In Genesis 22, we find the story of Abraham being told to offer his son Isaac on Mt. Moriah. We can only imagine his agony as he takes his son “Isaac, whom you love” on that three-day death march. Could he look him in the eye? Could he sleep at night? As a father, I can’t begin to imagine.
It must have torn Abraham apart when his son innocently asked, “Behold, the fire and the wood, but where is the lamb for a burnt offering?” All he could say was, “The Lord will provide.” And provide He did. Abraham tied his son, laid him on the altar and prepared to kill him as he had done so many times with animals he had offered. But this offering was his son. He went so far as to raise his arm to kill Isaac when an angel of the Lord stopped him. And a substitute was provided, a ram that Abraham could offer instead of his own son.
Years later, another man stood on Moriah. His name was David and he came seeking a substitute, seeking to offer the sacrifice that would stop the slaughter of his people. We read in 2 Samuel 24 how he bought a threshing floor and offered a sacrifice to stop the plague that had been sent to punish him for his arrogance. Later David’s son, Solomon, built a temple, building it on Moriah, on the very spot where his father had offered that sacrifice. Thousands of animals were offered there, offered as a substitute for God’s people.
Then came the day when God offered His own Son. All of creation watched and waited, knowing that this was the God of substitutes, the God of mercy. Where would the substitute come from this time? But there was none to be offered, for Jesus was the substitute. “But he was wounded for our transgressions; he was crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the chastisement that brought us peace, and with his stripes we are healed. All we like sheep have gone astray; we have turned—every one—to his own way; and the LORD has laid on him the iniquity of us all.” (Isaiah 53:5-6)
It’s that sacrifice that we remember as we eat the bread and drink from the cup.

In the modern world, with the spread of restaurants, we’ve grown accustomed to eating in the company of strangers. Many of us have eaten in a roomful of people where we knew no one by name. This would have been almost unheard of in the ancient world, particularly in the Middle East. Sharing a meal with someone implied a bond, almost like family, a pledge of mutual aid and mutual protection. Violating that bond was an act of treachery, as seen in Psalm 41: “Even my close friend, whom I trusted, he who shared my bread, has lifted up his heel against me.” (Psalms 41:9) To share bread with someone and then betray them was a terrible thing.
John emphasizes this aspect of Judas’ betrayal when he tells this scene from the Last Supper: “After he had said this, Jesus was troubled in spirit and testified, “I tell you the truth, one of you is going to betray me.” His disciples stared at one another, at a loss to know which of them he meant. One of them, the disciple whom Jesus loved, was reclining next to him. Simon Peter motioned to this disciple and said, “Ask him which one he means.” Leaning back against Jesus, he asked him, “Lord, who is it?” Jesus answered, “It is the one to whom I will give this piece of bread when I have dipped it in the dish.” Then, dipping the piece of bread, he gave it to Judas Iscariot, son of Simon. As soon as Judas took the bread, Satan entered into him. “What you are about to do, do quickly,” Jesus told him, but no one at the meal understood why Jesus said this to him. Since Judas had charge of the money, some thought Jesus was telling him to buy what was needed for the Feast, or to give something to the poor. As soon as Judas had taken the bread, he went out. And it was night.” (John 13:21-30) Jesus made sure that Judas realized the full impact of what he was doing.
As we come together to share the Lord’s Supper, we experience a similar moment. By taking the bread and the wine, we not only make a pledge of faithfulness to God, we also proclaim the depth of our fellowship with one another. When we accept the offered bread, we accept our responsibility to one another; as we receive the cup, we receive one another in fellowship. Sharing the bread makes us one. Sharing the cup unites us. This moment is truly a fellowship meal.

Jay Guin, over at www.oneinjesus.info, says that writing about communion meditations is a great way to drive traffic to you site. Since I’m all about the numbers, I thought I’d jump on that bandwagon.

No, seriously, his comment reminded me that years ago I had begun a list of passages that could be edifying reading during the Lord’s Supper (for those of us who tire of hearing 1 Corinthians 11:23-26 week in, week out). I thought I might share some of those over the next few weeks. Before I jump in, I’m more than open to hearing some of your suggestions of favorite passages for that setting. [And yes, those who feel inclined to do so can state up front that you think we totally misunderstand the Lord’s Supper.] What sort of thoughts and readings have helped you over the years?