By Ron Davis

One of the curious elements of the Passover Jesus shared with his apostles in the upper room, as recorded in Luke 22:14-20, is the comment, “he gave thanks.” Thanks? For what exactly? Jesus is hours away from being arrested, cruelly abused, and murdered in humiliation. And he knows it full well. Thanks! For what?

For the material elements themselves? A simple “loaf” of unleavened bread, the commonest of food, better suited to fill a stomach than to nourish. The drinkable juice of a plant that grew clusters so large and plentiful and of which some shriveled on the vine or fell to the ground unharvested for lack of need and interest?

Why, “Yes!” Of course. As we are often reminded in the Scriptures: Every good and perfect gift comes down from above! That bread and that juice represent all the wonderful things of the earth—all the food and drink—that we need and enjoy. All are gifts from God and worthy of thanksgiving.

Were his words thanks for the memories elicited by those elements?

Bob Hope sang, “Thanks for the Memories” to countless thousands. (Did he ever recall those occasions he had looked into the faces of young men and women who might well be within a few hours or days of sacrificing themselves for the one-time ideals of a nation?)

Why, “Yes!” Of course. For the Jews, memories of Passover were to be goaded by the sharp stick of an annual celebration. God has delivered his people from bondage of cruel Egyptians who think them to be property. Lest we forget . . . we are here to remember. And for us it is a weekly remembrance, much more suited to our greater deliverance, deliverance from the bondage of sin itself!

Yet there are events related to those elements that have not yet occurred at the occasion of Luke 22. Jesus’ body has not yet been broken; his blood has not yet been shed. We have the greater, the richer memories.

Were Jesus’ words thanks for the meaning of the whole occasion?

Would this be the same as when the children of Hebrew families at Passover asked, “What mean ye by this service?” (Exodus 12:26, King James Version). Perhaps, the better translation of that verse is in the New International Version, “What does this ceremony mean to you?” (author’s emphasis).

So, here I stand—the child at your table—asking, “What does this mean to you?”

Are you here with thanksgiving?

For the material elements?

For the memories?

For the meaning?

Our answer must be, “Yes! Of course!”

Ron Davis loves “standing at the cross” reverently and thankfully each week at the Lord’s table of grace and sensing God’s love.

By Diane Stortz

When the prophet Samuel led Israel, he told them, “Direct your heart to the Lord and serve him only, and he will deliver you” (1 Samuel 7:3*).

Later on, near the end of King David’s life, the people of Israel followed David’s lead and joyfully contributed to building materials for the future temple. Then David prayed, “O Lord, the God of Abraham, Isaac, and Israel, our fathers, keep forever such purposes and thoughts in the hearts of your people, and direct their hearts toward you” (1 Chronicles 29:18).

In the New Testament, Jesus tells us to seek God’s kingdom. The apostle Paul says, “Look carefully then how you walk, not as unwise but as wise” (Ephesians 5:15).

We live in the kingdom of light, but we can easily turn our attention back toward the kingdom of darkness—it is all around us. We have to choose frequently to direct our hearts toward God and away from whatever distracts us.

But God knows our hearts, and he helps us. One of the best ways is right here in front of us, right now. We call it our time of Communion.

“Do this,” Jesus said, “in remembrance of me” (Luke 22:19). Paul wrote, “For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes” (1 Corinthians 11:26).

Jesus promised to be with us whenever two or more gather in his name. So he is here at this table with us—just think of that! But there’s no spiritual hocus-pocus in this bread and fruit of the vine—our sins aren’t forgiven because we eat and drink it.

No. Our Lord gave us this time of Communion so we will regularly direct our hearts to what God’s Son did for us, and so we will look ahead to our hope in Heaven and be strengthened to cling to the risen King of kings who is coming again.

Around this table, with this bread and juice and with our Savior in our midst, we direct our hearts to remember and proclaim what we know is true: “This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood,” Jesus said (Luke 22:20). “This is my body, which is given for you” (Luke 22:19).

________

*Scripture quotations are from the English Standard Version of the Bible.

Diane Stortz is the author of A Woman’s Guide to Reading the Bible in a Year (Bethany House) and other books. Her newest book, for the littlest learners, is Say & Pray Devotions (Tommy Nelson). 

By Diane Stortz

Have you ever longed for a clear conscience?

A man named Saul had reason to think about this too. Before Saul became a believer, he zealously persecuted Christians—rounding them up and throwing them in prison, standing by as a crowd of angry Jews stoned and killed a young believer named Stephen. Then Saul met Jesus on the road to Damascus. Saul became Paul the apostle, one of the leaders of the early church and the writer of much of the New Testament.

