The Lord’s Supper

For I have received of the Lord that which also I delivered unto you, That the Lord Jesus the same night in which he was betrayed took bread: ²⁴And when he had given thanks, he brake it, and said, Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you: this do in remembrance of me. ²⁵After the same manner also he took the cup, when he had supped, saying, This cup is the new testament in my blood: this do ye, as oft as ye drink it, in remembrance of me. ²⁶For as often as ye eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye do shew the Lord’s death till he come.

—I Corinthians 11:23-26

Disorder and confusion had arisen in the Church of Corinth. Heresies of various kinds had, even at that early period, crept into it. These heresies had become preeminently conspicuous with regard to the Lord’s Supper. Some came together simply to satisfy the craving of the carnal appetite; without any reference to the solemn character with which the Saviour Himself, in His dying hour, had invested that ordinance. One was hungry, another was drunken. Shame crimsoned the countenances of all those among them who were the Lord’s, and who had His honor at heart.

Much of this, in all probability, arose from ignorance, rather than from willful sin. Still, when disorder, confusion and every evil work creeps into the Church what is the divine remedy? It is to bring Christ into the midst; Christ in His word, Christ in His example, Christ as we know Him in our own experience. This is the instrumentality by which the Spirit of God would set all things right. It is, therefore, the way the Apostle strives to meet the state of things in the Church of Corinth. He administers reproof, rebuke, warning, exhortation, and then he brings before them the word and example of the Lord Jesus, as taught him by revelation in the first place, and by the Holy Spirit in the second.

The Apostle opens the passage under consideration with such a solemn announcement! “For I have received of the Lord that which also I delivered unto you.” Oh, that every minister, when he comes before his congre­gation, could say the same! Oh, that every minister, on looking back over his ministerial life, was able to say, to his people; that which I have delivered unto you I have received from the Lord Jesus! With what solemnity would the words issuing from the ambassador’s lips be invested! What a weight of respon­sibility would they entail! And yet this is what the messenger of Christ should always be able to say.

There is sadly too much of human wisdom, too much of man in the message. The Lord cannot bless it. If we have not gone to God for what we are about to utter, if we have not received our message from Himself, in His own presence, how can God use it? If it has been merely the fruit of study, of critical research, of deep thought, of long and anxious preparation; it may be a good sermon, a good lecture or address, but how can God use it to the heart? With all of this making it acceptable to our evangelical congregations, and drawing men in crowds to listen, it has not been “received of the Lord.” Ah! It may be ex­cellent and beautiful, but it lacks the one thing need­ful, the breath of God, the unction of the Spirit. Chris­tian minister, whoever you may be, go to God Himself for your message. Go into His presence and there plead, strive, pant, for a blessing. Get your heart filled, first of all, with His love, with His message to your own soul; then the Spirit of God will fill the message from your lips, no matter how feeble may be the utterance. Go with a heart full from His pres­ence, and speak as a dying man to the dying around you. Let your conscience be able to testify to those whom you are about to address, that you “have received of the Lord” that which also you are about to deliver unto them. Then you will not have to com­plain, as so many do; I have been laboring for years in this parish or over this congregation, and see little or no fruit of my labors, I am discouraged and cast down.

Ah, ambassador of Christ, change your plan! Trust less than you have done to your preaching, your research and your study. Get alone with God, breathe that atmosphere more than you have done. Depend upon it, the secret cause is here and nowhere else; not in the people, not in the place, not in any circum­stances connected with it. It is in your own heart. You have thought much of your study, your research, your own powers, and God has blown upon them. “Why?” saith the Lord of hosts, “Because of mine house that is waste”—my secret presence that is not valued as it ought to be. Lord of light, and love, and mercy; lay this message solemnly on the heart of every messenger of yours, for your dear name’s sake.

And remember at all times what you are; a receiver. So said St. Paul; “I have received of the Lord.” We can receive everything from God, but can give Him nothing. We are but “vessels of mercy.” A vessel will take in anything we put into it, but it can give us nothing. The Christian is the same. Whatever he has from God, it is as a receiver, as a vessel, as a debtor to sovereign grace. We must bear this in mind every step of our way. God will put his treas­ure only into “earthen vessels.” As vessels, we must come to Him, hour after hour, to be filled. As vessels, we must be emptied by His Spirit, and laid very low at the feet of Jesus; then will He fill us. We shall receive from him that message that will tell on the hearts of others. There will then be less of the taint of our own evil hearts to mar its beauty and deprive that mes­sage of its healing power.

