The Orthodox Church reserves Holy Communion for baptized and chrismated Orthodox Christians who’ve prepared themselves through fasting, prayer, and confession. That’s closed Communion. It’s not about being unwelcoming, it’s about what the Eucharist actually is.
When you receive Communion in an Orthodox church, you’re not just remembering Christ’s sacrifice or expressing personal devotion. You’re receiving His actual Body and Blood. And you’re declaring something visible: that you’re united with this Church in faith, in sacramental life, in everything. Communion is the fullest expression of being one body. You can’t express that unity if it doesn’t exist yet.
Think of it this way. If you visited First Baptist down the road, they’d invite you to their potluck, their Bible study, maybe even their baptism service. But if they practice closed Communion (and many Baptist churches do), they won’t invite you to their Lord’s Supper unless you’re a member in good standing. They understand that sharing the table means something. We do too, just with a different understanding of what’s happening at that table.
The difference is what we believe about the Eucharist itself. We’re not distributing bread and wine that symbolize Christ’s presence. We’re distributing Christ. The priest says, “The servant of God receives the precious and holy Body and Blood of our Lord and God and Savior Jesus Christ.” He means it literally. St. Ignatius of Antioch wrote in the early second century that heretics “abstain from Eucharist and prayer because they do not acknowledge that the Eucharist is the flesh of our Savior Jesus Christ.” Even then, the Church understood that receiving the Eucharist meant confessing what it truly is.
Because it’s Christ Himself, receiving Him isn’t casual. St. Paul warned the Corinthians about eating and drinking judgment on themselves if they didn’t discern the body. That’s not a threat, it’s pastoral care. We fence the table not to keep people out but to protect them. And to protect the integrity of what’s happening.
Here’s what preparation looks like for Orthodox Christians. We fast (no food or drink from midnight, at minimum, though many parishes encourage longer fasting). We pray. We go to confession regularly, some parishes expect confession before every Communion, others expect it seasonally, but it’s always part of the rhythm. We examine ourselves. We reconcile with people we’ve wronged. Then we approach.
Even for us, Communion isn’t automatic. If I’ve got unconfessed sin, if I’m nursing a grudge, if I haven’t fasted, I shouldn’t receive. The chalice is always there, but whether I’m ready for it is another question. That’s true for the bishop, the priest, the little old lady who’s been Orthodox for seventy years. Nobody just walks up.
So when we say Communion is closed, we mean it’s reserved for those who are Orthodox and prepared. Not Orthodox in some abstract sense, Orthodox as in you’ve been baptized and chrismated into the Orthodox Church, you’re a member of this parish or another canonical Orthodox parish, and you’ve prepared yourself according to the Church’s guidelines. It’s about visible, sacramental unity. You can’t be in Communion with a Church you haven’t joined yet.
I know this sounds harsh if you’re visiting from Abundant Life or St. Anne’s or nowhere in particular. You’re welcome here. Absolutely. Come to Vespers, come to Liturgy, stand with us, pray with us, venerate the icons, receive the blessed bread after the service. But the Eucharist is different. It’s the center of everything, the goal of the Christian life, the marriage supper of the Lamb. We can’t treat it casually.
The good news is that closed Communion isn’t a locked door. It’s an invitation to something deeper. If you’re drawn to Orthodoxy, if you’re asking questions, if you’re wondering whether this might be home, talk to Fr. Michael. Start the catechism process. Learn the faith. Get baptized (or, if you’re already baptized, receive chrismation). Join the Church. Then the chalice is yours.
That’s how it worked in the early Church. The Didache, one of the earliest Christian writings outside the New Testament, says, “Let no one eat or drink of your Eucharist except those baptized into the name of the Lord.” This isn’t some medieval innovation or ethnic custom. It’s how Christians have always understood the Eucharist: as the sacrament of unity, offered to those who are united.
The Antiochian Archdiocese puts it this way: receiving the sacraments is a declaration of total commitment to the Orthodox faith. You wouldn’t make that declaration if you haven’t made that commitment yet. So we wait. We prepare. We learn. And when you’re ready, when you’ve been received into the Church, you’ll hear the priest say your name as he places the Body and Blood of Christ on the spoon. The servant of God, [your name], receives. That’s when the door opens.
