What’s the Point of Communion?

For the avoidance of doubt, I’m not suggesting there is no point! I’m simply asking how those of us who are familiar with Communion—and no doubt also participants in Communion from time to time—understand it. Because the better we understand it, the more we will benefit from it (and the opposite is also true, of course).

Communion—also known as breaking bread, the Lord’s Supper, or the Eucharist, depending on the tradition—is one of two recognised sacraments (sometimes called ordinances) in Protestantism; the other being baptism. Catholicism extends that by another five. “Eucharist” is especially nice insofar as it derives from the Greek word eucharistia, which means “thanksgiving”.

As you’d probably expect, there’s a lot of technical theological background surrounding Communion, which, again, varies by church stream. We won’t dwell on that background (this will be a guide for laypeople), but a fairly well-known example is the Catholic belief in transubstantiation. If we break the word down, the substance of the bread and wine is understood to be transformed to become the real body and blood of Christ, while still retaining the appearance of bread and wine. Make sense? No, I thought not; but I’m merely reporting it, not arguing for it.

Among Protestant groups, the main difference is whether Communion is primarily seen as an act of remembrance, in obedience to Jesus’ invocation, “Do this in remembrance of me,” or whether it entails what’s called the “real presence” of Christ. In other words, whether the event is essentially symbolic, or Jesus is understood to become spiritually present in a unique way (beyond a general omnipresence in this world), such that we encounter his presence uniquely when we participate.  

Similar differences exist in relation to the sacrament of baptism: whether that is viewed primarily as symbolic or as somehow conveying or mediating the divine presence.

Different traditions have different approaches to how frequently Communion is taken. Many major denominations (Catholic, Orthodox, Anglican, among others) celebrate it weekly. Others do so “often” but less frequently.

If we look to Scripture for guidance on that question, we don’t find it answered directly. The main passage in the NT letters is 1 Corinthians 11, where Paul quotes Jesus at the Last Supper saying “do this in remembrance of me” and, in relation to the wine, “as often as you drink it.” So, nothing definitive, if we’re looking for a clear rule.

However, far more important, I think, is that the earliest church appears to have located Communion in the context of a full communal meal together, which corresponds to the context in which Jesus initiated the sacrament. Hence, by transferring Communion to a church service, we’ve already moved some distance from its original setting. Read 1 Corinthians 11:17–34 (that we’ll refer to shortly) and you’ll see what I mean.     

Talking of a “meal,” I’m reminded of the so-called Miracle Meals popularised during Covid: a tiny plastic pot of grape juice topped with a cardboard-like wafer. If you’ve never encountered one, trust me, you’ve not missed much. The only miracle is that anyone could get away with calling it a meal.

But back to the serious stuff—once Communion is detached from its originating biblical context (both in relation to the Last Supper and the early church praxis in 1 Corinthians 11), we are in danger of missing significant aspects of its original and abiding significance. Too often, in churches today, Communion is understood and presented in ways that fail to do justice to those contexts.

To take one small example (though it’s not an insignificant one), the minister will typically refer to everyone “examining themselves” for unconfessed personal sin before taking part. Self-evidently, that’s a perfectly good thing to do (it’s always a good thing, not just before taking Communion).

However, the original (problematic) context in Corinth that led Paul to write those words concerned self-indulgent, selfish, and thoughtless behaviour by the richer members of the church regarding the food being served at the communal church meal.

Basically, what was happening was that the rich were getting there on time (as they could) and eating all the best food and wine, leaving only the scraps and leftovers for the poorer people (like the slaves) who could only get there once they’d finished their household duties (presumably serving and clearing away after their masters’ dinners). The rich were, in Paul’s words, “humiliating those who have nothing.”  

That’s what Paul was chastising them for, and challenging them to “examine themselves” before they eat and drink. It’s what he means by “those who eat and drink without discerning the body of Christ eat and drink judgment on themselves”. I side with those scholars who believe the “body” here is the church, not Jesus. The nature of the “sin” envisaged in that personal self-examination was not so much recalling and then repenting of a list of recent individual, personal sins against God, but rather, sinning against the body of Christ—namely, the church, and especially the poor in the church (though of course, from God’s perspective, such sins are just as much sins against him as well).

NB We note in passing that no “self-examination” is mentioned in Jesus’ institution of the Last Supper; it appears only in Paul’s account to the Corinthians (suggesting something context-specific).

To really understand Communion’s significance, we must take full account of that originating context of the Last Supper (of which Paul also reminds the Corinthians): specifically, Jesus’ inauguration of a “new covenant.” That’s what the meal was all about.

Ancient covenants between two parties (two families, tribes, or kings) were typically “sealed” by a sacrifice that then became the centrepiece of a meal together. The meal—“breaking bread” together—marked the two families becoming one.

In the Gospel accounts and 1 Corinthians 11, there is some apparent variance in the timing of the bread-breaking and cup-sharing, in terms of during or after supper, but this is entirely secondary to the key point: they were happening within the context of a covenant-initiating meal. This, in turn, was a celebration of the covenant initiated at the very first Passover, immediately preceding the Exodus from Egypt.

Jesus chose Passover as the context for his death: a covenant-initiating sacrifice placed at the centre of a covenant meal. In doing so, he pointed his followers to understanding his mission in Exodus-framed terms—liberation from slavery to hostile powers: sin, death, and Satan. Not, we might add, framed in law-court or sacrifice-for-sin terms (as many today assume Jesus’ death primarily to be about).

In the same way that the Passover lamb was the covenant-initiating sacrifice which became the centrepiece of the covenant meal, so, too, was Jesus’ sacrifice. This is reflected in the church not by participating in the lamb but in the bread and wine. Why that apparent shift, given that Jesus is spoken of elsewhere in Scripture as the sacrificial lamb? We don’t know. But it was hardly a foreign introduction, given that the Passover meal already featured bread and wine—elements that Jesus explicitly singled out.

Perhaps it was because Jesus’ new covenant-sealing sacrifice was as a one-time sacrificial lamb, with “bread and wine” thus shifting the focus away from that repetition. Perhaps it was to make Communion more easily and more frequently repeatable (“as often as you eat/drink it”), and more cross-cultural in its application. Or maybe all of the above!       

How much we are missing when we decontextualise—and over-individualise—Communion today. There’s more that can be said about correcting its over-individualisation, but perhaps that’s another blog, for another day.

In what ways might we benefit as the church by reintroducing those original features and understandings? Jesus reaching out to us with an invitation into a covenantal relationship—the ultimate covenant, sealed with the ultimate covenant sacrifice—welcoming us into his family.