Communion with Christ

“No man hath seen God at any time. If we love one another, God dwelleth in us, and his love is perfected in us” (1 John 4:12).

— Todd Alexander

How can a simple loaf of bread, a humble, daily sustenance, unlock one of the deepest truths of our calling? How can a cup of the fruit of the vine encompass the entire covenant of our faith?

As we approach the annual Memorial of our Lord’s sacrifice, these emblems invite us to go beyond the surface and connect with a story that began thousands of years ago in the crushing experiences of the children of Israel in Egyptian bondage.

The Apostle Paul reveals the mystery of our fellowship — our koinonia — by teaching that we are one body because we all partake of the one loaf (1 Corinthians 10:17). This communion, however, is not just a New Testament concept. It is the fulfillment of the shadow cast by Israel’s sacred observance of the Passover.

To grasp the vital, living essence of this love, we must first understand the deliverance that the Memorial represents. It is a feast of liberty for the “Church of the first‑born,” a celebration of our passing over from death unto life, made possible by the Lamb of God. In these emblems, we find the very blueprint for a love that is perfected not in isolation, but in the sacrificial unity of the Body of Christ.

From Shadow to Substance: The Passover Fulfilled

Among the most profound experiences of typical Israel was the Passover. This feast commemorated their deliverance from Egypt, but more specifically, the divine “passing over” that spared their firstborn from the final, devastating plague. This singular event became the catalyst for the liberation of the entire nation.

For us, the New Creation, these ancient events hold a profound significance, because the Lord has revealed to us a “mystery”: that the experiences of natural Israel were intended to typify and foreshadow the grander realities of God’s plan for spiritual Israel.

The Apostle Paul provides the interpretive key: “Christ our Passover is sacrificed for us; therefore let us keep the feast” (1 Corinthians 5:7, 8).

With this clue, the allegorical picture becomes clear and sharp. Egypt represents the world of mankind held in sin by the “prince of this world,” Satan. Pharaoh stands as a type of the Adversary himself, while the groaning Israelites portray all humanity, travailing under the oppressive bondage of sin and death. Just as Israel was powerless to free itself, so mankind is incapable of breaking its chains without Jehovah’s intervention. The only hope lies in the antitypical Moses — our Lord Jesus — who will, in God’s appointed time, deliver all who yearn for freedom.

Within this sweeping panorama, however, lies a more personal and specific picture. It concerns not all of mankind, but a special class: the firstborn. Their antitype is the “Church of the first‑born, which are written in heaven” — the New Creation (Hebrews 12:23). In the type, the first‑born faced a unique trial in advance of their brethren. Confronted with death, they were spared — passed over — through the blood of a lamb smeared on the doorposts and lintels of the doorway. This deliverance set them apart, and their special status within the nation of Israel was transferred to the tribe of Levi. The tribe of Levi was called to surrender their earthly inheritance in order to become the teachers and leaders of their brethren.

So it is with the antitypical Church of the firstborn. During this present evil age, we are subject to a trial for life or death in advance of the world. Through the merit of our Redeemer’s blood, we pass from death unto life. By faith, we renounce our earthly portion, sacrificing our lives, and will be given, if faithful, “an inheritance incorruptible, and undefiled, and that fadeth not away” (1 Peter 1:14, KJV). The world does not understand this journey, but we are being “passed over,” rescued from Adamic death to be developed as the Royal Priesthood. With our Chief Priest, we will bless all the families of the earth (Galatians 3:29). This passing over occurs during the spiritual nighttime of the Gospel Age, preparing us to guide the world out of the bondage of sin and Satan when the new age dawns.

In perfect harmony with this type, our Lord died as the antitypical Passover Lamb on the fourteenth day of the first month. Just as the lamb was selected on the tenth day, our Lord presented Himself to the nation of Israel five days prior to the Passover, riding into Jerusalem to cries of “Hosanna to the Son of David!” (Matthew 21:9). On the evening of the fourteenth, in the “same night in which he was betrayed,” he shared the Passover with His disciples. Then, using the unleavened bread and fruit of the vine from that meal, he established something new — for the type was about to be fulfilled. This was to be a Memorial of the antitype — a sacred remembrance for all His followers of the reality that had arrived.

