The Lord’s Supper reveals that Jesus takes the worst we can do and makes it a sign of the best he does for us. Within hours of that meal in the upper room, Jesus’s body would indeed be given and his blood poured out. This dreadful tragedy accomplished our glorious salvation.

From the beginning, the early church recalled and reenacted these moments in gathered worship. Just two decades after Jesus’s death, Paul passed along what he had received as common understanding: “As often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes” (1 Corinthians 11:26). In Communion, we enter both the power and the proclamation of Jesus’s saving death. That participation should be thrilling.

Contentious Meal

Sometimes, however, we get all tangled up about the Lord’s Supper. We can so easily miss the point of this practice Jesus gave to his people. The joyful expression of our union with Christ and one another becomes heavy with contentious questions.

For example, we puzzle over what happens to the elements. Jesus said, “This is my body” (Matthew 26:26; 1 Corinthians 11:24). We wonder how literally he meant it. We also stress over who may participate. Some ministers in my tradition seem to take more time talking about who may not partake than actually inviting believers into the life-giving mystery of the meal.

Then there are all the logistical issues. We worry whether the bread must be unleavened as in the Passover. Some insist the wine must be fermented, while others are adamant that grape juice will do. Common cup, individual cups, or intinction (dipping the bread in the cup)? Come forward or pass out?

And unless we are from a long-established liturgical tradition, we discuss frequency. Quarterly, monthly, weekly? Practically speaking, Communion takes away time from singing and preaching, so it can feel like a nuisance. Others worry that if we celebrate the Supper too often, it will become rote.

This cascade of questions can suck the joy out of this precious sacrament Jesus gave us. But perhaps if we dig under these encrusting controversies, we might once again reach the living heart of Communion. It’s really not that far away. We just return to that momentous night. We consider how Jesus draws humanity at its worst into the triune God at his redemptive best.

His Best in Our Worst

Jesus gives them the bread with the words, “This is my body” (Matthew 26:26). Then he shares with them the third cup of the Passover: “This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins” (Matthew 26:28). The ancient symbols of bread and wine received new, deeper meaning in these moments. Jesus dared to make the sacred Passover meal find its true fulfillment in himself. The Lamb of God pledged himself to a new covenant that would be sealed in his blood. At the meal, Jesus offered himself to them — just minutes before the arrest that would lead to his trial and torture and death.

Jesus warns them that this night will bring them the shame of failing him. But in the glow of the meal, the disciples feel brave. “Peter said to him, ‘Even if I must die with you, I will not deny you!’ And all the disciples said the same” (Matthew 26:35). Yet minutes later, when Jesus asks three of them to keep watch while he prays in his agony, he returns to find them sleeping. “So, could you not watch with me one hour?” (Matthew 26:40).

“The Lord’s Supper reveals that Jesus takes the worst we can do and makes it a sign of the best he does for us.”

Soon, Judas arrives with the soldiers. “Now the betrayer had given them a sign, saying, ‘The one I will kiss is the man; seize him’” (Matthew 26:48). Moments before, those same traitorous lips had tasted the bread given by Jesus’s own hand. With that same mouth, he marks Jesus for death.

Before the mob, the bravado of Christ’s closest friends fades to fear. “Then all the disciples left him and fled” (Matthew 26:56). Even Peter would proclaim with an oath, “I do not know the man” (Matthew 26:74).

Jesus pledged himself in covenant as he gave them bread and wine. But the disciples’ eager participation in the moment only highlighted their weakness to come. Bread and wine would forever remind them of how they failed their Lord that night. They were unable to stop his body being seized and his blood being let.

And yet. One cannot steal what is already freely given. One cannot gain victory over another who has already submitted. The soldiers may have seized Jesus, but he had already given his will to the Father. Pilate may have condemned him, but Jesus had already submitted to the triune plan to defeat death by death. The disciples were never really the cause of anything. These tokens of suffering, betrayal, failure, and death would become everlasting signs of sovereign love. This is the heart of Communion.

Wonderful Exchange

Near the beginning of his brilliant explanation of the Lord’s Supper, John Calvin connects this sacrament with the heart of God’s gift to us in Jesus. He likens what Jesus underwent to a marvelous trade in which we are surprised beneficiaries.

This is the wonderful exchange which, out of his measureless benevolence, he has made with us; that becoming Son of man with us, he has made us sons of God with him; that, by his descent to earth, he has prepared an ascent to heaven for us; that, by taking on our mortality, he has conferred his immortality upon us; that, accepting our weakness, he has strengthened us by his power; that receiving our poverty unto himself, he has transferred his wealth to us; that, taking the weight of our iniquity upon himself (which oppressed us), he has clothed us with his righteousness. (Institutes of the Christian Religion, 4.17.2)

Every Lord’s Supper, we come to the trading place. We come carrying our shame and guilt like Jacob Marley in A Christmas Carol, dragging the clanking chain of his sins. Yet at the Table, Jesus offers to break those chains. He wants to trade us. He’s ready to take our latest cowardly denial, drowsy inattention, outright betrayal, and embarrassing flight into self-protection. He remains the most extravagant trader. No four-year-old trading his leather baseball glove for a tattered comic book ever made a seemingly worse deal than Jesus. For out of the grace hoard of his complete atonement, Jesus swaps us.