As Paul looked back at his life, he called himself the worst of sinners (1 Timothy 1:16). Yet he also wrote that as a Christian he served God “with a clear conscience” (2 Timothy 1:3)! He wrote about forgetting the past and pressing forward (Philippians 3:13, 14). The past didn’t seem to have a hold on Paul—he didn’t let it define who he was or impact his decisions in the present. How did he do that?

Paul wrote something else that gives us a clue: “Don’t boast about following a particular human leader. For everything belongs to you—whether Paul or Apollos or Peter, or the world, or life and death, or the present and the future. Everything belongs to you, and you belong to Christ, and Christ belongs to God” (1 Corinthians 3:21-23, New Living Translation). What did Paul say about the past in those verses? Nothing! It was a nonissue.

The past belongs to God. It’s the present and the future that are ours.

We do need to deal with the consequences of our past actions and inactions. We might need to apologize, or tell the truth, or find out why we did what we did, or make amends if we can. These healing steps are essential and biblical. But the past itself—with all its guilt and embarrassment or shame—that’s gone, if Jesus is our Savior.

The bread and the cup of Communion represent Christ’s body and blood. They remind us of his sacrifice that removes our past and gives us a clear conscience. In the freedom that results we can resist temptation, reject the accusations of Satan, and serve God. The past is gone.

Diane Stortz is a freelance editor and the author of A Woman’s Guide to Reading the Bible in a Year (Bethany House), which will be available in January. She lives in Cincinnati, Ohio.

By Diane Stortz

A young woman visited a service and was surprised by how Communion was served. The elements representing Jesus’ body and blood were placed on tables around the perimeter of the room, and worshippers got out of their seats and walked to one of the tables.

Some people ate the bread and drank the juice right at the tables. Some took the elements back to their seats for reflection and prayer. Some people stayed seated and prayed awhile before they went to one of the tables. Still others picked up the bread and juice and then gathered as couples, families, or groups of friends to pray and share Communion together.

The young woman found herself watching the scene, entranced. It’s a beautiful sight, she thought, everyone in the body remembering Christ.

The Bible says Christians are the body of Christ (Ephesians 1:23). Around the world we’re his body, and right here today, in this room, we are too:

The people we like and the people we don’t like so much.

People we admire . . . and people who “just don’t get it”—whatever our particular “it” is.

People who are healthy and people who are sick.

People who are doing well and people who are struggling.

People who are new here and people who are always here.

Young people and old people.

People like me, and people like you, here, today.

The apostle Paul wrote that we need to recognize the body of the Lord during Communion (1 Corinthians 11:29). The Christians he wrote to were having a hard time with that. They gathered for a meal together before Communion, but not everyone got to eat—some in the church who were quite poor came without any food, and no one was sharing with them. Paul said the people in that church needed to really see one another in order to see the body and blood of Christ during Communion. How we relate to one another is that important! In fact, Hebrews 12:15 says, “Look after each other so that none of you fails to receive the grace of God” (New Living Translation).

Maybe during Communion today we could lift our heads and open our eyes and look around at each other for a minute.

Because Jesus didn’t die just for you or just for me. He died for us.

Diane Stortz is a freelance editor and the author of A Woman’s Guide to Reading the Bible in a Year (Bethany House), which will be available in January. She lives in Cincinnati, Ohio.

By Daniel Schantz

“A man of sorrows, and acquainted with grief” (Isaiah 53:3, King James Version).

Sorrow does not take a holiday at Christmas. One of America’s most comforting Christmas anthems, “I Heard the Bells on Christmas Day,” was composed by a man fluent in the language of grief. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow was a popular professor and poet at Harvard in 1850, but he paid a price for his greatness.

Although he loved students, he found teaching to be “a grinding mill.” He suffered from stomach distress, arthritis, vertigo, and depression. At one point he said, “I hate the sight of pen, ink, and paper.” In midlife his eyes failed, and his wife became his scribe.

Longfellow lived through radical change when his quiet, romantic New England life was interrupted by thousands of European immigrants arriving to work in mills and factories, triggering racial conflicts. His peaceful world was disturbed by new technology: the scream of train whistles, the “clang clang” of fire engines, and the roar of factory machines. Then came the distant thunder of Civil War cannons.

Longfellow’s first wife, Mary, died early on, as did one of his daughters. In midlife, his second wife, Frances, was severely burned when her dress caught fire from a candle flame. She died the next day. Longfellow was left desolate.

It has been said that if a man can be cheerful when everything goes wrong, then his faith is genuine. Longfellow’s poetry virtually sings with hope! His favorite words were life, heart, joy, love, and God. When he got the news that his son, Charles, had been wounded in the Civil War, he sat down and wrote, “God is not dead, nor doth He sleep; the wrong shall fail, the right prevail . . .”