The Emblems of Perfected Love

To partake of the Memorial emblems goes beyond historical remembrance. It is a symbolic recognition of receiving the merits of our Passover Lamb, and an opportunity to solemnly renew the covenant that binds us to Him and, just as importantly, to one another.

The unleavened bread represents His body, sacrificed for us. To eat it is to symbolically receive by faith the life‑giving value of His perfect human sacrifice. It is also an exhortation to keep the feast “not with old leaven, neither with the leaven of malice and wickedness; but with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth” (1 Corinthians 5:8). This calls us to purge from our hearts the corrupting influences of sin, selfishness, and deceptive human philosophies, and instead, to nourish our new minds with the pure truth of God’s Word.

The Passover meal included bitter herbs, a fitting symbol of the trials and afflictions of this present life. These difficult experiences, rather than leading to despair, should sharpen our spiritual appetite for the Lamb, reminding us that we are pilgrims on a journey to a better country.

The Apostle Paul shares an even deeper meaning. “The cup of blessing which we bless, is it not a participation in the blood of Christ? The bread which we break, is it not a participation in the body of Christ? Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread” (1 Corinthians 10:16, 17, RSV).

In this passage, the Greek word translated “participation” signifies fellowship, association, communion. While our Lord’s flesh was the singular loaf broken for the world, the consecrated believers of this age become one through their partaking of that one loaf, which is Jesus’ sacrifice for us.

The cup represents His blood, which seals our pardon and brings justification by faith. It, too, is a “communion.” The Apostle’s question, “Is it not a participation in the body of Christ?” carries a staggering implication: that the suffering, trials, and death of the faithful “little flock” are counted as part of His sacrifice, not as part of the ransom, but as part of the offering for the future sins of the world. We are joined with our Head, our Chief Priest, in the offering of our lives. This is the very heart of our koinonia. It is a fellowship forged in the crucible of shared sacrifice, a love that finds its most potent expression in being poured out for the Lord and for His people.

The Insidious Leaven: A Threat to Our Common‑Union

If the Memorial feast is to be kept with the unleavened bread of sincerity and truth, we must remain ever vigilant against the “leaven of malice and wickedness” that threatens our unity. This leaven most often manifests itself as spiritual pride.

The Apostle issues a stark warning: “Knowledge puffeth up, but charity edifieth” (1 Corinthians 8:1). There is a grave danger in measuring our brethren by a checklist of their doctrinal beliefs rather than noting how the fruit of the Spirit is manifest in their lives. This was the error of the Pharisees, whose encyclopedic knowledge of the Law became a weapon to judge and condemn. Their expertise was a hollow shell, devoid of the love that fulfills the Law.

This was the perilous way of Cain, who hated his brother, and of Korah, whose pride led to rebellion. When we allow knowledge to make us arrogant, we fail to discern the Lord’s body. We become blind to Christ’s presence in our brethren and may start to believe we do not need them.

We forget the Apostle’s humbling reminder that if we think we know anything, we know nothing yet as we ought to know (1 Corinthians 8:2). It is not our intellectual prowess that God recognizes, but our love for Him, a love authenticated by our love for His children. This pride is the insidious leaven that can sour the entire loaf, creating factions and divisions where there should be the unbreakable bond of love.

The Dual Responsibility: Personal Growth and Corporate Unity

This spirit of humility is the fertile ground where our spiritual gifts are meant to grow. The Apostle Paul lays down a foundational principle: personal growth is our own responsibility. In 1 Corinthians 12:7, he explains that the manifestation of the Spirit is given to each one for the profit of all. God grants us the gift of the holy Spirit, not to remain dormant, but to be actively used, by each individual. Through a self‑determined desire to discern the will of God, we develop the gifts He has bestowed upon us. Our spiritual progress is not passive. It is to be actively pursued, and the ecclesia arrangement is the good ground for our growth.

