The church I frequently visit includes communion in their Sunday services every week –the kind where you stand up, walk down the aisle, and dip your bread into a cup of grape juice while someone looks you in the eye and says some variation of the words Christ’s body broken for you, Christ’s blood shed for you. It’s a rhythm I’ve grown to love, to look forward to, even. There’s something about the liturgical rhythm, the communal participation, and the tangible response that lets the truth sink in for me.

I’ve started to wonder, how different would life look if we looked each other in the eyes like this each week, a loud and clear reminder of this simple, eternity-altering truth? I think maybe, that’s the best we can do –to look each other in the face and remind us both of Christ’s body broken and Christ’s blood shed, to proclaim over God’s people this good-news Gospel that never gets old.

Christ’s body broken for you, Christ’s blood shed for you.

I’m quick to let these words soak in during Sunday morning communion, but not so quick to apply them to my mid-week mistakes and shortcomings, or to speak them over my closest neighbors when I feel hurt, wronged, or even slightly irritated. I, like the whole history of God’s people, am so prone to forget.

Over and over in Scripture, I see the warnings about forgetfulness, the call on God’s people to keep on remembering. Communion is exactly this –remembering together. While the logistics and frequency of communion aren’t specified, Jesus does call his people to “do this in memory of me.” We’re called to eat and drink and “proclaim Christ’s death until he comes.” Knowing our forgetful nature, he calls us to regular remembrance. A remembrance we can carry from our Sundays into our every days. Yes, we’re called to speak these words over bread and wine, but we also get to speak them over coffee cups, across kitchen tables, in the face of heartache and hurt feelings and unmet expectations.

Christ’s body broken for you, Christ’s blood shed for you.

I want to remember Jesus broken and poured out when I’m tempted to dwell on how I think things should have been or what I think I deserve, to allow the glorious and generous reality of the Gospel to transform the way I love my neighbor, to be quick to look people in the eye and remind them of Christ crucified until he comes.

Christ’s body broken for you, Christ’s blood shed for you.

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