Trade at the Table

Can you imagine Jesus at the Table? His eyes welcome you with love. They see all and yet beckon you to come closer. His smile opens an ocean of compassion. He speaks with startlingly ordinary words. “Drop that sack of shame right here. Take a hunk of my ever-renewing Bread of Life. Slide that bitter cup of stubborn unforgiveness my way. And pick up my cup. Gulp down the blood that cleanses not only all you’ve ever done but all that’s ever been done to you. Come on — trade me. This is for you, right now. Give me your worst. Receive my best. Take me — don’t wait. Let’s make a trade.”

It’s not only a matter of sins. We can bring all that weighs us down and offer it up. In Communion, Jesus nourishes us with himself, so we can receive any and all words he says into our personal situations. We bring our anxiety and listen to him saying, “My peace I give to you. . . . Let not your hearts be troubled, neither let them be afraid” (John 14:27). We bring our tumults and trials and receive his words, “In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world” (John 16:33).

We bring our sorrows from all the painful partings. He speaks, “I am the resurrection and the life. Whoever believes in me, though he die, yet shall he live” (John 11:25). We carry up our despair over the state of the world and place it into his hands. He gives us the bread and cup with a promise: “Behold, I am making all things new” (Revelation 21:5). We bring intractable situations to the one “who opens and no one will shut, who shuts and no one opens” (Revelation 3:7).

Heart of Communion

The heart of Communion is Jesus’s taking the worst, hardest, most baffling and defeating from us. He gives us his best — his way, truth, and life. For the bread reveals the Son of God who gave himself entirely and utterly for us. The cup offers the blood shed to take away every sin. The essence of the Lord’s Supper is Jesus offering in the present moment all that his incarnate life, death, resurrection, and ascension have accomplished.

Paul writes, “The cup of blessing that we bless, is it not a participation in the blood of Christ? The bread that we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ?” (1 Corinthians 10:16). The mystery is the wondrous exchange whereby Jesus keeps on receiving us as his own and giving himself to us utterly and redemptively. This puts all the other questions, as important as they may be, in their proper place.

This time of year, as the leaves begin to change color and normal schedules emerge and blossom again, we often stop to make plans for the months ahead. The slower pace and irregular rhythms of summer are giving way to the steady beats of work, school, and church life. This changing of the seasons presents a crossroads where it’s natural to stop and revisit what, why, how, and how often we do all that we do.

And it’s good to plan. “The plans of the diligent,” God himself tells us, “lead surely to abundance” (Proverbs 21:5). He sends us to study the ant:

Without having any chief,     officer, or ruler,she prepares her bread in summer     and gathers her food in harvest. (Proverbs 6:6–8)

In other words, she plans and works ahead, like any wise person will.

And yet our planning, even our careful and intentional planning, can be quietly wicked. It might look like we have everything figured out and put together, but in reality our plans are foolish and offensive. Listen to the apostle James’s warning:

Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit” — yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring. What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes. Instead you ought to say, “If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.” (James 4:13–15)

Good and Wicked Planning

In this part of his letter, James confronts the seemingly successful men of his day. In the next few verses, he goes on to say, “Come now, you rich, weep and howl for the miseries that are coming upon you. . . . You have lived on the earth in luxury and in self-indulgence” (James 5:1, 5). But before he gets to their greed and self-gratification, he exposes their arrogance. Their success has made them think they know and control their futures.

Come now, you who say, “Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit.” (James 4:13)

What are these men doing wrong? They’re presuming to know where they will do business, and how long their business will prosper there, and how much profit they’ll make in the process. They’ve done this all before, after all, probably dozens of times, and so they’ve grown comfortably accustomed to success — so comfortable that they’ve started to presume success.

Before we scoff at them, though, we might ask how often we’re lulled into similar temptations. We may not be traveling to trade in foreign markets, but we all can begin to assume that God will do this or that — in our work, in our marriage or parenting, in our ministry — and fall into some kind of spiritual autopilot. James presses on that tendency toward autopilot until we see the impulse for what it really is.

You ought to say, “If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.” As it is, you boast in your arrogance. All such boasting is evil. (James 4:15–16)

James calls this kind of planning evil. Even if they were right about what would happen, their plans were wrong, terribly wrong.

Three Remedies for Arrogance

James doesn’t merely confront these arrogant men with their arrogance; he also applies what he knows about God to invite them into the paths and plans of humility. And what he shares, in just a handful of phrases, speaks as loudly to our temptations to presumption as it did to those in his day. He reminds these men what they do not know (and cannot know), what they cannot do or control in their own strength, and (more subtly) the one thing they can always do when setting out to plan another season of work, life, or ministry — in fact, the one thing they must do.

