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March 21

Luke 22:14-20

14 When the hour came, he reclined at the table, and the apostles with him. 15 Then he said to them, “I have fervently desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer. 16 For I tell you, I will not eat it again until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.” 17 Then he took a cup, and after giving thanks, he said, “Take this and share it among yourselves. 18 For I tell you, from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.” 19 And he took bread, gave thanks, broke it, gave it to them, and said, “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” 20 In the same way he also took the cup after supper and said, “This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you. — Luke 22:14-20

The Ordinary Extravagant

by Denise Jones
Brentwood Campus

There is something holy about a dinner table. Over a loaf of bread we can offer up our hurts, our dreams, our struggles and our deepest beliefs. This moment is usually shared with friends, the place where we linger and laugh, console and confide. Interesting, isn’t it, that right before His death, the last thing Jesus chose to do with His disciples was break bread. But this moment held so much more than their holy. It was a revelation of our holy. Because even though the conversation is recorded around their dinner table, Jesus was still speaking to us even at ours.

He was first letting us know He would never do this simple sharing again until He got to share it with all His disciples. He was letting us know—here and now, in Brentwood and Franklin and Nashville—that He was looking forward to the day when we too get to share this with Him. In that moment, He was remembering even us.

But He went deeper still. He did what only Jesus can do. He made the ordinary extraordinary. He took two everyday elements and gave them other-worldly meaning. Through the bread He broke with His own hands, He let us know that by His own choosing His body would be broken—through thorns, through scourging and beatings, through a spear. It was broken so ours could be made whole. This Jesus, the Bread of Life Himself, took on a broken body in order to bring life to ours.

That breaking echoes another breaking, on a hillside, where over five thousand hungry bodies sat. It was there Jesus broke bread, and every single person ate until they were full. Just as He broke bread for them, we are to continue to break bread for others. We are to offer them this Jesus who has transformed our life so they too can be at the marriage supper where He will finally participate in this holy act again.

“Remember me when you do this,” He said. And isn’t that what happens? When we sit in the service on a Sunday or partake of it by ourselves in our own home, aren’t we then remembering both His body and His blood? We remember the humanity He chose in order to redeem ours, and the blood He shed which gives our spirits the opportunity to be with Him one day in our heavenly home.

Friends, communion is a gift. A gift that was. A gift that is. A gift that will be. And a gift we can give. And when we do it, may we remember the Giver of this ordinary and extravagant gift.

Praxis

  1. What do you think about when you partake of communion?
  2. Do you ever partake of communion at home?
  3. Have you ever considered all the ways Jesus’ body was broken just for you, and what that means? Or the way His blood was shed and what that affords? If not, I’d encourage you to study the gift of communion and all it represents to your heart as a follower of Christ.
  4. What does offering Jesus to others “anytime, anywhere and with anyone” look like in your life?