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.

Do you want to grow as a man of God?

Maybe you’re a new believer. Your character drastically differs from just a couple years ago, but you know you have a long way to go. Or maybe you’ve been a believer for a long time, but you’ve sensed yourself spiritually stagnating. You’d be hard pressed to point out a way you’ve made evident spiritual progress in the last year.

If either of those profiles fit you, this article, and its two goals, are for you. The first is to give you a new ambition, namely, becoming a man of God. The second is to give you some directions for the journey.

The “man” in “man of God” is deliberate; I’m speaking particularly to men. Much of what I’ll say also applies to women, but the next-to-last section zeroes in on a uniquely male calling.

First, here’s the new ambition. I want you, from now till the day you die, to make it your ambition to become a man of God. And I want that for you because God does. As Paul writes to Timothy, “Have nothing to do with irreverent, silly myths. Rather train yourself for godliness;
for while bodily training is of some value, godliness is of value in every way, as it holds promise for the present life and also for the life to come” (1 Timothy 4:7–8).

Godliness is “of value in every way.” It is more valuable than physical strength or financial success. It is worth more than the thickest resume or the most coveted property. Godliness will, in the long run, make you happier than the satisfaction of any earthly desire.

So how can you get it? Here are six pieces of counsel.

Mind the Gap

First, mind the gap — that is, the gap between your character and God’s. And “gap” doesn’t even begin to cover it. More like “infinite chasm.” But God commands you to cross it: “You shall be holy, for I the Lord your God am holy” (Leviticus 19:2; cf. 1 Peter 1:15–16).

Learn to see and evaluate your character in light of God’s. Hold Scripture before your eyes as a mirror to reveal what’s lacking in you but present in him, and what’s present in you but lacking in him. “God is light, and in him is no darkness at all” (1 John 1:5). What darkness is present in you? What light is missing? If you want specific benchmarks to measure yourself against, study the Sermon on the Mount (Matthew 5–7), the fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22–23), and the qualifications for elders (1 Timothy 3:1–7; Titus 1:5–9).

One good way to become more mindful of this gap is to seek out and study godly men. Who do you know who radiates more of God’s holiness and joy and love than you do? Get to know him. Get close to him. Find out how he has made the progress he has, and do what he does (more on models below). The gap between your character and his can help you see the infinitely greater gap between your character and God’s. But not only that: learning how a more godly man got more godly can power-assist your progress in godliness.

Mine New Motives

Real change comes from the heart. This requires (though is by no means limited to) a new set of motives for you to mine. In order to make any lasting progress in godliness, your chief motive must be to glorify God: “whether you eat or drink, or whatever you do, do all to the glory of God” (1 Corinthians 10:31). Train your heart to love God’s glory more than your own, to love praising God more than receiving praise. Make it your ambition to please God in all you do (2 Corinthians 5:9).

In our theme verse, Paul promises that godliness is of value in every way. What is the value-added of godliness? What should motivate you to pursue it? Godliness gives you power greater than any physical prowess, technological reach, or military strength: “Whoever is slow to anger is better than the mighty, and he who rules his spirit than he who takes a city” (Proverbs 16:32). Godliness gives you a freedom that runs deeper than any other: freedom from tyranny of self and slavery to sin. As Jesus promises, “If you abide in my word, you are truly my disciples, and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free” (John 8:31–32). Godliness gives you contentment, which is greater gain than any stockpile of earthly treasure. “Godliness with contentment is great gain, for we brought nothing into the world, and we cannot take anything out of the world” (1 Timothy 6:6–7).

Do you want power or freedom or lasting, secure gain? You’ll find the best, and the only reliable, form of all of those goods in godliness. So, work to continually recalibrate your motives.

Form Transforming Habits

In order to do this, you need to form transforming habits, especially Scripture study, meditation, and prayer in private and with others. Donald Whitney’s book Spiritual Disciplines for the Christian Life is a practical, challenging guide to these, as is David Mathis’s Habits of Grace.

