Remembering

Recently, I drove to the grocery store feeling unusually confident.

My wife, Donna, had asked me to pick up only two things. Two! This was going to be easy. We have an agreement: if the list contains more than three items, she sends it to me in a text—usually with a whole bunch of ❤️ attached. But with only two things to remember, I did not need a written list.

I had this under control.

On the way to the store, however, I thought of two things I wanted to pick up for myself. That brought my total to four.

Not good.

As I pulled into the grocery store parking lot, I suddenly realized that the two things Donna wanted had completely dropped out of my brain. The only things I could remember were the two items I wanted for myself.

Once inside, doubt began to creep in. I walked up and down the aisles, staring at shelves and hoping something would trigger my memory.

It is amazing how quickly something can disappear from my mind. One moment, I am confident that I have everything under control. The next, I am standing in aisle seven, staring at canned vegetables and questioning everything.

That is why I am so grateful for the text message Jesus sent me in Luke 22:18–20. On the night before His crucifixion, Jesus gave His disciples something by which to remember Him: the bread and the wine.

He took the bread, gave thanks, broke it and said:

“This is my body given for you; do this in remembrance of me.”

Then He took the cup and said:

“This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you.”

Jesus knew how easily His followers could forget. He knew that His disciples would soon face fear, confusion, disappointment and persecution. He knew that, under the pressure of life, they might lose sight of what His death meant.

He also knew that people like me would need to be reminded again and again.

So He gave us something tangible: bread we can hold and eat, and wine we can see and drink.

Jesus did not go to the cross as an abstract theological idea. He gave Himself for real people with real sins, real failures, real fears and real regrets. He gave Himself for people like me.

When I hold the bread, I am reminded that Jesus willingly took my place. When I see the cup, I am reminded that the price for my forgiveness has already been paid. I do not have to hide from God, bargain with Him or prove that I am worthy of His love.

Jesus knew everything about me—the good, the bad and everything I would rather no one else know—and He still chose the cross… for me!

That is what the bread and the cup mean to me.

They remind me that I am known completely and loved completely.

More than a private reminder

The bread and the cup were never intended to be merely private reminders. They were meant to be shared by the gathered body of believers.

Paul explains this in 1 Corinthians 10:16:

“The cup of blessing which we bless, is it not the communion of the blood of Christ? The bread which we break, is it not the communion of the body of Christ?” —1 Corinthians 10:16, KJV

The word translated “communion” is the Greek word koinonia. It carries the meaning of sharing, fellowship, participation and partnership. It describes more than being in the same room or observing the same ceremony. It points to a shared relationship and a common participation in something together.

This is where we get the name “communion.”

When I take communion, I am not only remembering that I belong to Jesus. I am also remembering that I belong to His people.

That matters to me because faith can sometimes feel very personal and private. It is easy for me to think of my relationship with Jesus as something that exists only between Him and me. But when I receive the bread and the cup alongside other believers, I am reminded that I am part of something much larger than myself.

We come from different backgrounds. We have different personalities, struggles and stories. Yet we gather around the same table because we need the same grace.

Communion tells me that I do not have to follow Jesus alone.

The main thing that really impacted me was the new covenant Jesus was inviting us into with His sacrifice on the cross.

The old covenant, established with Israel through Moses, revealed God’s holiness and showed people how far sin had separated them from Him. Its priests and repeated sacrifices pointed to humanity’s need for forgiveness—but they also pointed forward to something better.

That “something better” was Jesus.

Under the old covenant, sacrifices had to be offered again and again. Under the new covenant, Jesus offered Himself once for all. The old covenant exposed sin; the new covenant brings forgiveness and changes us from within. Access to God was once restricted, but through Jesus we are invited to approach Him with confidence.

That is why the Lord’s Supper is more than a religious ritual to me. It is an invitation to stop, look back and remember. I’m under the new covenant.

When life becomes busy, the bread and the cup call me back.

When guilt whispers that I am not good enough, they remind me that grace was never based on my goodness.

When fear makes me wonder whether God has forgotten me, they remind me that Jesus has already demonstrated the depth of His love.

When I feel alone, communion reminds me that I belong to Christ and to His people.

The bread says, “His body was given for me.”

The cup says, “His blood was poured out for me.”

The communion we share says, “I belong to Christ, and I am not alone.”

Together, they say, “The new covenant has been established. The price has been paid. I have not been forgotten.”

I may forget two things on the way to the grocery store. I may wander through the aisles trying to reconstruct a list that seemed perfectly clear only minutes earlier.

But Jesus has given me a reminder of something I must never lose sight of.

I am forgiven.

I am loved.

I am welcome at His table.

I am bound together with Christ in the new covenant.

I belong to Him.