“Proclaiming His Death Until He Comes”

Church family, every people and every nation has its ways of remembering what matters most. We build monuments to heroes. We set aside holidays to honor those who sacrificed. We display photographs in our homes to remind us of people we love. These symbols carry weight because they tell us who we are and what we value.

Think about it: every time you see a wedding ring, you don’t just see a piece of jewelry — you see a promise. Every time you see a flag flying high, you don’t just see cloth — you see a nation’s story. The meaning behind the symbol is what makes it powerful.

This morning, we gather around symbols that are so simple a child can understand them: bread and cup. And yet they carry the greatest meaning of all. They don’t just remind us of history; they proclaim our salvation. They don’t just tell us who we are; they remind us whose we are.

The Table we come to isn’t ordinary. It was given by Jesus himself so that, no matter where we are or how much time has passed, his people would never forget his cross.

But here’s the danger, church family: what is most meaningful can sometimes become most routine. Think about birthdays or anniversaries. At first, those dates are full of joy and celebration. But over time, if we’re not careful, they can become another square on the calendar. We buy the card, we eat the cake, but we lose sight of the meaning.

That’s exactly what happened to the church in Corinth. They had been given this beautiful gift of the Lord’s Supper, but they began to treat it like an ordinary meal. Some were rushing ahead, eating before others arrived. Some were turning it into a feast for themselves rather than a moment of worship. They forgot what the bread and cup were pointing to — the body and blood of Jesus.

And if we’re honest, we can do the same. We can bow our heads, pass the plate, drink the cup, and never really stop to remember what it means. It becomes routine. It becomes quiet tradition.

So Paul writes these words to bring them — and us — back to the heart of it all: this Table is not about filling our stomachs; it’s about filling our hearts with Christ.

We Look Back – to the Cross

Paul says that Jesus took bread, gave thanks, broke it, and said, 1 Corinthians 11:24 “This is my body, which is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.”

That word remembrance is important. It’s not just casual memory, like recalling an old story or remembering where you put your keys. It means actively calling something to mind — bringing the reality of the cross before us so that our hearts are shaped by it again.

And what is it we remember? That Christ’s body was broken and his blood was poured out for us. But to really hear the weight of those words “for you,” we have to be honest about ourselves. The Bible says, Romans 3:23 “for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God.” We are not innocent people who just needed a little guidance. We are sinners who deserve judgment. We are rebels against God, broken in thought, word, and deed.

Sin is not a small problem. It separates us from God. It enslaves us. It brings death. And the justice of God demands that sin be punished. Hebrews reminds us: Hebrews 9:22 “…without the shedding of blood there is no forgiveness of sins.”

That’s why Jesus’ words are so powerful: “This is my body, which is for you.” He doesn’t say, “This is my body, which shows you an example.” He says, “for you.” In your place. On your behalf. Bearing the judgment your sins deserved.

The bread reminds us that his body was broken by scourging, thorns, nails, and spear — all for you. The cup reminds us that his blood was poured out, sealing the new covenant — all for you. He took your sin upon himself so that you might be forgiven, cleansed, and reconciled to God.

So when we look back at the cross in the Lord’s Supper, we don’t just see a tragic death in history. We see the very heart of the gospel: Jesus crucified for sinners. Jesus crucified for you.

We Look Around – as One Body

Paul writes that Jesus took the cup and said, 1 Corinthians 11:25 “This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.”

The word covenant is crucial. A covenant is God’s binding promise. In the Old Testament, covenants were sealed with blood — because sin required death. At a place called Mount Sinai, when the people of God entered covenant with the Almighty, animals were sacrificed and their blood was sprinkled as a sign (Exodus 24). Why? Because sinful people cannot stand before holy God apart from atonement.

But that old covenant was never enough. It pointed forward to something greater. When Jesus held up the cup, he was saying: My blood will establish a new covenant. Not a covenant written on tablets of stone, but a covenant written upon the human heart. Not one sealed by the blood of animals, but by the perfect sacrifice of the Son of God.