However, this personal development is never solely for personal gain. Paul shows us the purpose of our developed gifts in Ephesians 4:11‑13. One of the primary places we use these gifts is within the fellowship of the body. Christ gave apostles, prophets, evangelists, pastors, and teachers for the “equipping of the saints for the work of ministry, for the edifying of the body of Christ” (NKJV).

The purpose of our gifts, expressed through fellowship, is to build up the body in love. This collaborative effort brings the entire church together in the oneness of unity, until we all come to the “measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ.” Our individual growth is inextricably linked to the collective health of the ecclesia.

The Apostle then issues a stark warning in Ephesians 4:14 regarding the consequence of failing in this dual responsibility. When we neglect our personal development and the edification of the ecclesia, we leave ourselves vulnerable.

We become like “children, tossed to and fro and carried about with every wind of doctrine, by the trickery of men, in the cunning craftiness of deceitful plotting” (NKJV). An undeveloped faith, isolated from the strengthening influence of the body, is vulnerable to deception. True spiritual stability is found where personal diligence and active, loving fellowship meet.

The Vital Life of Sacrifice

How, then, is the love of God “perfected in us”? The Apostle John provides the answer: “If we love one another, God dwelleth in us” (1 John 4:12). God’s love is not an abstract concept. It becomes real, and vital when it flows through the Body of Christ. Just as faith is perfected by its works, love is perfected by its operation.

The truest measure of our love for the Lord is found in our love for the brethren. The Apostle John declares that “we ought also to lay down our lives for the brethren” (1 John 3:16). This is the practical outworking of our communion in His death. This “laying down of our lives” is not typically a single, dramatic act, but a continuous process carried out in the small, daily affairs of service. As our Lord spent three and a half years breaking his body and giving his life, culminating at Calvary, so with us. Our sacrifice is a daily walk, one step at a time.

The Lord’s selection of the Church during this time of prevailing evil is designed to test and prove the measure of our love and loyalty. If our love is lukewarm, the influence of the world, the flesh, and the Adversary may prove too powerful, drawing us away. But in proportion as our love for the Lord grows strong, in that same proportion we will delight to sacrifice these things to Him.

This devotion will prompt us to curtail the demands of self, home, and family to reasonable limits, so that we may have more to lay upon the Lord’s altar. And where is that altar? The Apostle Paul tells us we are to fill up the afflictions of Christ “for his body’s sake, which is the Church” (Colossians 1:24). Our sacrifice is to be laid down in service to the brethren. This is how God’s love flows through us, becoming a tangible, life‑giving force within the ecclesia.

The Ecclesia: A Feast of Pilgrims

This brings us to the highest expression of our koinonia: our gathering together in fellowship. “Not forsaking the assembling of ourselves together … but exhorting one another: and so much the more, as ye see the day approaching” (Hebrews 10:25).

Something vital happens when we gather together. The Passover was to be eaten with staff in hand, girded for a journey. This pictured the household of faith as pilgrims and strangers in the world, desirous of being led into freedom from sin and corruption. Our assemblies are gatherings of these pilgrims. It is in the sacred space of our assembly that we stand together as the pillar and ground of the truth. It is the fortress where we find strength and the school where we receive mutual edification.

When we gather to partake of the Memorial, we partake of the one loaf that is Christ. Here, the love of God is no longer a distant concept but a living reality. The emblems transcend mere symbols and represent our renewed covenant — with our Lord and with one another. We remember His sacrifice for us, and we recommit to our sacrifice with Him, for the sake of His body. It is here that we are melded into one, becoming a functioning, holy temple, the “perfection of beauty” from which our God shines (Psalm 50:2). Let us, therefore, cherish our assembly. Let us come to the Memorial not only with love for our Father and our Lord, but with a deep, humble, and sacrificial love for one another. For in our common union, in our shared sacrifice, the world sees a glimpse of the invisible God.