Tag Archives: communion of saints

This collection of twitfic came out of sitting in church during Communion (or Eucharist, depending on your denominational preference). In  the book of Hebrews, the writer says “we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses…” (12:1) and in the Orthodox churches, there are often depictions of saints and regular people painted in the frescoes and iconography, as representatives of the witnesses.

Communion (Eucharist) is a significant aspect of the liturgical service and is a time for reflection on the sacrifice of Jesus. I wanted to extend the idea of the communion of saints into aspects of the everyday; times, places and situations where the extended kindness of humanity is shown in ways that best represent the ideal to “love thy neighbour” in a way that demonstrates an understanding that we do these things “for the least of these.” Most involve food and/or drink; a fitting reminder of the simple elements on the table used during the Last Supper.

Note: some of these are shorter than my normal twitfic because I used the hashtag #communionofsaints which takes up a large portion of 140 characters so I have edited some in places for clarity.

And as usual, I am keeping with my tally of seven twitfic.

The Communion of Saints

I.
“We have the same lunch box.”
“What’s in yours?”
“Vegemite sandwich. Yours?”
“Falafel roll.”
“Go halvesies?
“Yeah.”

II.
He balances two takeaway cups and two paper bags while shuffling back into the passenger’s seat.
“Got you a sausage roll and sauce.”
“Cool, thanks.”

III.

The abrupt call of the telephone.
You ok?
Honestly?
Honestly.
A pause.
Honestly shithouse.
Meet you for coffee.

IV.

While balancing her handbag, schoolbags, and thumbing for the key, the gift of bags of groceries on the back step give her pause.

V.

The froth slid down the inside of two empty schooners. Each man held the base of the glass, thinking.

Another?

Yep.

VI.

The rhythm section locked in, punctuating the horns, dancing around the guitar lines, watching the front row pulsate.

VII.

Twenty years of correspondence collected in a single embrace after having never spoken. Neither wanted to let go.