And here’s the beauty: that covenant doesn’t just reconcile you to God — it reconciles you to one another. In Corinth, believers were dividing the Table along lines of wealth and status. But Paul reminds them: the blood of Jesus has torn down every wall. In Christ, slave and free, Jew and Gentile, rich and poor, are one.

That means here, at this Table in Midland, every dividing wall falls away too. None of us comes because of our goodness, background, or reputation. We come because we are sinners saved by grace. The Supper proclaims not only that Jesus died for me — but that Jesus died for us. We share one bread, one cup, one Savior.

So when you look around this room and see brothers and sisters in Christ, remember: the same blood that cleansed you…cleansed them. The same mercy that saved you…saved them. The same covenant that holds you…holds them. The Lord’s Supper is not a private ritual — it is a family meal of forgiven sinners who belong to Jesus.

We Look Ahead – to His Coming

Paul closes in 1 Corinthians 11:26 “For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.”

The Lord’s Supper is not only a backward glance to the cross or a present reminder of unity — it is a forward gaze into the future. Notice what Paul says: “until he comes.” Every time we gather at this Table, we proclaim that history is not finished. The One who was crucified for our sins and raised for our justification will return in glory.

And that matters because sin and death are still all around us. We still grieve losses. We still feel the weight of brokenness in our world and in our own lives. Sometimes, even as forgiven people, we stumble and fall. The Supper reminds us that our story doesn’t end there. Jesus is coming again — and when he does, he will wipe away every tear, remove every stain of sin, and make all things new.

In Revelation 19, John describes the great wedding feast of the Lamb. That day, the bread and cup will give way to a greater celebration. No more symbols — only the presence of Christ himself. And we will sit with him at the Table, fully forgiven, fully healed, fully home.

So when you eat and drink today, don’t just see what Christ has done; see what he will do. This meal is a promise that sin will not have the last word. Death will not have the last word. Jesus will.

That means when we eat this bread and drink this cup, we proclaim the gospel not just backward and not just inward, but forward — until the day faith becomes sight and we feast with Christ forever.

So what do we do with this? How do we carry the meaning of the Table into our everyday lives?

First, look back to the cross. Every day you wake up, you are tempted to build your worth on performance — how you do at work, how your family sees you, how others approve of you. But the Lord’s Supper reminds us: our worth is not in what we achieve, but in what Christ has done. His body broken and his blood shed is our anchor. That truth steadies us Monday just as much as Sunday.

Second, look around at the body. Here in Midland, independence runs deep. Folks pride themselves on standing on their own two feet. But the gospel calls us to a different posture — not isolation, but belonging. The Table reminds us that faith is not a solo project. You need the church, and the church needs you. Every time we gather, we proclaim together that we are one in Christ.

Third, look ahead to his return. The world can feel shaky — oil prices rise and fall, politics divide, families strain. But every bite of bread and every sip of the cup whispers hope: this world is not the end. Jesus is coming again. The Table gives us courage to endure today because we know what’s promised tomorrow.

So as you come to the Table this morning, let this meal reshape your vision: grateful for the cross, united as a body, and hopeful for his coming.

Church family, think about what’s happening when we come to this Table. We are holding in our hands the story of salvation. Bread and cup may seem ordinary, but in them we see the extraordinary grace of God.

Here’s the wonder: every time we eat and drink, we are preaching a sermon together. We’re declaring to one another and to the watching world: Christ has died. Christ is risen. Christ will come again.

And that’s the hope that carries us. Because if you’ve trusted in Christ, then your past is forgiven, your present is redeemed, and your future is secure. The body broken was for you. The blood poured out was for you. And one day, he will return for you.

Loved ones, the Lord’s Supper is not a sad funeral; it is a joyful proclamation. It doesn’t just remind us that Jesus died — it reminds us that he is alive, and he is coming again. That’s why this meal is not only solemn, but also full of joy. It is a feast of grace, a taste of the kingdom to come.

So now, let us come to the Table with grateful hearts. If you are trusting in Jesus Christ as your Lord and Savior, this meal is for you. Come not because of your own worthiness, but because of his. Come to remember his sacrifice, to rejoice in his grace, and to renew your hope in his return.

Deacons, will you come and help us serve?