I must have heard those words from 1 Corinthians 11 a thousand times in church as I was growing up. Different denominations celebrate the Lord's Supper in different ways, but each one holds truth and mystery. My Baptist church passed around plates of cubed bread and tiny cups of grape juice once per month; some churches use wafers, some use wine, some tear pieces from a loaf of bread to dip in the grape juice or wine, some drink from a communal cup. I'm no theologian, so I can't explain the ins and outs of each denomination's practice, but I appreciate the beauty and symbolism from a layperson's perspective.
A few years ago, I read an idea that changed the way I looked at the Lord's Supper. I knew what Jesus' sacrifice meant, and I knew to approach the table with a repentant heart and introspection. But what does that mean once I've left the table? In her book "Interrupted," Jen Hatmaker breaks down Jesus' words from that meal in a way that brings them out of the lofty upper room and into our messy lives. She notes that, when Jesus said "Do this in remembrance of me," the "this" he was referring to was the breaking of his body and shedding of his blood as much as it was of breaking the bread and pouring the wine. Do this in remembrance of me--break your body as a service to others. Do this in remembrance of me--pour out your blood as a sacrifice for others. Constantly make my sacrifice real.
Taking a communion wafer and tiny glass of grape juice once per month or once per quarter and making yourself feel repentant feelings is easy; breaking your body and shedding your blood is hard. But I believe it is what we are called to. I don't believe everyone will literally lose blood in service to others, and not everyone might feel the aches and pains in their bodies after giving of themselves, but I think more of us need to be open to the idea that God might be calling us to just such a place.
Jesus' words came to me this week as I lay in my bed, body aching from the malaria I've been fighting off, sweat dripping off my forehead from the fever, head pounding with a week-long headache: this is my body, broken for you. A body that would not have been broken like this had I stayed teaching in America. I sobbed as I thought about how grateful I was to be allowed to serve Jesus in these children, even when it meant being physically broken.
Americans generally have a difficult time giving up comfort. People I spoke to back home before moving to Kenya seemed most surprised about the comforts I was giving up, and most concerned about the potential for physical suffering I could face. But this is where I am called to, and sacrifice is what we are all called to. You may not be called to Kenya where you could find yourself fighting off malaria, but wherever you are called will be uncomfortable in its own way. It might not be safe. But, as Mr. Beaver described Aslan in "The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe," He's not safe, but He's good.
"Do not be afraid of those who can kill the body but cannot kill the soul." --Matthew 10:28
Do this in remembrance of him; break your body, shed your blood, and constantly make his love and sacrifice real. In this way, we proclaim the Lord's death until he comes.
