourselves in the presence of one who loves us completely, as we are. The forming of this “communion reflex” is a core purpose of the kind of liturgical prayer that we are engaging in here together tonight. In a sense the entire Eucharistic Liturgy is one big demonstration of it.... and also, an opportunity to participate in it in a very intensive way.... and then to “go forth” in its peace.

Still today, when I take Communion, my first impression is almost always of the fragility and impermanence of the bread, how easily it disappears. And there is still a sadness that I feel in that. Maybe that will change some day, I don't know. But I am finding that, over the years, these experiences of fragility and vulnerability are becoming signs of Good News for me, ways that Jesus is here and now expressing his love for me, his commitment to me, his solidarity with me in all of my human fragility and vulnerability which he understands so completely. And, somehow, there is a divine strength that meets me in that place of weakness, lifts me up, and gives me the confidence that I need to accept myself – even my difficult experiences of frustration and sadness and anxiety. And then, somehow, I am able to offer the whole package of myself to God and to move forward... in my life.

In just a few minutes from now, we will be hearing the words of Jesus, first spoken on the night of the Last Supper, when he instituted this Eucharist. It was in his darkest hour that he gave us this gift... with the desire that it would become for us... a sacramental training experience... so that, like him, through him, in him, we could develop this holy communion reflex... that would keep us within God's light, keep us within life-giving community, even in our darkest hours. Unceasing training in the Holy Communion Reflex: This is what the Body of Christ has to offer. This is what evangelization has to offer the world. This very healing grace that we are here and now actively, consciously participating in.

When I was 9, I concluded that this whole process just didn't work. But I know differently now. We truly can inwardly gather all of the sadness that we know is beyond our capacity to bear and offer it to God in a sacrifice of praise. It is the same as “getting rid of” it. It is not a violent act. It is not magic. It is a transforming act of love: We unite all of our sadness to Christ in his sacrifice, and it is somehow made acceptable in him and returned to us in a new and living form, a form which we can not only bear, but which actually nourishes and enriches our lives and enables us to move forward in our journey of faith. Slowly but surely we start to get a grip on the truth that nothing, not even our deepest sadness, can separate us from the love of God in Christ (Rom 8:38-29) Thanks be to God.

Rishi Sativihari, December 14th, 2011 ('Quiet Christmas Service'), The Church of St. John The Evangelist (Anglican), London, Ontario, Canada.