But the Apostle continues, “That the Lord Jesus the same night in which He was betrayed took bread: And when he had given thanks, he brake it, and said, Take, eat: this is my body, which is broken for you.” What a beautiful and expressive figure is this in which He presents Himself to us in this passage—bread. Bread is our principal food. We could do without many other foods; we cannot do without this. We must have it, have it daily, or else we droop and die. So it is with Christ. He is the bread of the soul. We can do without other spiritual food; we cannot do without Him. We must have Him, have Him daily; yea, every hour of the day. Without Him, our spiritual life decays and dies. Without Him, death reigns in the soul. Without Him, we are but gathered thorns, brands fit for the burning.

But bread is the life of the body. Through what a process it has to pass before it can become food, before it can sustain life! It was a corn of wheat cast into the ground to die. It grew up, the blade, the ear, and the full corn in the ear. It was cut down, winnowed, ground into flour, and finally subjected to the fiery process of the oven. Then, but not till then, could it be food for the body. Oh, beauteous emblem of the Lord Jesus! He was that corn of wheat. He grew up a tender plant before His Father. He was cut down by our sin. “He was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon Him.” The fire of God’s wrath descended upon Him on Calvary, and thus He became the food of our souls. It is a crucified Saviour that is now our life, our food. And thus it was shown in type with regard to the lamb. “Eat not of it raw, nor sodden at all with water, but roast with fire.” It is this bruised and smitten, this suf­fering, bleeding, dying Jesus that is our life, our food, our strength, our all. The bread is not food before it has been in the oven. The lamb could not be food while it was raw. So it is not Christ in His life or in His example that is the soul’s salvation. No. It is Christ in his death. This is the “bread,” and only this.

And mark the time, too, in which the Saviour gave this bread to His disciples: “The Lord Jesus the same night in which He was betrayed.” It is Surely not without its meaning that this bread was given to His people just at the time when He was betrayed by His disciple, and about to be crucified by His people and by the world. It is now the “night” dispensation. It is now that the world is crucifying the Son of God, despising His grace and mercy, and putting Him to open shame. But more than this, we are living in days when disciples are betraying their Master. We see the Church betraying His cause, playing into the hands of the world, and obtaining its reward at the expense of the Saviour’s denial.

On every side, in the Church of God, this spirit is entering in. The cross is irksome. The narrow way is too hard. Separation unto God is a thing to be heard from the pulpit but not plainly seen in the heart and life of God’s people. Oh, the deadening in­fluence of the world! How unconsciously we are dragged down its stream! Where are the unmistak­able marks of heaven on God’s chosen ones? Where is now to be seen the sneer, the curled lip, the distant atti­tude towards them which the world once assumed? They are becoming less and less seen. Why? The Church and the world have effected a compromise. Oh! It is an evil day. Rationalism, Romanism, Ritualism, and worldliness; this last the worst of all, are rolling in upon us like a flood. Oh, speak not of the good time coming. It is an evil time, a dark and cloudy day. It is a day of mourning and woe; a day when “the sea and the waves;” the vapid passions of the populace, are beginning to roar and when all things shall be out of course. The good time coming! Believe it not, expect it not, till Jesus comes in the clouds of heaven. Then shall be the good time, such as earth has never yet seen; then songs of victory. Then shall it be everlasting joy upon our heads; never till then.

It was Surely significant, then, that at this dark hour He should have taken bread, and given it to His disciples. He seems to say; Believer, in the hour when I am betrayed when darkness gathers round, when sin is beginning to roll in like a flood; then feed on me, live near to me, remember me. Oh, Surely this is the lesson! Now, more than ever, let us live on Jesus. Now more than ever, let Him be the food, the life, the peace, the joy of our souls. Now, more than ever, the cry—None but Jesus. O, reader, the dark­ness is growing darker and darker! Be faithful to Him! Cling to Him as you never have done before! It is but for a “little while,” but oh, that little while will be a solemn, a trying, one. May God keep you faithful in the midst of it!—Only He can.

“And when he had given thanks, he brake it.” Everything in this narrative is significant. The Lord’s Supper is emphatically a feast. It is a joyous commemoration. It is an occasion of thanksgiving; for it speaks only of comfort, peace, and joy to the believer. It tells him that sin has been forever put away by the death of Christ. Oh, should not this make us thank­ful? It tells the believer that guilt is gone, wrath gone, condemnation gone—gone for ever. Oh, Surely this is a cause of thankfulness! Poor, needy, fainthearted sinner, just touching, with a trembling hand, the hem of the Saviour’s garment, go not to this table with a downcast countenance and a heavy heart! Go not with fear, trembling and dread! Go with humility, yet with joy. Go with a deep sense of your unworthiness, but go with a heart filled with thankfulness, lips full of praise. Go this way and your Master gladly bids you, and has Himself set the example. Then you will receive that supper as He Himself received it; and could you receive it better than He did?

