Communion Thoughts

I was in chapel this morning for a service created to highlight the diversity of language and ethnicities of our Seminary Community. The words were spoken in a variety of languages, from a variety of cultures.
The music was ethereal, stunning, beautiful, even transcendent. I could feel my spirit float in and about my body.
When the time came for Communion, the Brazilian worship leader began to speak the words of the Sacrament. At the same time, a mother and her small child were in the open stairwell which I could observe from above, given my position in the choir loft balcony that looks down into both the main sanctuary and into the stairwell... where the mother had taken her child in hopes of not disturbing the service.
The child was preverbal and yet spoke with a language of grunts and groans that only his mother could understand. "Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words."
She held him to comfort and to love him. He arched his back and struggled, but could not break free of her loving arms. But in the pauses between his straining and articulating, he would rest sweetly in her nurturing embrace.
The sound was heard by some as a cacophony of distraction interrupting the sacramental words. But to my ears, in that moment, it was a holy language; the communion between a mother and child.
How like that child are we; how like that mother is God. This living metaphor illuminated the experience of Communion more poignantly than any liturgical poetry or prose that I have ever heard.