COMMUNION
Sunday 15th March 2026 – 4th Sunday of Lent Mothering Sunday
Draw Near: Life-giving habits for lent: Communion
(by Revd. Buffy Langdown)
We all know hunger. That gnawing feeling that says, “Eat something… and make it quick!” Hunger can make us grumpy, impatient, and sometimes a little irrational, a little more inclined to judge the person in the queue in front of you who’s taking way too long to choose their cake.
But there are other kinds of hunger, ones that don’t show on our waistline but make themselves known in quieter ways. A hunger for love. A hunger for meaning. A hunger for belonging. A hunger to be seen, to be known, to matter.
Mothering Sunday is a good time to reflect on that. For many of us, we remember the meals, hugs, and care given by mothers, grandmothers, aunts, uncles, or carers — or even the neighbour who always made sure we had a piece of cake when life seemed bleak.
The people who made sure we didn’t go hungry, physically or emotionally. They were the first people to teach us that love is often shown through presence, patience, and a plate of something warm.
But even the best human love, tender and sustaining as it is, points beyond itself. Deep within us is a hunger only God can fill. That’s the hunger Jesus speaks to in today’s Gospel: the hunger for life that truly satisfies, the hunger that leads to eternal nourishment. He calls it “living bread.” Not breadsticks or toast but the spiritual, soul-satisfying, life-transforming bread that reaches deep into our very being.
Jesus says in John 6:51:
“I am the living bread that came down from heaven.”
This bread meets our deepest hungers: for love, for belonging, for meaning, and for God himself.
And today, we are invited to come to this table with all our hungers — for love, for meaning, for hope, for belonging — and find that Christ meets them all.
At the Last Supper, Jesus didn’t simply pass around bread as if it were an ordinary meal — though I wouldn’t have minded being there — he said:
“This is my body, given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.”
Notice the words: given for you. Not for someone else. Not “imagine I’m here.” Not “pretend it tastes better than it does.” No, Christ gave himself fully, for each of us, in that simple, ordinary meal.
We often think of Communion as a “meal,” but it’s more than a meal. It is God’s love on a plate and in a cup.
Eating and drinking in faith is our way of saying: “Lord, I see you. I trust you. I open myself to you.” And Christ abides in us as we abide in him. Even if your spiritual appetite is small, hesitant, or distracted, there is always enough grace for you. Christ’s love is patient, abundant, forgiving. It meets us exactly where we are. Even the messy, distracted, slightly chaotic version of us.
Communion reminds us that God’s love is not limited by our limitations, our doubts, or our clumsiness. We are invited to receive it, not because we are perfect, but because we are hungry — spiritually, emotionally, and yes, sometimes physically.
Communion is deeply personal, but it is also profoundly communal. We do not receive Christ in isolation. We receive him as the body of Christ — the Church.
Picture it: everyone gathered around the table. The fidgety ones, the overenthusiastic ones, the ones who forgot to put on matching socks — all one body. One table. One bread.
This is particularly beautiful on Mothering Sunday, because the Church has long been called our mother. Just as a mother nurtures, comforts, and forms her children, so the Church nurtures us in faith, welcomes us in weakness, and teaches us to live in love. The Church gathers us, imperfect as we are, and feeds us spiritually, emotionally, and morally.
Communion also teaches us something else: we belong to one another. We are shaped and formed into a community. We are not just isolated individuals trying to navigate life on our own.
Grace often arrives with subtle humour, too — a reminder that God’s love is gentle and light-hearted, even when life feels serious. It encourages us to approach God with honesty, openness, and even a smile.
When we share in the bread and the wine, we are reminded that our joys and burdens are shared, our triumphs and struggles are communal, and our faith is strengthened together. And in the simple act of eating the bread and drinking the cup, we are reminded that we are not alone.
And let’s not forget the humour in all this. Have you noticed how Communion can make us a little awkward? The shuffle forward, the polite “peace be with you” exchange that feels like a dance you never practiced, the juggling of wafer and cup — yet through all that, we are reminded that grace is patient. It doesn’t require us to be perfect; it simply calls us to gather and be fed.
The gift of Communion does not end when the organ music fades and the service ends. The grace we receive here is meant to spill into our daily lives.
How? By turning the love we receive into love we give.
It may be in a smile to a neighbour or a colleague who is stressed.
It might be in patience for someone who frustrates us.
It might be in a phone call to a lonely friend, or an act of quiet generosity that goes unnoticed.
A kind word to someone who seems invisible.
A moment of patience in a difficult conversation.
A gesture of generosity or care for someone in need.
Even our ordinary meals can become holy when we pause to give thanks for our bread,
When we pause to give thanks for ordinary bread, we remember the greater gift — the living bread that sustains our souls.
This is what Paul meant in 1 Corinthians 11 when he spoke of Communion as forming the body of Christ. The table shapes us. The meal transforms us. And the grace we receive becomes grace we live — not only on Sunday, but Monday, Tuesday, and every day after that.
The Eucharist shapes us into Christ’s body. What we receive is not meant to stop with us. It flows outward, forming us into people who feed, heal, and care for others.
So, Mothering Sunday is not just about remembering those who cared for us in the past. It’s about recognising how that care points to God, and how we, in turn, are called to nurture and care for others. It is an invitation to embody the love we receive, to feed the hungry, to console the lonely, to welcome the stranger. The love we share becomes an extension of Christ’s love in the world.
Even small acts count. A cup of tea for a neighbour. A kind word for a friend. A smile for a stranger. All of these are echoes of the love we receive at the Lord’s Table. Grace often arrives in subtle ways — a reminder that God’s love is gentle and light-hearted, even when life feels serious. It encourages us to approach God with honesty, openness, and even a smile
So today, come hungry. Come grateful. Come with hands open and hearts expectant.
Christ meets us — messy, imperfect, tired, human us — and feeds us. Christ forms us into a body, a family, a Church.
Christ sends us into the world to share his love, not merely by speaking about it, but by living it in our daily actions. Every act of kindness, every word of encouragement, every moment of patience or care becomes a way of making Christ’s presence known. We are called to embody his love in homes, workplaces, and communities, so that others may see, feel, and experience the grace that we have received at this table.”
We are reminded that spiritual hunger is real. It is to be acknowledged. And it is to be met — not with platitudes, but with the living bread of Christ.
And if you still feel a little hungry afterwards, don’t worry there’s always tea to tide you over. But remember, no cup, no biscuit, no meal could ever satisfy like the grace of Christ. What we receive at this table nourishes not just our bodies, but our hearts and souls. It fills the emptiness we carry, restores our strength for the week ahead, and sends us out to share that love with others. Christ’s grace is more sustaining, more satisfying, and far more abundant than anything we can eat or drink.”.
Come. Be fed. Be formed. Be sent. And carry that grace, quietly, faithfully, and joyfully, into every day of the week.
“Come, and be fed.”
Prayer:
Lord Jesus, you are the living bread, given for us that we may have life in all its fullness. Feed our hearts with your love, unite us as your body, and send us forth to share your grace with the world. Come, to us as we receive the bread of life and the cup of salvation, and are nourished for the journey ahead Come to us now in this holy meal, and draw us ever closer to you. Amen.