“The Medicine of Immortality”
By Rev. Dr. Jason Byassee
Sunday, February 1, 2026
Reading: 1 Cor 11:23-26
I was a civilian in church one time. And there were two teenaged visitors sitting in the pew in front of me. One pointed to the communion service in the bulletin. “This is when they think that bread and wine become the body and blood of Christ.” The other had apparently never heard of any such thing before. She gasped, “How?!”
You could tell the whole history of Christian theology in response to that question. How?!
We’re in a short series this Epiphany season on the sacraments. Spent the last three weeks on baptism. Today and the next two weeks on the Lord’s Supper. I don’t think I’ll answer her question, quite. It’s a mystery, not a puzzle. At the time I did intrude. I said: “Nobody knows. But it’s cool right? Come on, let’s go get us some.”
Our church here on St. Clair Avenue was built in imitation of European gothic cathedrals from the high Middle Ages. The architecture accentuates beauty, and mystery, and awe. Lady Eaton led a redesign of our interior in 1938 that turned us from a more Methodist chapel, that emphasized preaching, to an Anglican style chancel that emphasizes the eucharist. That altar table behind me weighs three tons. Good luck moving it. Our ancestors would gather in buildings like this not to hear a sermon. There weren’t many. Not even to take communion. Only the priests partook. But to watch the miracle of the mass. At the moment when the priest raised the host over his head, bells would ring. We would all look up from our prayers. And what was once bread miraculously became the body and blood of Christ. Grace was conveyed visually, by looking not eating or drinking. Then we’d go back to saying our prayers. St. Thomas Aquinas describes what happens as transubstantiation: the bread and wine look the same, smell and taste the same, but they are no longer mere bread and wine. Their substance has been transformed into Christ’s own flesh and blood.
That teaching is based on Jesus’ Last Supper, described in our text from Paul and also in Matthew, Mark, and Luke. Jesus takes bread, blesses it, breaks it, and gives it out, saying: “Take, eat, this is my body, given for you, do this in remembrance of me.” There is a stubbornness in the word “is.” Some think Jesus really means “this is not my body.” Don’t take it too seriously, he doesn’t mean it. They’re overreacting against Catholics. Most Anglicans and Lutherans think Christ is really present in the eucharist, but they don’t use Thomas’ transubstantiation language. If you’re more inclined to be Baptist or one or the other sort of evangelical, you’ll emphasize that this is a memorial, a metaphor, a reminder, and nothing more.
What do we think, dear United Church of Canada?
Two of the three of the denominations that amalgamated in 1925 were Calvinist in their theology. Presbyterian, mostly via Scottish immigrants. John Calvin teaches that Christ’s body is presently located at the right hand of the Father. We say it right there in the creed: “He ascended into heaven and is seated at the right hand of the Father.” So, his body is not available to be present in the sacrament in your local church. Calvin thinks the Holy Spirit makes Christ present spiritually. Others say to Calvin, hmm, that’s interesting. The Holy Spirit didn’t die for your sins. Only Christ did. So why are we talking about the Spirit instead of the Son? Jesus says this is my body. Once again it seems we’re not listening. The Methodists who joined church union in 1925 have a high regard for the sacrament. John Wesley believes we should commune every time we gather. Not just monthly. But he won’t answer the young woman’s question of how. Wesley plays the mystery card. He calls the sacraments “means of grace,” ways God gets to us, channels through which God pumps blessings into us. But if you try and say how you run into problems. It’s a mistake to try and dissect a mystery. Just take and eat and be changed.
I don’t mean to go into lecture mode this morning, forgive me. I’m just aware that lots of us Protestants haven’t really even thought about what we’re doing when we commune. Why we’re doing this, let alone how Christ is present in the elements. The sacraments tend to be Catholic territory. We stick with the Bible, personal faith, study and prayer. But Christ gives the sacraments to his whole church, not just part of it. This is important, listen to me here: Christ has to meet us in the sacraments. He has no choice. Because he’s promised to. And he has to keep his word. He may meet us anywhere else he likes: In nature, in one another, more likely in pain and failure. But at this table he’s here. Count on it.
Again, the aghast question, how?
To say a bit about how I’m going to draw on Martin Luther, initiator of the 16th century Protestant Reformation. Luther points this out. Christ is God. So, Christ is everywhere. Omnipresent. To be at the right hand of God means he’s everywhere God is. He is even, Luther says, in your pea soup. That’s impressively specific. To use a little German, Luther says God is da. There. Wherever you are. If there were a place where God was not, it would cease to be a place. But God is not always der da. That is, he’s not there for you. Except in the sacraments. In the sacraments, Jesus Christ promises to meet and save us. He’s there for you, available, self-giving, without fail. Pea soup Jesus is da. There, but usually overlooked. Lord’s Supper Jesus is der da. There for you. Now eat and be saved. My teacher gave a 20th century analogy: Christ is here like radio waves. They’re everywhere right now, we’re surrounded by them all the time without noticing. We can only hear them when a radio tunes in to the right frequency. The sacrament is the radio tuned. God is there all the time, we just can’t hear him, eat or drink him. At the table, we can. And so, we must.
And so, what? Is this just so much theological nitpicking? Maybe. But sometimes nits need picking. The story is told of a Catholic brother who has a little too much to drink and consecrates a bread truck. The diocese gets on the phone and calls all the priests and brothers and sisters they can find. That truck load of bread is now Jesus. Better eat it all up. I mean, you can’t be too careful. What we believe about the Lord’s Supper will affect how we eat all the time. How we treat other people and behave in our lives. Barbara Brown Taylor says if we can believe Jesus Christ is hiding in simple bread, a humble cup, we’ll start to be curious: well, where else could he be hiding? In pea soup? I might have to learn how to make some. In your neighbour who’s hungry for pea soup?