Our Lord, like Longfellow, was well acquainted with grief. He was surrounded by swarms of desperate people, longing for healing. His own students often misunderstood him. His enemies stalked him and finally prevailed, hammering him to a cross and then hiding his battered remains in a sealed and guarded tomb..

It looked like the end of the world, but from the gutter of grief came the most positive sentence ever spoken: “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in Me will live, even though they die” (John 11:25).

Today, at the Lord’s table, we remember the “wild and sweet” words of “peace on earth, good will to men,” made possible by our Savior, who transformed grief into the gift of everlasting life.

Daniel Schantz is a professor emeritus of Central Christian College of the Bible, Moberly, Missouri.

By Daniel Schantz

“So Peter went out and wept bitterly” (Luke 22:62, New King James Version).

It’s a crisp December Monday, as you ramp onto the freeway. There is a slight mist on the windshield, but it is nothing to worry about.

You are feeling good. You had biscuits and gravy for breakfast. The radio is playing your favorite oldies. You are driving a brand new car, the one you have been thinking about for five years. It has everything you ever wanted in a car.

As you come around the first bend, the mist on the windshield turns white, and suddenly you are sliding sideways. A shudder of terror comes over you, and carefully you turn the wheel, but now you are in a slalom, and the brakes are worthless. There is a car parked by the side of the road, someone using his cell phone, and you are headed right for him.

“Oh, dear God, help me!” you pray, right before the front of your new car crumples like a cardboard box and the airbag slams into your face.

The rest is a blur, but now it’s midnight and you are safe in bed, happy to be alive, with no injuries. The accident replays itself over and over in your mind, each time turning out the same. One phrase runs through your mind like an echo. “If only . . . if only . . . if only . . . if only.”

“If only I had taken the old car, the junker.”

“If only I had been going just a bit slower.”

If only. The trouble with “if only,” is that it focuses on the past, and the past cannot be changed.

We say it all the time, and it’s a waste of breath.

“If only I had not sent that e-mail.”

“If only I had been a better wife.”

Truth is, we don’t know how things would have turned out, even if we had done them differently. If you had taken the old junker to work, you might be dead right now, since it doesn’t have airbags. You could have been the perfect wife and your marriage might still have ended.

Simon Peter wept after he had denied his Master. He probably said to himself, “If only I didn’t have such a big mouth. If only I were stronger. If only I had just gone home.” But after a time of weeping, he got up and faced the only thing that can be changed—the future. And what a future it was, as he delivered the keynote address on the Day of Pentecost and opened the gates of the kingdom to the Gentile world.

Here at this table, turn your regrets over to God. Cry about what might have been, if you must, but then go on with the future, knowing that you are forgiven.

Daniel Schantz is a professor emeritus of Central Christian College of the Bible, Moberly, Missouri.

By Daniel Schantz

“Enter into His gates with thanksgiving, And into His courts with praise” (Psalm 100:4, New King James Version).

Eucharist is a term for the Lord’s Supper that means “to give thanks.” Giving thanks is something like a digital password to the presence of God, perhaps because it represents humility. When someone does something wonderful for me, I must acknowledge it before I do anything else.

Imagine you are attending a Super Bowl. You have good seats and the stands are full. The game is a nail-bitter to the end, but whenever there is a touchdown, no one stands, cheers, or even applauds. You look around and see spectators sleeping and reading books. Women are doing cross-stitch and children are playing board games. One man is watching birds through his binoculars, and another is enjoying the soaps on his portable TV. When the game is over, the fans shuffle quietly out of the stadium and head for their cars.

What a nightmare!

It’s just as unthinkable when we, who have received so much from God, fail to applaud him for such wonders as keeping the planets in orbit and the oceans in bounds, and for gravity that holds us to the earth. For providing us with an endless supply of delicious food and for providing fuel for our cars. For giving us beautiful children, plus dedicated wives and husbands. Most of all, for making a way for us to escape a dying planet on the wings of resurrection.

Thank you, Lord, for coming here in person, so we could see for ourselves that you are a compassionate person. Thank you for putting up with unspeakable pain, so we could enjoy a Heaven, free from pain.

Thank you for bearing with public shame, so we can hold our heads up high.

Thank you for coming out of the grave and blazing a trail to a place where there are no cemeteries.

Thank you for the promise that you will be back, this time to rescue us from this dark world and to take us to a land of endless light.

Thank you for beating the devil in the Super Bowl of life.

We eat this bread and drink this cup with thanksgiving.