“This do in remembrance of me.” Ah! Enter yonder dying chamber and tread softly for the angel of death is there. A loved mother lies on that couch. Weeping ones gather round for the brightest treasure of earth is about to pass from their hearts and homes. Tears fall fast and thick from every eye. The death damps are gathering on the brow; a moment more, a moment of suspense and agony and that spirit shall be with Jesus. See, she stretches out her wasted hand and leaves with those loved ones who bend over her a farewell token, and ere the spirit takes its flight she breathes her last word: ‘Remember me.’ The hour has fled. Weeping ones return again to that desolate home. The tear dimmed eye falls, as if by accident, on that farewell token. Oh, how it is pressed to the heart! Oh, how it is bedewed with tears! What tongue shall tell its worth? Who shall estimate its costliness? Not men, nor angels. What stamps it with such value? That loving and now glorified one who stands before the throne—only she.

Reader, a dearer than any earthly mother is about to yield His breath. What mother’s love was ever like His? What mother had ever a heart like Him? But ere He steps forward to the scourge and the bloody cross, He stretches forth His hand, and says, “this do in remembrance of me.” Oh, do you indeed love that dear Saviour, and yet refuse to press this loving token to your heart? Do you indeed love Jesus, and yet think so little of his last dying token that you can turn your back on it? Would you treat that dear mother that way? And will you treat Jesus so? Is His love nothing to you? Yes, nothing; if you indeed can turn your back on this blessed, holy, joyous feast. Oh, think of what it will be, if you love Him not. Listen! “If any man love not the Lord Jesus Christ, let him be Anathema Maranatha”—accursed when He comes.

“For as often as ye eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye do shew the Lord’s death till he come.” The Lord’s death is, in Scripture, continually connected with His coming. “Unto him that loved us, and washed us from our sins in his own blood,” What follows? “Behold, he cometh with clouds.” Again, mark our Lord’s own address in Luke 22. Compare this with the previous chapter. See how He joins the coming and his death! It is so always. The moment we come to the cross, God puts before us the crown. The interval is overleaped. We are chosen, as the Apostle says, “in him”—“to wait for his Son from heaven.” The Holy Spirit leads each one to the cross of Jesus; but, from the moment they are brought there, the hope set before them is, not the conversion of the world, not the refor­mation of mankind, but the coming of the Lord Jesus Christ. They were chosen to this; they were redeemed to this. They were kept for this—“to wait for his Son from heaven.”

This is the way in which the Apostle sets it before us in the passage under consideration; “ye do shew the Lord’s death till He come.” The Lord’s Supper is the great connecting link between these two great events. There are, as it were, two great pillars, one on earth the other in heaven. The one the Lord’s death, the other the Lord’s coming and this supper is the great chain connecting them, stretching through this dispensation. This shows the obligation of the Lord’s Supper, as well as its blessed character. It shows the perpetuity of the ordinance and that if we love it not, and partake not of it, we sever the chain, so far as our own souls are concerned, that binds these two glorious events together. Reader, meditate on these solemn words.

Yet stay! Be warned! If thou art a lover of the world, and have never yet felt your need of Jesus, go not, at thy peril, to this table. It is not for thee, lover of the world! It is not for thee, unpardoned sinner! It is not for thee, careless and unconcerned one! Away with your plea of baptism, if thy heart has not been baptized, if you have not felt your need of Jesus! God bids thee not to it! Why should you call down His wrath upon your head? But if you have indeed felt yourself to be a sinner in His sight, and has some faint longing after that Saviour—no matter how faint it may be—then, indeed, baptism is a good thing. No one more welcome than you are. Come, poor, trembling, hesitating one! Jesus bids you welcome! Turn not your back on this precious ordinance! Come and eat that broken bread with praise! Drink the cup with joy! And listen, as you do so, to what that ordinance speaks to you; All thy sin is forgiven; all thy transgressions are covered; no condemnation for thy soul: thou hast “passed from death unto life.” Reader, lis­ten again to your dying Saviour’s words; listen, and may they ring ever and anon in your heart as the festive day dawns upon you: “This do in remembrance of me.” Remember Jesus! Oh, can you forget Him? Then ever be found at His table.

According to Thy gracious word,
In meek humility,
This will I do, my dying Lord;
I will remember Thee.

Thy body, broken for my sake,
My bread from heaven shall be;
Thy testamental cup I take,
And thus remember Thee.

Can I Gethsemane forget?
Or there Thy conflict see,
Thine agony and bloody sweat,
And not remember Thee?

When to the cross I turn mine eyes,
And rest on Calvary,
O Lamb of God! my Sacrifice!
I must remember Thee.

Remember Thee and all Thy pains.
And all Thy love to me!
Yes, while a breath, a pulse remains,
Will I remember Thee.

And when these failing lips grow dumb,
And mind and memory flee,
When Thou shall in Thy kingdom come,
Jesus, remember me!”

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