Eucharist, the Sacrament of Sanctifying Grace

Visible Signs of Invisible Grace: Sacraments for the “Low Church” (Part 4)

Keith D. Stanglin

See Parts One, Two, and Three of this series.  These posts are adapted from my essay, “Visible Signs of Invisible Grace: Sacraments for the ‘Low Church,’” in Distinguishing the Church: Explorations in Word, Sacrament, and Discipline, ed. Greg Peters and Matt Jenson (Eugene: Pickwick, 2019), 69-92.

In my previous post, I discussed how the Lord’s Supper (eucharist) was demoted in Protestant evangelicalism to a merely symbolic action done infrequently.  In light of that analysis, here are a few constructive thoughts on the meaning and practice of the eucharist.

1. Real, Spiritual presence.  I would like to advocate for evangelical consideration of the real, Spiritual presence of Christ in the eucharist.  A brief glance at a couple of biblical passages will help to clarify my position. 

In Luke 24, it is the first day of the week, resurrection day itself, and two disciples walking to Emmaus are joined by a third traveler, whom we know to be the risen Lord.  They do not recognize him or, in that sense, see.  Then they invite him to stay and eat, and the guest quickly becomes the host.  He takes the bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it to them, all liturgical indications of eucharist.  At that moment, they see or recognize him “in the breaking of the bread.”  And then, immediately, he disappears, and they do not see him.  As Jesus’ baptism is paradigmatic, so also this very first Lord’s Day holy communion is a paradigm for all Lord’s Suppers to follow.  Jesus has disappeared from our physical sight; though we eat, he is no longer physically present at the table.  At the same time, our “hearts burn” within us because we do continue to recognize his presence in the breaking of the bread. 

First Corinthians 10 is another passage that has much to teach about the eucharist, most of it indirectly yet at the same time clearly.  The first point is typological.  In speaking of Israel, Paul says that they were all baptized.  He then observes that “they all ate the same Spiritual food and they all drank the same Spiritual drink, for they were drinking from the Spiritual rock that followed them, and the rock was Christ” (1 Cor. 10:3–4).  The context of the whole passage indicates a comparison between Israel and the Corinthian Christians, who, though sharing in blessings from God, are in danger of falling.  In the midst of the discussion, Paul clearly links the bread and cup of holy communion both with the Spirit and with Christ.  As God’s chosen people, while we share physical elements, it is also Spiritual food and drink, and this nourishment is intimately connected with Christ, who, like the rock, is present with his people as the source of these blessings and who constantly accompanies (“follows”) God’s people in the wilderness period of testing.  

Christ’s special presence at the Lord’s Supper is also evident later in the same chapter (1 Cor. 10:16-20).  As with many things in 1 Corinthians, we must find the positive point by listening to Paul’s rebuke of the church.  Their sharing in meals at the pagan temples made them “communers” (κοινωνοί) with those gods, or demons.  You cannot do that, Paul says.  Instead, your participation in the bread and the cup of blessing makes you communers with Christ.  In this meal, you have communion, or fellowship (κοινωνία), with the body and blood of Christ.  To be communers with Christ means that, though God is omnipresent and his Spirit is always with us, Christ is present at the table in a special way. 

As noted in my previous post, over the centuries, Christians have argued about what it means to say that Christ is present at the table.  For evangelicals, the truth should be located somewhere between the two extremes.  The elements are not literal flesh and blood, and so 1) participation is not cannibalism.  When the Word became flesh, he took on a real human body subject to all the same physical limitations of space, and so 2) his body in its human nature, to this day, is not omnipresent, not on thousands of tables at once consumed by millions.[1]  3) When the Bible says Jesus is the Lamb, this doesn’t mean he is a literal baby sheep with wool and a tail, any more than saying this is his body, especially while he was at the table with the Twelve, means that it is a piece of his literal, physical human body.  Otherwise, what would we expect the physical Jesus to be handling and giving to his disciples?  On these points, Zwingli was probably correct.

At the same time, the elements are neither meaningless nor for mere remembrance.  In this meal, God sends his Spirit to mediate the presence of Christ to those who partake, and so it’s not just ordinary bread and cup anymore.  It is similar to baptism.  The gracious, efficacious presence of Christ in the Lord’s Supper says no more or less than the salvific efficacy of baptism.  There is nothing inherently special about the water, but God chooses to convey grace at an objective moment, through the application of the physical element.  And so the water, by God’s grace, becomes for us the means of salvation, a channel of justifying grace, the blood that washes away sins.  There is no chemical change to the water; it’s still just H2O.  It is not that the water can have no ordinary use before or after baptism, or that it cannot be drained into the same system as other waste water.   Likewise, since the meal is communion with Christ, and since he said we must eat his flesh and drink his blood, then the bread and cup become for us the body and blood of Christ.  There is no chemical, substantial, or literal change in the elements themselves.  But as our communion with God is real, God chooses, through his Spirit, to mediate to us the real, Spiritual presence of Christ, conveying grace that sanctifies us as we eat.  And so we say, w/ Scripture, that this is body and blood.  The elements of bread and cup are holy things for the holy people of God.  They are the body and blood of Christ, but not in a literal way that enables latreia of the elements or forbids any type of ordinary use after the eucharist.