________

Daniel Schantz is a professor emeritus of Central Christian College of the Bible, Moberly, Missouri.

By Daniel Schantz

“A good name is better than precious ointment, And the day of death than the day of one’s birth” (Ecclesiastes 7:1, New King James Version).

There is nothing so magical as the birth of a child, whether it’s a routine birth or a baby that comes in the taxi on the way to the hospital.

There is always that frisson of fear—is the baby normal? Does he have all his fingers and toes? Were there complications? Is mother OK?

And there is curiosity. “Is it a girl? Is it a boy? Is she pretty? Is he cute?”

Suddenly the parent’s well-ordered life is thrown into chaos, as everything suddenly revolves around this helpless child and his constant need for attention.

But with every birth comes a list of unanswered questions. Will he be a good boy when he grows up, or will he go bad? Will he get a good job, or will he be stuck in a job he hates? Will he marry and have children, or will he be lonely? Will he live a long and prosperous life, or will he die young in a terrible accident?

A lot can happen between birth and death.

The birth of Christ was the most thrilling birth in the history of the world. The world has never been the same.

Jesus was a healthy boy, with all his fingers and toes. He was a good boy and he grew up to be a good man, a carpenter and a teacher. He never married, but he was constantly surrounded by people. He died young, a violent and unjust death.

But the day of his death was better than the day of his birth, because his death erased our crimes. He made it possible for us to live beyond shame. His death made possible his resurrection, and his resurrection made possible our resurrection.

The birth of Christ is still a time for merriment and celebration, but here at this table we celebrate a better day, the day of his death.

For three days the world held its breath, wondering if this Christ was just another man or if he really was unstoppable, as he claimed to be.

Now we know, and it’s a good time to ring bells and sing carols. A time to eat and drink and rejoice in the day of our salvation.

Now we wear the name of Christ, a name that is better than precious ointment.

Daniel Schantz is a professor emeritus of Central Christian College of the Bible, Moberly, Missouri.

By Daniel Schantz

“And let us not get tired of doing what is right, for after a while we will reap a harvest of blessing, if we don’t get discouraged and give up” (Galatians 6:9, The Living Bible).

A certain priest had memorized his liturgy, which he said three times a day, every day of the year. Because he had done this for many years, he knew the lines like his own name.

One day he started his ritual, and suddenly his mind went blank. He could not think of the first word. He could not remember ANY of the words! Embarrassed, he reached for his guidebook and read his lines aloud.

Later in the day he wondered. What went wrong? I’ve said those lines maybe 5,000 times. How could I suddenly forget them? As he thought about it, he began to realize that every time he said his lines, he grew more and more weary of them, until finally he had lost all motivation to say them. At this point, his mind rebelled and refused even to let him remember the words.

Doing the same thing over and over again can get boring, or it can stay interesting, depending upon our motivation. Some people think that having the Lord’s Supper every week gets tiresome, but it doesn’t have to be.

Americans eat about six times a day, counting snacks, but we seldom tire of good food.

We sleep several hours every night, but a soft bed is always welcome.

We drive our cars every day, but we are usually eager to go somewhere.

It’s not repetition alone that makes something boring, bur rather our failure to remember our motivation and our failure to pay attention to what we are doing.

If the Lord’s Supper has become old stuff, perhaps I need to go back and read again the happy tale of Christmas, the intriguing story of the life of Christ, the thrilling account of the resurrection.

If the Lord’s Supper is tiresome, perhaps it’s because I am tired. I need to go to bed earlier on Saturday night, so I will be refreshed and able to concentrate on this ceremony.

If the Lord’s Supper seems uninteresting, I need to remember the dark and tangled web of sins that Jesus took away when he stretched out his hands on the cross.

There is nothing boring about forgiveness.

Daniel Schantz is a professor emeritus of Central Christian College of the Bible, Moberly, Missouri.

By Ron Davis

As Jesus died, John stood at the cross. The apostle describes the scene in his Gospel, John 19:25, 26. He is the one who called himself “the disciple whom he loved.” He fully sensed and experienced Jesus’ love. Jesus did love John. He saw in John a young man capable of a lifetime commitment. And that was realized.

John’s love for Jesus is likewise obvious. He saw in Jesus the One long promised, the One who would save. He saw the Word incarnate. That is why he stood at the cross. Heartbroken. He was losing his good Friend. He was losing his favorite Teacher. He was losing the One he had long awaited. Now . . . for John, the future was as uncertain as the future always is. What now?

Certainly John could not envision the future as he stood at the cross. He could not imagine that his own brother would one day die by the sword of Herod, as Luke records in Acts 12:2. He could not look into his own future and see himself as an old, old man living the lonely life of an exile on the small island of Patmos. (That island may have finally contained this “son of thunder,” but he could still boom and startle with the explosive, apocalyptic words of Revelation!)

