Do This In Remembrance

Introduction – A Place of Belonging

I once attended a wedding in Yerevan, Armenia, held at the Sport Arena Center near the big bridge that leads into the city. If you’ve ever crossed that bridge at sunset, you know how the light spills across the hills and makes the city glow like it’s dressed for a celebration.

The hall that day was enormous — so vast that even with hundreds of guests, we hardly dented a corner.

Everything sparkled. The tables were dressed in white linen, the chandeliers glimmered, the musicians played beautifully, and the food was rich and plentiful, prepared with that special Armenian care.

But what I remember most wasn’t the food. It was the feeling — the laughter, the embraces, the warmth of family.

Everyone had a seat. Everyone belonged.

That’s what the Lord’s Supper is meant to be.

Not just bread. Not just juice. Not just ritual.

It’s a family table — Jesus saying, “I’ve prepared a place for you. Sit down. You belong here.”

Paul wrote:

“The Lord Jesus, on the night He was betrayed, took bread, and when He had given thanks, He broke it and said, ‘This is My body, which is for you; do this in remembrance of Me.’ In the same way, after supper He took the cup, saying, ‘This cup is the new covenant in My blood; do this, whenever you drink it, in remembrance of Me.’ For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until He comes.” — 1 Corinthians 11:23–26

He said, “Do this.”

But what He really meant was, “Remember Me.”

Let’s walk through this meal together — the bread, the cup, and the table.

1 — The Bread: Broken for Wholeness

When Jesus held up the bread, He said, “This is My body, broken for you.”

Not My sermons, not My miracles — My body.

Because what we remember here isn’t a doctrine; it’s a Person who gave Himself for us.

Bread is ordinary. Every culture knows it — lavash, pita, tortillas, naan.

But in His hands, the ordinary became holy.

And that’s what He does with us.

The Grain and the Fire

Bread doesn’t appear by accident.

Grain is crushed, dough is pressed, loaves are baked in fire.

That’s the gospel recipe.

Jesus was crushed under sin, pressed by rejection, and tried in the fire of Calvary.

Isaiah 53:5 says,

“He was wounded for our transgressions, bruised for our iniquities; the chastisement of our peace was upon Him, and by His stripes we are healed.”

He was broken so you could be whole.

He was wounded so you could be forgiven.

He was rejected so you could be accepted.

He was crushed so you could be free.

That’s what the bread means.

Story – Bread on the Table

When I was a boy, my mother baked fresh bread on Fridays.

The smell filled the house, warm and sweet.

By the time she pulled the loaf from the oven, we were already in the kitchen, waiting.

No one had to call us twice.

That’s what grace is like — the aroma of love drawing you home.

You don’t have to be perfect; you just have to be hungry.

Wholeness in His Brokenness

So when you hold that little piece of bread, remember:

It’s not history. It’s healing.

It says, Your sin is forgiven. Your heart can be whole.

If you came broken, you can leave whole — because the Bread is enough.

2 — The Cup: His Blood, Our Covenant

After the bread, Jesus took the cup.

The bread says, you’re whole.

The cup says, you’re forgiven.

“This cup is the new covenant in My blood,” He said.

A covenant isn’t a contract; it’s a bond of belonging.

It’s God saying, “You’re Mine.”

The Blood That Speaks

Hebrews 12:24 says Jesus’ blood speaks a better word than Abel’s.

Abel’s blood cried out, Justice!

Jesus’ blood cries out, Mercy!

Abel’s blood said, You’re guilty.

Jesus’ blood says, You’re free.

The life is in the blood (Leviticus 17:11) — and He poured out His life to give you His.

Story – The Switched Cup

At a banquet long ago, a rich host noticed a poor guest drinking from a cracked clay cup.

Quietly, he replaced it with his own fine crystal goblet.

That’s what Jesus did.

He took our cracked cup — full of sin and shame — and gave us His own, filled with righteousness and grace.

He drank the cup of wrath so we could drink the cup of life.

The Shared Cup

In old Armenian homes, one cup would pass around the table — a sign of fellowship and trust.

When we lift this cup, we’re saying the same thing:

We are one in Christ. We share His life.