Paul tells the story of the Last Supper to the Corinthians because they’re eating wrong. In the New Testament church, the Lord’s Supper is still also a regular meal. It’d be hosted in a large home because there were no church buildings yet. Christianity was still illegal and fledgling, so no church buildings. You need a space big enough for everybody. So, a big home. And the issue in Corinth seems to be a problem between rich and poor. Paul says this:
When the time comes to eat, each of you proceeds to eat your own supper, and one goes hungry and another becomes drunk. 22 What! Do you not have households to eat and drink in? Or do you show contempt for the church of God and humiliate those who have nothing?
Those with the leisure and time not to work are treating the Lord’s Supper like a pagan banquet, feasting well. When those who work for a living arrive, there’s nothing left to eat. Paul is outraged. Jesus always has a place for the poor at his table. How can we not? Last Sunday at Dayle’s covenanting service we had catering ready for 100 or so people. But with the snow we had maybe half that many hardy souls attend, so we told everybody, eat like you mean it. And we did! Maybe since we kept everybody here and hungry from the morning until 2:30 pm. Dayle got over there late and there was almost no food left. Funny, the guest of honour going hungry. What’s not funny is the hungry going hungry. Paul says if you want this to be Jesus’ meal that saves, you’d better feed someone who’d otherwise go hungry.
Paul says some more things that frighten me. To wit:
Whoever, therefore, eats the bread or drinks the cup of the Lord in an unworthy manner will be answerable for the body and blood of the Lord. 28 Examine yourselves, and only then eat of the bread and drink of the cup. 29 For all who eat and drink without discerning the body eat and drink judgment against themselves. 30 For this reason many of you are weak and ill, and some have died.
If you eat the Lord’s Supper wrong, you may get sick and die. We’re a long way here from thinking it’s not that important, a mere symbol, a trite religious ritual. I have known and pastored folks who won’t take communion because they think they’re not worthy. This is the passage they’re drawing from. Who among us could possibly be worthy of this gift of salvation?
But think about who it is we feast on in this meal. Jesus of Nazareth. What’s his table like? Well, for one, it’s always full. Overflowing. If there’s not enough food, he makes more. Two, it’s usually a party where something questionable happens. The wrong people eat in the wrong way and some religious bigwig objects. Wait, those people are bad, they can’t be here or do that! And Jesus includes both the objector and the objected-against. Sorry, this table is for everyone. Then he teaches at the table. Somebody’s crying and wiping his feet with her tears. People objecting. General mayhem. An Anglican bishop likes to ask ‘how come everywhere Paul goes there’s a riot. Everywhere I go they serve tea?’
Here’s what Jesus’ meals are about. They show the world God intends. The world God is bringing. The world God will one day make this world into. In our passage Jesus promises, “For as often as you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.” In the gospels he says he won’t even eat or drink again until he does with us in the kingdom. That’s a big sacrifice for a guy who likes to feast! Jesus is fasting right now to get ready for his banquet with us and won’t eat until we’re all seated. His is a table where we serve one another. With the poor in seats of honour. And maybe we respectable types sneak in at the back. Here’s hoping.
Jaylynn and I were invited to a fancy wedding once, way above our station. Which our hosts proceeded to make clear. It must have been that the ballroom fit 99 tables but 100 tables worth of people rsvp’d yes. Because our table was outside the swinging doors in the hallway where the servers swooshed past every few minutes. Now there are advantages to such an afterthought table. Our plates and cups got refilled fast. But we could only laugh the whole time. We’re at a wedding and we’re not even in the room. That’s not Jesus’ table. At his table we lean against him and hear his heartbeat. For us.
I remember when the first sushi place opened in the North Carolina town where we lived and pastored. My buddy ate there with his wife and their friend who knew his way around wasabi. And he couldn’t get over how good it was. “It’s like a party in my mouth,” he kept saying. The next day his wife said to him, hey you need to shut up about the stupid sushi. I agree it was good, but enough already. Sorry, the party is lingering. But the real party wasn’t the food so much. It was his wife and friends. You are who you eat with.
I wonder how our meals can show Jesus is Lord. That he’s present now to save? It’s why we have six kitchens in our church. I know I told you seven once, but you gotta watch out for preacher numbers. We round up. Lots of saving meals can happen at once. I think of Jewish tables leaving a chair free for Elijah at Passover in case he pops by. Extra credit for inviting a gentile, a non-Jew, this story of a God who frees slaves is too good a news to keep to ourselves. You’ve heard of families inviting international students over during Canadian holidays? It’s hard to get home to Turkey or China or India, so come have a meal with us? I hope we have a church where a student can’t escape Sundays without three or four lunch invites. We’ll be full of young people in no time, I promise.
And the Lord’s Supper, the meal that saves. I’m less interested honestly in exactly how Christ is present. The mechanics of the mystery. If I could explain it, it’d be a falsehood. If it’s really God you’re talking about, no one can explain it. What I’m interested in is learning how to eat. Not how the elements change so much as how we do. This meal changes how we eat all the time. If there’s not going to be enough, we just tear off smaller pieces. If someone needs help getting to the bread, we bring it to them, or them to it. If someone is sick or dying, we rush to their bedside with an appetizer of the banquet soon to come. I remember once an Easter sunrise service where we’d had five-six people the year before. I get there the next year and there are 60-70 hungry souls. I look down at the lone dinner roll I’d brought to serve communion with. Somehow, and I can’t explain how, it was enough. With Jesus there’s always enough. Thanks be to God. Amen.