Based on these biblical passages, we can ask, “If Christ is not present in this meal, then what, after all, is the point?”  The main point is that, if this is communion with Christ, then Christ is present—for our redemption and our sanctification.  As long as this main point is affirmed, we should not condemn those groups who believe in the literal bodily presence, but we should grieve that those same groups have condemned the rest, and that, as in Corinth, the Lord’s Supper has become a means of Christian division.

2. Sanctifying grace.  The point about whether grace is conveyed in the Lord’s Supper is rather simple: If and when God is present with his people for their redemption, then grace follows.  The grace that accompanies God’s special presence in a liturgical context is clearly seen in Isaiah 6.  The prophet, since he is “a man of unclean lips,” is certain that he deserves to die, and he is certainly correct.  Rather than perishing, though, he is spared, his sinful lips cleansed with a burning coal, and he is given a task in God’s kingdom.  This is sanctifying grace.  Such grace can also be seen in meals eaten in God’s presence.  In Exodus 24:9-11, the leaders of Israel ascend the mountain with Moses to eat in the presence of God.  They see God, but God does not “raise his hand against” them.  This is grace.  In John 6, the immediate context may not be eucharistic, but the language clearly is.  Following on the heels of the pre-eucharistic feeding of the 5,000, Jesus says, “Whoever eats my flesh and drinks my blood has eternal life” (Jn. 6:54).  If Christ is present in the eucharist, as already established, then grace follows. 

The sanctifying “grace” that Christ bestows on those who come to the table in faith is a direct result of Christ’s special presence.  The invitation to come to God’s table is an act of divine grace.  The sign—the physical eating and the nourishment that it provides—coincides with the grace signified—the spiritual nourishment that makes God’s people partakers of the divine nature.  Because holy communion draws God’s people into closer union with him, it is, as the Areopagite recognized, the sacrament of divinization. 

3. Frequency.  As we observed in the previous post, most Protestants do not take holy communion every Lord’s Day.  The early American Restoration Movement emphasized the Lord’s Supper as a weekly table, the center of the Lord’s Day assembly.  Thus, frequent communion became a hallmark of the Restoration Movement and, if not a scandal, at least a puzzle to evangelicals.  And this rhythm is still the case in Churches of Christ today.  The Lord’s Supper is taken every Sunday and only on Sunday.  At its worst, it can become ex opere operato; it is how you “punch your card” or “make it count.”  At best, however, the practice accompanies the recognition that the first day of the week, the day of resurrection, has theological significance for the church, that there is something truly special and indispensable about the Lord’s Day eucharist. 

Here is a thesis that should be tested: The same reason that the church gathers every first day of the week is the same reason the church eats the Lord’s Supper every first day of the week.  To put the point more clearly: Whatever reason one would like to give for not taking the Lord’s Supper every Sunday should be as good a reason for not meeting for worship every Sunday.  Whatever reason one would provide in favor of meeting for worship every Sunday should be as good a reason for taking the Lord’s Supper every Sunday.  For example, if “x” is no good reason for one, it is also no good reason for the other.  Therefore, why would one gather to celebrate the resurrection of Christ, on resurrection day, and omit the very meal that he gave us to celebrate it with? 

The most common reason given by evangelicals against the weekly eucharist is the danger of frequent communion leading to an empty ritual done by rote.  This concern is mentioned by Millard Erickson, cited previously.  This concern would make for a very weak argument against the regular practice of anything important.  In fact, almost every Christian I talk to about this, regardless of their denominational affiliation, agrees that there is no good reason for not having the Lord’s Supper every Sunday.  Thus, many Protestants are coming around to more frequent, and even weekly, eucharist.  Many evangelical churches that have no denominational ties are taking the Lord’s Supper weekly.  Moreover, many churches that are tied to denominations that historically have not practiced weekly eucharist are now reconsidering.  There is no real theological point at stake in support of holy communion less than every Sunday.

Weekly Lord’s Supper is, in fact, the emerging ecumenical consensus.  “As the eucharist celebrates the resurrection of Christ, it is appropriate that it should take place at least every Sunday. As it is the new sacramental meal of the people of God, every Christian should be encouraged to receive communion frequently.”[2]  If we are concerned to elevate our thinking and language about holy communion, then perhaps the best way to begin to do this is through weekly Lord’s Supper.  Contrary to the old idea that frequent communion somehow cheapens it, weekly eucharist rather emphasizes the importance and centrality of this practice and opens the door to thinking about the presence of Christ and the grace conveyed in the sacrament. 

Stand by for the final installment of “Visible Signs of Invisible Grace.”

Read part 1 of this series

Read part 2 of this series

Read part 3 of this series

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[1] I acknowledge this second point to be the most debatable of my three points. On another day, I could argue that God can in fact grant a physical body such properties, analogous to the multiplying of the five loaves, and similar to the Lutheran Martin Chemnitz’s doctrine of multivolipraesentia.

[2] BEM, Eucharist, III.31.