do the things that only you can do for God.
Become what you are.
— Archbishop Desmond Tutu1
The lay office of Eucharistic Minister is fairly new to the church, having been inscribed into canon in 1985 by General Convention. It is stunning, really, that this ministry has evolved so much even since that time. We who serve the One to whom a “day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like a day” (2 Peter 3:8) have grown used to the excruciatingly slow pace of change in our much beloved Episcopal Church. Yet the rapidly developing identity of Eucharistic Ministers—the who, what, when, and how they are to serve—reflects a mighty shift in the theology of the laity. Things are still in flux, the last a 2003 change in the title of the ministry, from Lay Eucharistic Minister to Eucharistic Minister.
I remember as a child that the only laypeople I saw near the altar were acolytes. At that time, all acolytes were boys and men. Like many other little girls before me, I longed to be at the altar. At that time, the longing expressed itself as a desire to serve God as acolyte—to carry that heavy cross down the aisle leading the procession, to help the priest set the table by handing him the silver and glass containers in the proper order and assisting as he washed his hands.
I well remember when laywomen first were allowed to read God’s Word from behind the big eagle holding the Bible. All of a sudden, it seemed, girls were acolytes, too, but by then I was too old. Then adult laypeople were vested and sitting in the chancel with the clergy as a part of the service. People who were not bishops, priests, or deacons—both men and women—began serving the chalice at the altar rail! That, I thought, would be the most sublime ministry of all, actually being able to offer the Cup of Salvation to God’s people and to help them drink of it.
Today, every Sunday across The Episcopal Church and throughout the world where Anglicanism reaches, Eucharistic Ministers take up the chalice to help commune the people of God. They take part in the service from the chancel as laypeople, representing the majority of God’s people (there are far more laypeople than clergy!) and the dignity of their order of ministry.
Including the laity as ministers of the sacrament sends a startling message the church has not heard since Christianity was young: that laypeople are rightful bearers of the gifts in the eucharist; that the sacrament of holy communion is not too sacred for lay hands; that laity are responsible and cognizant enough of the gravity of the task to take up their legitimate ministry of its distribution.
Since I wrote my first book on lay sacramental ministry in the late 1980s, A Manual for Lay Eucharistic Ministers (now called A Manual for Eucharistic Visitors), I have been waiting for someone else to write another about the lay ministry that once was considered its partner: those who help distribute the sacrament (most commonly the cup) at services. Often colloquially called chalice bearers or chalicists, these are now designated by canon as Eucharistic Ministers. Thus I will be using the abbreviated forms EM and EMs.
Evidently I was the one called to write this second book, and so I have, trying to include theological, practical, and just-plain-interesting information about the eucharist for those laypeople called to minister sacramentally.
One of the best things about this ministry is that women never have been restricted from carrying it out, and I have tried to use inclusive language in this book. I have attempted to be thoroughly Anglican in my theology, so if there is heresy here, I will quickly recant. Good people of faith will disagree about many topics and interpretations within these pages. That is a sign of these turbulent times in which I believe “God is working his purpose out.” The practical advice and observations are from my own and others’ experiences with this ministry since its inception. You, your clergy, and your bishop may reject and shudder at some of my suggestions. Obey your clergy and bishop, please, for they are the ones who have charge over you.
The many dimensions of this subject have proved fascinating. It is long past the time that the church recognizes the immense impact this ministry has had, not only on the institution itself but on the many faithful laypeople who have answered the call and continue to help us give liturgical witness to our Anglican theology of the equality of all orders of ministry.
Many thanks, as always to my husband, Duncan Cairnes Ely; our son, Penn Wickenberg Ely; and our ever-faithful canine family, Gravatt, Moses, and Saxon, who don’t care how the book is going. Deepest gratitude also goes to my editor, Nancy Bryan, who had to move from Chapel Hill to New York so that we could “meet,” and who is unusually accepting of my prose and “creative” ideas.
— The Rev. Canon Beth Wickenberg Ely+
“Dunwyck”
Columbus, NC
First Sunday in Lent
February 26, 2012
1. “Discernment Brochure 2010,” Episcopal Diocese of Oregon, accessed January 22, 2012, http://www.episcopaldioceseoregon.org/files/discernment_brochure_2010.pdf.
It is truly extraordinary that in The Episcopal Church the laity now can receive the body of Christ in their hands and the blood from the chalice, both administered by another layperson. The confluence of these developments—communion in two kinds; the body received in the hands; and laypeople distributing the sacrament as licensed Eucharistic Ministers—is theologically revolutionary.
The earliest Christians handled the body and blood freely. Lay Christians routinely took the bread home with them from the Sunday eucharist, where they kept it nearby in case of emergency. Life in ancient times was tenuous. An accident that would seem trivial today could kill a person. Childbirth was just as likely to cause death to the mother as the infant, or both. Any journey was fraught with dangers of accidents, bandits, getting lost, and falling ill. A cooking mishap could be fatal. The faithful wanted to make sure they had access to communion in an emergency when a priest could not be found, thus you have laypeople communicating themselves and others with the consecrated elements. Deacons and laypeople also took communion to the sick during the week.1
The early Christians also treated the sacrament like a lucky charm, and some carried it around their neck in a pouch to ward off danger and evil. An early story tells of Satyrus, who was on a sea voyage. When his ship wrecked, he tied the sacrament around his neck, jumped into the sea, and credited its presence for saving him from a certain death.2
The earliest Christians probably received bread in their right hand, kissing it and moving it to their own mouths. From about the fourth century, women were required to wrap a cloth around their right hand in order to receive. Some laity drank the wine directly from the chalice and others through a small tube or fistula. These early practices were not uniform.
One of the earliest writers, St. Cyril of Jerusalem (ca. 313–86), gives a blueprint for faithful reception of the body and the blood:
In approaching therefore, come not with thy wrists extended, or thy fingers spread; but make thy left hand a throne for the right, as for that which is to receive a King. And having hollowed thy palm, receive the Body of Christ, saying over it, Amen.
