The practice of my beloved congregation is to observe the Lord’s Supper every Sunday morning. This is woven into our gathered worship, and serves as a beautiful expression of our commitment to our Lord Jesus Christ and to each other.
You may be thinking, “Surely that frequency of Communion must get monotonous, and lose its spiritual significance.” I can relate to that concern, as it was mine for years, but nothing could be further from the truth.
It’s hard to overlook the fact that the early church assembled for the Lord’s Supper on the first day of every week. The historical support for this is strong. For example, the “Didache,” written between A.D. 50 and 150, offers evidence of the church’s weekly Communion. In the middle of the second century, in Justin Martyr’s “First Apology,” he describes Sunday worship. Again we find that, among God’s people, worship on the Lord’s Day always included the Eucharist (literally, “thanksgiving”). Further evidence for weekly participation in the Supper is found in the writings of many of the Church Fathers. Centuries later, Charles Spurgeon promoted the weekly observance of the ordinance, not as dogma but as rich spiritual practice.
But, as compelling as those historical examples may be, they’re not my strongest reasons to advocate for weekly Communion. My best reasons are what the Lord’s Supper accomplishes in me …
1. It reminds me that it’s not about me, first and foremost. God is writing a larger story. By grace through faith in Christ, I’m drawn into that amazing story, but the story is about God’s Son — whose death, burial, and resurrection are central to every chapter of human history. The Lord’s Supper anchors me, again and again, in the centrality of Christ’s gospel. It’s the true story of my complete forgiveness and my superabundant new life in Jesus. For my continuing growth in grace, I’m in continual need of heavenly bread — I must feed on nothing less than the bread of life.
2. It reminds me that God is deeply invested in the most intricate details of my circumstances — even the ones which confound me to my core. In the wondrous meal, I remember that God made me not just physical but spiritual in nature — and that Christ has made me new in Himself. In a gorgeous and unparalleled tradition, rooted in the miracle and joy of Passover for all with eyes to see and ears to hear, I recall that God delights to commune with me — to visit me in the simple sharing of bread and wine. My sins have been “passed over,” and the soul-stirring sacrament alerts me to God’s constant presence and nearness. Because of Christ, I’m welcome at the table, where I encounter both mystery and security in His incessant invitation: “Come!”
3. It reminds me that I need other people, desperately. In the sharing in and partaking of the common elements, as I experience my eternal connection to the body of Christ which the Supper so powerfully reinforces — as the physical and the spiritual come together in the church — I’m reminded that I’m only a part of what God is orchestrating in His world. My gifts must join forces with those of my brothers and sisters for God’s power to be manifested in this season as it should be for His glory!
4. It reminds me that everything is going to be just fine in the end. Only at a banquet hosted and served by the risen Jesus can my proud “intellect” be put gently but firmly in its proper place. Such undeserved grace as I have received so freely from Christ defies human understanding — including my understanding. At this table, the marvelous hand of God falls again upon my shoulder to prod me onward in the mission of grace and truth. I can’t fully articulate the extent of the encouragement, but it’s as real as the air I breathe.
Though I try to “examine myself” as the Scriptures instruct, coming to Christ’s table is not ultimately about how I feel about me. It’s about how Christ feels about me. So it’s my contention that, for all of us who are in Christ, Communion is an irreplaceable gift from God. We come with nothing, and we receive everything. Even when life seems to have beaten us down into discouragement, disappointment, and despair, we’re upheld and nourished — week by week — by the Supper of our Lord. Body and blood.
As we eat and drink, strangely but surely — together yet individually — we’re humbled by redeeming love. We rediscover that we’re no better or worse than each other, and that none of us can feed ourselves. A simple yet profound celebration sustains us until the day when we’ll find ourselves face to face with the One who poured the first cup — and who poured out Himself for us.
Friends, He’s still pouring!
I write this not to impugn the practice of any other congregation, but simply to encourage you to enlarge your view of the beauty and efficacy of the Lord’s Supper for the health, vitality, and unity of the people of God.
“For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until He comes” (1 Corinthians 11:26).
Pastor Charles
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