Communion Meditations: 20 Short Readings for the Lord's Table

For I received from the Lord that which also I delivered to you, that the Lord Jesus on the night in which he was betrayed took bread. When he had given thanks, he broke it and said, "Take, eat. This is my body, which is broken for you. Do this in memory of me." In the same way he also took the cup after supper, saying, "This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink, in memory of me." For as often as you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes.

— 1 Corinthians 11:23–26 (WEB)

Notice when this happened. Not after the resurrection, when it would have been a victory celebration. On the night he was betrayed. Judas had already made his arrangement. Peter was hours from denying he knew him. Every person at that table would fail him before sunrise, and Jesus knew it. And knowing it, he passed them bread. That is who is inviting you this morning. Not a Christ who waits for you to get it right, but one who set the table on the worst night of his life, for people who were about to run. Come and eat.

— Original

Bread is the most ordinary thing on any table. It is not a delicacy. It is what you eat when there is nothing special about the day. Jesus could have chosen anything to be remembered by. He chose the thing you would encounter every single day, so that you could not get through an ordinary week without a reminder. This is his body. Take it in your hands. Notice how common it feels.

— Original

Tonight we do not rush to Sunday. The bread is broken because a body was broken. The cup is poured because blood was poured out. We say those words so often that they have gone smooth, but there was a day when they were literal, and it was a Friday, and it was awful. Hold the bread a moment before you eat it. This is what love cost.

— Original

Some of you are hesitating this morning because of something you did this week, and you are wondering whether you should take this. Hear this clearly: the table has never been a reward for a good week. Paul warns against taking it carelessly — treating it as nothing, or coming while refusing to be reconciled with the person in the next row. He does not warn the person who comes ashamed. That person is exactly who it is for. If you are in Christ, come. It is his table, and he has already decided about you.

— Original

"You proclaim the Lord's death until he comes." Until. There is an expiration date on this meal. One day the church will stop doing this, not because we lost interest, but because he will be here and there will be nothing left to remember. The bread will give way to a feast, and the cup to a wedding. So we eat this in the meantime — a meal for people who are still waiting. Come, and eat like people who expect him.

— Original

Bread you can picture. The cup is harder. When Jesus lifted it he did not say "this is my life." He said blood, and everyone at that table knew what blood meant. It meant a covenant that had been cut. It meant something had died to make an agreement stand. We have made the cup respectable. It is a small glass, and we are careful not to spill it. But what it stands for was not tidy, and it was not small. The new covenant did not cost you anything. It cost him everything. Take the cup. Hold it a moment before you drink it.

— Original

This meal did not start in an upper room. It started on a night in Egypt when families ate standing up, with their coats on, ready to run. For fifteen hundred years Israel kept that meal, and every year a child asked why this night was different, and every year the answer was: because we were slaves, and God brought us out. Then at one of those meals Jesus took the bread of deliverance and said: this is me. He is telling the room what he is about to do. There is going to be another exodus, and it is going to cost a lamb. So when you eat this, remember what you were brought out of. Come to the table.

— Original

The cup of blessing which we bless, is it not the communion of the blood of Christ? The bread which we break, is it not the communion of the body of Christ? For we being many are one bread, and one body: for we are all partakers of that one bread. Look around before you eat. This is the body you are joined to. Not the church you would have chosen. This one.

— 1 Corinthians 10:16–17 (KJV)

Behold the Lamb of God, which taketh away the sin of the world. John said it while pointing at a man walking past him, and everyone standing there had watched lambs die at Passover their whole lives. They knew what he was saying, and it was not a compliment. It was a sentence. The lamb was never the guilty party. That was the point. This bread is the body of the Lamb. Come and eat.

— John 1:29 (KJV)

Two of them walked seven miles with the risen Christ and did not recognize him. He explained the entire Old Testament to them on the road and they still did not know who he was. Then: "And it came to pass, as he sat at meat with them, he took bread, and blessed it, and brake, and gave to them. And their eyes were opened, and they knew him." Not the sermon on the road. The bread on the table. Some of you have been listening to explanations for years and have never quite seen him. Come to the table this morning. He has a habit of showing up there.

— Original, with Luke 24:30–31 (KJV)

Advent is about waiting for a body. For four weeks we say that God did not stay at a distance, that he took on flesh and bone and hunger. And then we come to a table and are handed something you can chew. That is not an accident. Our God has never been shy about matter. He made it, he wore it, and he feeds us with it. So while we wait for him to come again, he gives us something to hold. Come and eat, and keep watching.

— Original

Tonight is the anniversary. Not a remembrance in general, but the night itself: the borrowed room, the basin, the towel, the bread, the hymn they sang before they walked out to the garden. He washed the feet of a man he knew was going to sell him. Then he fed him. When you come to this table tonight, come slowly. This is the room. This is the night. And he is still washing feet.

— Original

He was laid in a feeding trough. That is what a manger is. The first bed of the Bread of Life was the box the animals ate out of, and Luke mentions it three times, which for Luke is shouting. From the first hour of his life, this was the shape of it: God, placed where the hungry come to eat. He has not changed. Come to the table.

— Original

When we come to this table we are not the only ones at it. Every time the church eats this meal, it eats with the whole church, including the part of it that has already died. The people whose names we read this morning are not gone from the body. They are simply further along. Some of you learned this faith from someone whose chair is empty this year. They taught you to come to this table, and they are not finished with it either. Come and eat with them.

— Original

Therefore if thou bring thy gift to the altar, and there rememberest that thy brother hath ought against thee; leave there thy gift before the altar, and go thy way; first be reconciled to thy brother, and then come and offer thy gift. If a name came to mind while I read that, do not argue with it. You do not have to fix it this morning. But before you take this bread, decide that you are going to make the call this week. This is a table for people at peace with each other, and Jesus cared about that more than he cared about our schedule.

— Matthew 5:23–24 (KJV)

But he was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities: the chastisement of our peace was upon him; and with his stripes we are healed. Written seven hundred years before a Roman soldier picked up a whip. Our peace was chastised into him. That is the exchange this bread stands for. Come and take it.

— Isaiah 53:5 (KJV)

Two things are true at this table. You are worse than you admit, and you are more loved than you dare hope. The bread says both at once. Come and eat.

— Original

Scripture ends with a wedding. Whatever else the last book of the Bible is doing, it lands on a marriage supper, a table with no empty chairs and no one grieving. This morning is the rehearsal. Small cup, small piece of bread, and a room that will look nothing like the final one. But it is the same host, and it is the same guest list. Come and eat, and be hungry for the real thing.

— Original

Some of you got here this morning on almost nothing. You did not want to come. You are running on the last of whatever you had. This is a meal, and meals are for the hungry. Jesus never once said, come to me all you who have had a productive week. He said come to me all you who labor and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest. That is the whole invitation, and it is aimed directly at you. Come and eat.

— Original

How long should a communion meditation be?

Two to four minutes, roughly 300–450 words. It is a bridge from the sermon to the table.

Who gives the communion meditation?

In most traditions that use the term, an elder, deacon, or lay leader — not the preaching pastor. It is one of the most common lay speaking roles in the church.

Do we have to read the words of institution?

1 Corinthians 11:23–26 is read in the great majority of communion services, and some traditions require it. Even where it is optional, it grounds the meal in scripture rather than in the speaker's reflection.

What do we say about who may take communion?

That depends on your church's practice — open, close, or closed communion. Whatever it is, say it plainly and kindly every time, so guests are not left guessing in the moment.