Probably, John, at the cross, could think only of the fact that there before him, in writhing anguish, was the One he knew loved him. And that is all one needs to think when he or she is standing at the cross.

Tomorrow—the future—is irrelevant.

Joys and sorrows—the business of daily living—inconsequential.

This is the one fact worthy of thought, at the cross: “Jesus loves me; this I know!”

Jesus loves me; this I know,
For the Savior tells me so;
On the cross, by flesh and blood;
He has said it, “You are loved!”

And we must never forget that . . . here . . . here at the cross! Nor there . . . there in our world of the emptied tomb.

Lay aside your thoughts of tomorrow. All the possibilities do not matter here at the cross. Put aside your delights and concerns of today. God is here; he is in control. Here, think this grand truth: Jesus loves me.

Ron Davis loves “standing at the cross” reverently and thankfully each week at the Lord’s table of grace and sensing God’s love. 

By Ronald G. Davis

The Passover of the Hebrew people was inextricably tied to the shedding of blood. How many thousands of Egypt’s firstborn sons had to die to free the Hebrews from their bondage? And how many young and innocent lambs and goats became a hurried meal of roasted flesh? How many gallons of their blood became the blessed stripes on doorjambs and door frames? Exodus 11 and 12 describe the wonderfully awful and bloody events of that solemn and deadly night of redemption.

The Passover when Jesus gathered his devoted—and not-so-devoted—12 friends and disciples in the upper room served the centuries-long purpose: to remind God’s people they were saved by blood! For the ones reclining at the table around Jesus, they were about to face the prophetic reality of all that bloodshed. They would see the blood of the Lamb of God spattered from Roman hall, slowly dripped across the streets of the once holy city, and run down a crude cross onto Golgotha’s stony ground.

Redemption is inextricably tied to the shedding of blood. The biblical writer said it bluntly and profoundly: “The law requires that nearly everything be cleansed with blood, and without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness” (Hebrews 9:22).

Now, cleansing forgiveness no longer requires thousands of firstborn sons—Egyptian or other. It does not require the sacrifice of a single innocent animal, “we have been made holy”—cleansed, that is; forgiven, that is—“through the sacrifice of the body of Jesus Christ once for all” (Hebrews 10:10). One firstborn Son, one “Jesus Christ . . . God, the One and Only” (John 1:17, 18)—he is all that is needed.

His flesh and blood, here represented by the bread and the cup, is all we need. That truth should have us on our feet daily announcing, as the old hymn did, “Redeemed, how I love to proclaim it!”

Cleansed and forgiven! Let us start here . . . at this table. Let us start now . . . in this hour of worship.

________________

Ron Davis, former professor of Christian education at Cincinnati Bible Seminary, resides in North College Hill, Ohio, and serves with Lifespring Christian Church.

By Ronald G. Davis

On the same occasion Jesus put in place this memory meal, he prayed fervently for the unity of those who would assemble around his table. Sadly, this table has often divided those “who believe in him,” the ones for whom he prayed (John 17:20).

Churches have had significant and insignificant disputes about the Lord’s table. There have been disputes over who should be at the table. Over which believers should be present. Over what the emblems should look like. Over how often the emblems should be available. Over such small matters as to when in the worship hour the celebration should be made.

But, every assembly for the bread and the cup must be a focused call for the unity of believers. The basic doctrines of Christianity cry out here: “Incarnation!” and “Sacrificial Atonement!” Jesus, God of creation, became flesh and blood—flesh and blood that would be given freely for the redemption of all people from their sins. That is the unifying truth.

We all share the weaknesses of being flesh and blood, the weakness of decay and death. But thanks be to God for his unfathomable gift for which our words are inadequate: there is life, eternal life, in Christ Jesus. For all who believe that he is the Christ, that he came in the flesh, that he willingly died for us, this table unites.

To sit here, to partake here, is to reaffirm our faith, our unifying faith. To sit here, to partake here is to continue to demonstrate our submission to his lordship. He has said, “Do this!” and so we do. Here we identify with all those who have confessed their faith in him. Here we recognize our unity of faith, the lordship of Christ.

Let no one quibble about who should or should not be here. Let no one quarrel over the manner in which the emblems are presented. Let no one fuss about the placement of these acts in the whole series of worship elements. Let all—in the spirit of unity—affirm loudly: “We believe that Jesus is God’s Christ incarnate and our only redemption and salvation!” And with that affirmation, we partake.