WHAT YOU DON’T KNOW

Again, he begins, “Come now, you who say, ‘Today or tomorrow we will go into such and such a town and spend a year there and trade and make a profit’ — yet you do not know what tomorrow will bring” (James 4:13–14). You think you know where you’re headed, and how long you’ll spend there, and how much money you’ll make, but you don’t know anything — at least not with any of the certainty you now feel. You can plan and prepare all you want, but reality might depart dramatically from what you’ve imagined.

“Our planning, even our careful and intentional planning, can be quietly wicked.”

The business might crumble into bankruptcy — or God might suddenly quadruple your projections. The family might unexpectedly flourish — or some unthinkable tragedy might strike. Your personal ministry might experience an extended drought despite intentionality and effort — or you might see fruit you’ve never seen before. You cannot guarantee, much less control, what will happen this fall, or this fiscal year, or five years from now. You do not know — do you know that?

Given how easily and subtly pride swells in us all, it’s deeply good, spiritually and eternally good, to be reminded just how much we do not know.

WHAT YOU CAN’T CONTROL

In addition to not knowing all we do not know, we can’t do or control nearly as much as we tend to think. James sobers us in the next verse: “What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes” (James 4:14). These “successful” businessmen were looking at their track record and profit reports and coming to some horrible conclusions. Instead of seeing the sovereign and generous hand of God, they thought more highly of themselves. Instead of falling to their knees in awestruck gratitude, they stood a little taller, admiring the strength and ingenuity they saw in the mirror.

What is your life? Are you able to hear the pastoral heart behind such bluntness? “What is your life? For you are a mist that appears for a little time and then vanishes” (James 4:14). And what can a mist do? On a particularly hot day, a mist might bring refreshment for a moment — if it lasts that long. But a mist does almost nothing. Compared with the infinite mind and power of God, we can do nothing.

One way God guards us against arrogance is to remind us of our mistiness. Everything that feels so big, important, and impressive in our earthy lives right now will vanish and vanish quickly. We’re just a tiny burst of moisture, one that will evaporate almost immediately. God, on the other hand, knows everything there is to know, and he can do all things. He invented mists, and work, and us.

WHAT YOU CAN ALWAYS DO

We don’t know all we think we know about the future, and we can’t control all we pretend to control, so can we do anything now when it comes to the next months and years? Is it futile for us to try to plan the future? No, listen to how James guides them out of arrogance and into planning that glorifies God:

Instead you ought to say, “If the Lord wills, we will live and do this or that.” (James 4:13–15)

He doesn’t tell them to stop planning. He tells them to stop planning without accounting for God. Stop planning without any reference to the most important part of planning. Positively, make your plans — all your plans — under God. The most obvious way to do this is to pray.

It’s simple and yet supernatural. It’s quiet and yet so countercultural. As you make your plans for another year or season, kneel beneath the meticulous and pervasive sovereignty of God. Remember that you won’t go anywhere or accomplish anything unless he wills. You won’t live unless he wills. Does any rhythm or habit in your life say that you believe that? Is that banner still waving over all you want to do this year?

Wicked Passivity

James strikes one last (seemingly strange) note in this paragraph on ungodly planning: “So whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it, for him it is sin” (James 4:17). How does that relate to the verses we just read? After telling them what to stop doing, he turns here and ends with a verse about the dangers of passivity.

Given what we’ve already seen, it seems like the first right thing to do would be to acknowledge God in all we do — and not only to acknowledge his sovereignty over our lives, but to actively seek his help and guidance in them. Prayer is not a passive acknowledgment of God. Prayer is anything but passive. Through prayer, we actively and persistently invite the sovereign God to actually do what he’s said he’ll do. And very often (can you believe this?), he chooses to accomplish those infinite, eternal plans by our small, modest, and secret prayers.

However, this verse is about more than prayer (as glorious and powerful as prayer is). When James says, “Whoever knows the right thing to do and fails to do it,” he’s talking about every kind of sinful inactivity. He’s already warned us about an evil kind of proactivity — making plans and attempting work without reliance on God. Now he warns us about an evil passivity — knowing the hard things God has called us to do and yet refusing to do them.

Fullhearted faith in the sovereignty of God over all doesn’t lead to retreat or inaction. No, this kind of faith sets a life on fire with purpose, conviction, and determination. So, what hard thing has God called you to do this year? Where are you tempted to shy away from a fuller, more costly obedience to him — in your work (or studies), in the local church, in evangelism and discipleship, in marriage and parenting? Resolve now to do the right things you know to do, and do them — at every step — in prayerful dependence on God.

http://rss.desiringgod.org/link/10732/15367695/christian-life-as-waiting-and-serving