If you’re not in the habit of regularly communing with Jesus through time in his word and prayer, here’s how I’d encourage you to start. Whatever your morning schedule looks like, get up a little earlier, even just twenty or thirty minutes. Read something in Scripture — could be a Psalm or a chapter of Proverbs, could be the passage your pastor is going to preach the next Sunday — and find something to turn into prayer.

What in the passage can you praise God for? What sins in your life does the passage reveal? What reason does the passage give you to thank God? What does it teach you to ask God for? Turn Scripture reading into prayer and even a short time with Christ can become a regularly refueling engine of daily transformation into his character.

Get New Models

Everyone has models. Even if you don’t consciously admit it, styling yourself as an intrepid individualist, chances are there are men you strive to be like. Whether in matters personal or professional, superficial or substantive, there are men you know, or at least know of, that you want to be like. And if you haven’t been self-consciously striving for godliness for the past several years, then chances are, you need new models.

“Find the godliest men you can, get as close to them as you can, and learn as much from them as you can.”

So find the godliest men you can, get as close to them as you can, and learn as much from them as you can. That’s what the apostle Paul told the whole Philippian church to do: “Brothers, join in imitating me, and keep your eyes on those who walk according to the example you have in us” (Philippians 3:17). And again, “What you have learned and received and heard and seen in me—practice these things, and the God of peace will be with you” (Philippians 4:9).

Find Ways to Father

One nearly universal definition of manhood is to produce more than you consume (see, for instance Roy Baumeister, Is There Anything Good About Men?, 195). It’s easy to see how that works in an economic, material sense: to provide for a family, you need to earn more than you use. You must be a generator of surpluses. And working hard so as to provide for others is a basic biblical imperative that especially lands on men’s shoulders (1 Timothy 5:8).

But this shorthand definition of manhood — that you produce more than you consume — doesn’t just apply to bringing home bacon. It has deep spiritual relevance as well. We all have burdens, and we need help bearing them (Galatians 6:2). We all have limited wisdom, and so we all need counselors (Proverbs 24:6). But a spiritually productive man is one who is a net burden-bearer, and a net wisdom-dispenser, a net exporter to others of spiritual good and gain. So strive to be a spiritual producer. Strive to have your desires so under control, your heart so aligned with God’s will, and your mind so transformed by his word, that you store up a surplus of spiritual help that you can regularly share out with others.

“Fatherhood, both natural and spiritual, is the distinctive shape of masculine maturity.”

Another way to say this is, find ways to father. If you’re the father of children, train them in all God’s ways (Ephesians 6:4). If you’re unmarried and desire to be married, pursue the kind of holiness, competence, leadership ability, and maturity that will make you not only attractive husband material but ready and eager to be a father. Fatherhood, both natural and spiritual, is the distinctive shape of masculine maturity. A father provides and protects. What kind of man do you need to become in order to faithfully provide for and protect others in both material and spiritual ways?

Make Membership Matter

Finally, make membership matter — meaning church membership. The New Testament assumes that all Christians will belong to local gatherings of Christians that assemble regularly and are mutually, self-consciously committed to each other (for example, 1 Corinthians 5:1–13). I’m putting this last, but in some ways it really goes first.

Church membership is the crucial, formative context for these other five items that have come before. Finding, committing to, and throwing yourself into a gospel-preaching church is the best way to regularly expose yourself to the character of God, reminders of gospel motives for godliness, help in forming spiritually fruitful habits, godly models to follow, and opportunities to bear others’ burdens and build them up in love.

These six points are just a start, hopefully a jump-start, for the long, often difficult journey of growing more godly. But the good news about church membership is that, when you regularly gather with a body of believers who are committed to Christ and each other, every single Sunday is a fresh start. And fellowship with other godly men who are striving in the same direction can continually refresh your heart in your quest to be more like Christ.

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