________________

Ron Davis, former professor of Christian education at Cincinnati Bible Seminary, resides in North College Hill, Ohio, and serves with Lifespring Christian Church.

By Becky Ahlberg

“When I survey the wondrous cross, on which the Prince of glory died, my richest gain I count but loss, and pour contempt on all my pride.”

Isaac Watts penned those words in 1707. He was a masterful preacher and poet and was known for writing hymns as part of his sermons. This particular hymn has lasted more than 300 years precisely because it captures the ethos of the cross for each of us personally. Watts was known to have three “rules” for writing: make it personal, make it sensuous (as in appealing to the senses), and make it passionate. He believed that following these rules would make the words memorable and meaningful.

We don’t use the word survey much anymore. We just say “take a good look.” But to survey is so much more. The word actually means to take a “comprehensive view.” As you approach Communion today, please do just that. What do you see? What do you hear? How do you feel? Where do you connect to your own faith? How is it personal for you? How do you react? Do you find things that are personal, sensuous, passionate?

Today, in this moment of reflection, would you take a comprehensive view of the cross “on which the Prince of glory died”? See the wounds from “His head, His hands, His feet” and wonder at how “sorrow and love flow mingled down.” Imagine feeling the thorns that “compose so rich a crown” and imagine their cruel combination of pain and mockery. Think of your own betrayal at times.

Does the view of the cross convict you of your need for it? Does it connect to the picture of a wounded Savior with “love so amazing, so divine,” that it demands your soul, your life, your all?

May we never approach nor leave this table without taking a truly comprehensive view of the price paid for our redemption.

Becky Ahlberg serves as executive director of My Safe Harbor in Anaheim, California. 

By Ronald G. Davis

Sunday again. One hundred sixty-eight hours have passed, and now we are here again. How feebly we apply markers to the times of our lives. Yet we are creatures of time, having been destined to be born into time, to suffer all the joys and vicissitudes time offers, to die and find an end to time.

Here, at this table, week after week, we assemble to remember that Timeless once entered into time. The Timeless One took on the weaknesses of time, so that he could save us from the inherent weaknesses of being creatures of time. A glimpse of the eternal he offers.

As the Spirit spoke through Paul, “But when the set time had fully come, God sent his Son, born of a woman, born under the law, to redeem those under the law, that we might receive adoption to sonship” (Galatians 4:4, 5). And in that adoption we have a taste of timelessness! When we see God’s Son, whose essence is timelessness, willingly take on the restraints of time—in flesh and blood, capable of being born, of living (albeit for only 30 years) and dying—we are overwhelmed by his humiliation. He submitted to time for our benefit, so that we might come to timelessness with him and the Father, forever and ever, Amen.

The elements of this table are products of time: grain grown up from seed, harvested, refined, and made into bread; and grape juice, fruit ripened on old vines planted in the past and now bearing. They are products whose time is coming to an end in our consumption. Yet they represent the Timeless One, Creator of time and all that has and will exist within it.

Now, in this moment in time—at this very hour, this very minute—we have come to meet Timeless, to honor his incarnation into time, to honor his death from time, and, yes, to marvel at his return to Timeless at his resurrection and ascension. Creatures of Time, meet Timeless, here at his table both to honor his time, “born of a woman,” and his timelessness, Everlasting Son of God.

________________

Ron Davis is a retired teacher and active member of LifeSpring Christian Church in Cincinnati, Ohio, where he is privileged to lead Communion meditations regularly.

By Doug Redford

Maybe you’ve heard an expression often shared between two people who love each other: “I love you to the moon and back.” I’m not sure how the expression originated. The meaning is pretty clear; it’s another way of saying, “I love you more than you can even begin to measure.”

Every February, love takes center stage with the celebration of Valentine’s Day. But love takes center stage every Lord’s Day for the followers of Jesus during the observance of Communion. Jesus, literally, loved us to the earth and back.

To the moon and back to earth is estimated at about 480,000 miles. But Jesus came farther. Jesus travelled an immeasurable distance from Heaven to a broken, sin-ravaged earth to tell the people of that world that their creator loved them with a passion and that he was that creator, that passion, in the flesh. Few returned that love; as John notes, “He came to that which was his own, but his own did not receive him” (John 1:11). “He was despised and rejected by mankind,” said Isaiah (Isaiah 53:3). The creator of the moon (John 1:1-3) was not loved “to the moon and back.”

But a love this intense was not deterred from its mission. Jesus died and came forth from the tomb to reverse sin’s curse so that we could become everything our creator intended us to be. He then went back to Heaven, leaving his followers with the responsibility of modeling his love and taking his message to the world.

