The Lord’s Supper. The Lord’s Table. The Holy Meal. The Eucharist. Communion. These all refer to the same sacrament that has marked Christ-followers through the ages.
I grew up knowing that it was a sacred practice but not really thinking of it as anything more than crackers and juice that we would have every first Sunday of the month to “remember the death of Jesus.” When I moved to Vancouver, I started attending a service that celebrated it weekly. I’m not sure if it was the frequent repetition of the act or something the Holy Spirit was working in me (probably both), but in the last half a year, I’ve noticed that this practice of partaking the bread and the wine (in my case, juice) began to take on deeper meaning for me.
This past Sunday, as I came up to the communion server and tore off a piece of bread, I was embarrassed that the bread came off in a big chunk. I was left holding a lot more than what I usually would take. As I knelt to receive the bread dipped in juice, I told God as much. I felt Him respond to me, “I wanted you to have a bigger piece today. It is a symbol of the extra portion of grace I want to give you. You will need a large measure of grace in this coming week.” In that mysterious moment, He nourished me and promised me sustenance for the week ahead that I already know will not be an easy one.