Paul did not use the expression “to the moon and back” to describe the love of Jesus. He did, however, express his desire that all followers of Jesus should “grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge” (Ephesians 3:18, 19). This is a love that cannot be measured, but is meant to be experienced and shared by those who have come under its life-changing influence.

Paul also tells us that in our observance of Communion, we “proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes” (1 Corinthians 11:26). We anticipate the day when Jesus will once more love us to the earth and back.

Only this time he will take us with him.

Doug Redford serves as minister with Highview Christian Church, Cincinnati, Ohio. 

By Doug Redford

Charles Swindoll’s sister once asked him, “What’s your favorite feeling?”

After some thought, Swindoll replied, “I think it would be accomplishment.” He observed how good it feels to complete a job, whether it’s a project at work, an assignment at school, or a remodeling project at home. I think I’d agree with him. How I enjoy crossing off finished tasks I’ve listed on my desk calendar!

When the task represents years of effort—like the high school and college ceremonies celebrated everywhere this spring—the sense of accomplishment is even greater. Graduates and their families deserve to celebrate.

Jesus, in his prayer recorded in John 17, began with the words, “Father, the hour has come.” That may seem a strange way to start a prayer—but not if you’re about to accomplish the most important mission in history. Earlier, according to John’s Gospel, Jesus had told his mother at the wedding feast in Cana, “My hour has not yet come” (John 2:4, author emphasis). But by the time of his prayer, that hour (according to Heaven’s timeline) had arrived. Jesus acknowledged that truth by continuing to pray in John 17:4, “I have brought you glory on earth by finishing the work you gave me to do.”

This brings us to those simple yet profound words Jesus spoke just before he died: “It is finished.” The cross marked the accomplishment of a crucial, intense mission, one with so much at stake we can’t begin to fathom what it was like for Jesus finally to say, “It is finished.” Then the Scripture tells us, “With that, he bowed his head and gave up his spirit” (John 19:30).

Whenever we take Communion and remember Calvary, let us bow our heads in prayer and give thanks that Jesus completed his to-do list that included a to-die list, on which the name of every human being was written. Each time we remember Jesus through Communion, we affirm, “Mission accomplished.”

Doug Redford serves as minister with Highview Christian Church, Cincinnati, Ohio. 

By Doug Redford

Peter Bronson, a former columnist for The Cincinnati Enquirer, wrote an item for the opinion page that appeared in the paper on July 31, 2005. He entitled it, “Country-road Therapy Soothes the Soul.” In it he wrote, “I’ve heard of physical therapy, occupational therapy, water therapy, and music therapy. I prefer country-road therapy. The prescription is simple: Take a full tank of gas and a summer afternoon, and just drive until the billboards are replaced by barns and the skyscrapers turn into silos.”

“When I had a motorcycle,” he continued, “I spent hours exploring country roads. Mostly I found another world, a place where garish neon signs and strip malls were as rare as freeways, street crime, and traffic jams. It’s still there, just a few miles out of the city—a place where God’s bounty overflows the landscape.”

I enjoyed reading and reflecting on Bronson’s words because they brought to mind the area in south-central Indiana where I grew up and where I always enjoy returning. To get away from Cincinnati, where I live, and be able to migrate to the slower, less harried pace of country life can truly serve as a kind of “therapy.”

There’s another therapy we experience when we approach the time of Communion—Calvary-road therapy. This therapy doesn’t require a full tank of gas to experience. In most cases we take a small cup of juice and a small piece of bread and we go back in our mind’s eye to travel the road that our Savior traveled to Calvary. We get away from the pressures, burdens, and temptations of living in a world infested by sin. We pause at the “rest stop” that Communion provides and find renewed strength and perspective for a new week.

We also reflect on the burdens that Jesus carried to Calvary. First there was the burden of taking his own cross to the place of his execution. Then, once he was nailed to it, he experienced the real burden—dying for the sins of all humanity.

Carrie E. Breck described this so well in a hymn, “Nailed to the Cross,” that my home church (a “country-road” church) often sang:

They are nailed to the cross,
They are nailed to the cross,
O how much He was willing to bear!
With what anguish and loss Jesus went to the cross!
But He carried my sins with Him there.

However this decrepit, sin-cursed world has battered our souls in the past week, there is nothing that can’t be soothed by the right kind of therapy—Calvary-road therapy.

Doug Redford serves as minister with Highview Christian Church, Cincinnati, Ohio. 

By Doug Redford

In February of 2003 Fred Rogers passed away. Rogers was the man responsible for creating Mister Rogers’ Neighborhood, a program on public television that sought to let all children know how much they are loved and how very special they are. Rogers, an ordained minister in the Presbyterian church, did the show for 33 years; it can still be seen on many public television stations.

In a 1997 interview, Rogers recalled, “When I saw television for the first time, I saw people throwing pies in each other’s faces—demeaning things. I knew then that this medium needed to be used for things that might elevate the human spirit, not denigrate it.”

Our heavenly Father looked at the world he had created. He watched the people made in his own image and saw them doing cruel, demeaning things to each other. They were even taking the trees he had created and using them to make an instrument of torture and death called a cross. Our Father determined he would use that demeaning, humiliating object and make it the means of hope and salvation for all humanity.

At his 1999 induction into the Television Hall of Fame, Fred Rogers told a Hollywood gathering, “Let’s just take 10 seconds to think of those people who loved us, and wanted what was best for us in life, those who have encouraged us to become who we are.” He then silently looked at his watch until the time had passed.

I suppose it takes about 10 seconds—perhaps less than that—to take Communion, to eat the portion of bread and drink from the cup. But what an important 10 seconds that is—focused on Jesus who loved us and wanted what was best for us, so much that he gave his life on the cross for us.

Of course, our expression of gratitude to Jesus must not be limited to the 10 seconds of participation in Communion. But perhaps those seconds can challenge us to stay vigilant every day and sensitive to those special times (like a child’s laugh, kind words exchanged with a friend, or a brilliant sunrise or sunset) which, though ever so brief, let us know that in a world where many demeaning, humiliating acts still take place, our Father still loves us and wants the best for us.

________________

Doug Redford serves as minister with Highview Christian Church, Cincinnati, Ohio. 

By Becky Ahlberg

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart (Hebrews 12:1-3).

We live in a society focused on happiness that depends on circumstances. There is a mad scramble for the next “fun” thing or diversion or adventure or financial pursuit that will make us happy. And even if we find it, that feeling doesn’t last because our circumstances are always changing.

Joy, true joy, however, depends on one’s perspective. Perspective is the capacity to perceive, to see past the moment, to gather to one’s self both one’s history and hopes and therein find joy, no matter one’s circumstances. That is what this Hebrew passage is about. Jesus had to gather his history: “Who, being in very nature God, . . . made himself nothing by taking the very nature of a servant” (Philippians 2:6, 7).

Next, he had to gather his hopes, remembering “that God was reconciling the world to himself in Christ, not counting people’s sins against them” (2 Corinthians 5:19). His unique perspective reminded him of the “joy set before him” and he moved with purpose through his suffering to the joy.

You may be in the midst of significant suffering today, but as you approach Communion, can you gather your history and bring your hopes and find a new perspective? Jesus’ body was broken for you. His blood poured out for you. His suffering brought joy—to him and to all of us. Can you look for the joy that is down the road because of his choice to suffer? Hang on to these words from Romans 5:3-5 to help you with your perspective:

But we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.

Becky Ahlberg serves as executive director of My Safe Harbor in Anaheim, California.

By Becky Ahlberg

One of the universal truths we consider when we gather around the Communion table each week is to remember the amazing love of God. “This is love: not that we loved God, but that he loved us and sent his Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sin” (1 John 4:10). God incarnate showed his love in his willingness to bear the shame, endure the cross, and be the bridge that brings us back into relationship with him. All these things are illustrations of his indescribable love. One of the first Scriptures most of us memorized is John 3:16: “For God so loved the world that he gave his one and only Son, that whoever believes in him shall not perish but have eternal life.”

Paul described it in Romans 5:8: “But God demonstrates his own love for us in this: While we were still sinners, Christ died for us.”

This love is unfathomable. And yet for centuries people have tried. Charles Wesley made his famous try in the hymn, “And Can It Be That I Should Gain?” The hymn is a litany questions about Jesus’ sacrifice, and after each stanza comes this refrain, “Amazing love! How can it be, that Thou, my God shouldst die for me?” That is the unanswerable question: Why?

About 30 years ago I asked one of the more precocious 10-year-old boys in the children’s choir to prepare the Communion meditation for our next family worship service. We worked on it together, and he was ready.

On that Sunday, he got up and just stood there looking frozen. I asked myself, Should I get up. Should I help him get started?

He finally said, “You know, I have this thing all ready, but I don’t think I’m going to use it.” Now I froze! He just went right on . . . “I just started thinking, this doesn’t make any sense. Why would God do this? Do you think it makes any sense? Then I started thinking my mom does stuff all the time that I don’t understand, but I know she loves me. So let’s take Communion and remember God loves us . . . even if we don’t know why.”

Out of the mouths of babes!

Today we celebrate amazing love. Charles Wesley’s words still ring true.

Becky Ahlberg serves as executive director of My Safe Harbor in Anaheim, California.