This Is My Body: Ownership and Community at Two Opposite Tables
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INTRODUCTION — THE SAME WORDS, TWO OPPOSITE RELIGIONS
There are phrases in Scripture that glow with such sacred light that you almost whisper them when you read them. Words so holy that the church has carried them for two thousand years and never grown tired of them. One of those phrases is this:
“This is My body.”
Jesus spoke it in an upper room, with bread in His hands, a cross in His path, and love in His heart. It was not a slogan, not a creed, not a cultural statement. It was the announcement of salvation. The Son of God holding out bread as if to say, “What you see here is what you will see on Calvary — My life offered, My body surrendered, My love poured out.”
But there is another voice in our world that speaks the same words.
Not in the language of surrender, but in the language of sovereignty.
Not in the spirit of sacrifice, but in the spirit of self-possession.
Our modern world has its own communion, its own table, its own gospel.
And at its table, people say the same words Jesus said, but with the exact opposite meaning:
“This is my body… and I answer to no one for what I do with it.”
Two religions.
Two tables.
Two opposite meanings.
Same words.
One voice says: “My body for your salvation.”
The other says: “My body for my pleasure.”
And between these two voices stands every believer, every church, every generation—asked to choose which table they will sit at, and which voice they will follow.
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OWNERSHIP — TWO CLAIMS, TWO LORDS
Let’s begin with the first word: ownership.
Because every theology, every worldview, every practice of worship starts with one core question:
Who owns me?
If you begin in the wrong place—if you begin with the assumption that I own me—then the gospel will never make sense, holiness will always feel like a burden, and surrender will always feel like loss.
But if you begin with God—if you begin with His ownership—then obedience becomes worship, sacrifice becomes joy, and surrender becomes freedom.
The Modern Declaration: “My Body Is Mine.”
For the modern world, the ultimate creed is simple:
“This is my body. I own it. I define it. I control it. I answer to no one for it.”
It is the creed of self-rule.
The religion of autonomy.
The doctrine of personal sovereignty.
The world tells us the highest virtue is self-possession.
The greatest authority is the self.
The truest worship is the worship of desire.
You hear it in the slogans of culture…
You hear it in politics…
You hear it in entertainment…
You hear it in the way people talk about identity, sexuality, pleasure, and even death.
It is the modern “communion,” and the confession at that table is always the same:
“My body is my own.”
But the end result is always the same:
People feel more free but become more enslaved.
People claim autonomy but lose peace.
People celebrate self-ownership yet live with unhealed wounds, unmet longings, and unending confusion.
A body kept for the self becomes a prison, not a home.
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CHRIST’S DECLARATION: “This Is My Body… Given for You.”
Now listen to the other voice. The voice that broke bread.
The voice that broke Himself.
“This is My body… given for you.”
Christ’s claim of ownership is the opposite of humanity’s claim.
Humanity says:
“My body is mine so I may keep it.”
Christ says:
“My body is mine so I may give it.”
Humanity uses ownership to justify self-protection, self-definition, self-fulfillment.
Christ uses ownership to express self-sacrifice, self-surrender, self-giving love.
He does not say, “This is My body, and no one will touch it.”
He says, “This is My body, and I will offer it so that you may be healed.”
He does not say, “This is My body, and I will control it to secure My comfort.”
He says, “This is My body, and I will lay it down so you can live.”
And this is where the gospel begins—not with our claim over our bodies, but with His claim over His.
He is the only One who ever said,
“No one takes My life from Me; I lay it down Myself.”
Jesus did not lose His life.
He gave it.
He handed it over freely.
He surrendered His body as the place where sin would be defeated, death overturned, and the new creation born.
And notice this:
He did not give His ideas, or His teachings, or His philosophy, or His sentiments for our salvation.
He gave His body.
The gospel is not merely a message of forgiveness.
It is the offering of a body—a real, physical body—broken, pierced, crucified, and resurrected for us.
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THE CROSS AS THE TRUE TABLE OF OWNERSHIP
At the cross, ownership is revealed clearly:
We do not own ourselves.
We are not our own creators.
We are not our own saviors.
We are not our own meaning-makers.
At the cross, Christ says:
“You cannot save your body. Only I can.”
At the cross, He says:
“You cannot define your body. Only the Father can.”
At the cross, He says:
“You cannot heal your body, your mind, your heart, your identity.
But My body given for you can.”
Modern secularism insists on self-possession, but Christ shows us that the only path to freedom is divine possession—being held by Him, redeemed by Him, restored by Him.
Paul says it with clarity that shakes the soul:
“You are not your own.
You were bought with a price.”
In that single sentence, the whole modern world collapses,
and the whole gospel rises.
We are not our own — that is bad news for pride,
but stunningly good news for the sinner.
Because if we belong to Him, then our past is not final,
our wounds are not permanent,
our failures are not fatal,
and our identity is not self-built — it is God-given.
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THE TWO COMMUNIONS
Every believer will participate in one of two communions:
1. The Communion of Self
Where we take bread of our own making, break it in our own name, and say:
“This is my body.”
Meaning:
“My body exists for me.”
“My desires determine my truth.”
“My identity is self-built.”
“My pleasure is sacred.”
But this “communion” never leads to peace.
It never forms community.
It never heals shame.
It never fills the heart.
It never satisfies the soul.
2. The Communion of Christ
Where we take the bread He breaks, receive the life He gives, and say:
“This is His body… given for me.”
Meaning:
“His love defines me.”
“His sacrifice changes me.”
“His ownership frees me.”
“His wounds heal me.”
“His life becomes my life.”
At one table, the self is broken.
At the other table, Christ is broken.
At one table, appetite is god.
At the other table, Christ is Lord.
At one table, the body is kept.
At the other table, the body is given.
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THE GOSPEL OF OWNERSHIP
Here is the truth that brings life:
You cannot save what you insist on owning.
But God can redeem what you surrender to Him.
You can keep your body, your identity, your desires, your wounds, your habits, your secrets, your shame, your sovereignty.
You can keep it all.
Or you can surrender it — every desire, every identity crisis, every wound, every fear — into the hands of the One who says:
“This is My body… given for you.”
Ownership becomes salvation only when the Owner is Christ.
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COMMUNITY — TWO TABLES, TWO PEOPLES, TWO DESTINIES
If the first word is ownership, the second word is community.
Because whatever owns you will also shape the community you belong to.
The table you sit at determines the people you walk with.
And the voice you follow will decide whether your life becomes a sanctuary or a solitary cell.
In our world today, the sentence “This is my body” builds two entirely different kinds of communities — one around Christ, and one around self.
Let’s enter the first.
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THE COMMUNION COMMUNITY — WHEN CHRIST GIVES HIS BODY, WE BECOME ONE BODY
There is something breathtaking about the way Scripture describes the church. Not as a club, or a gathering, or an organization — but as a body.
“For we, though many, are one bread and one body; for we all partake of that one bread.”
(1 Corinthians 10:17)
When Jesus gives His body, He doesn’t just create salvation.
He creates family.
He makes a community out of broken people.
A fellowship out of failures.
A tribe formed not by bloodlines, but by His blood poured out for us.
This is the miracle of the Lord’s Supper:
His brokenness becomes our belonging.
Christ does not say,
“This is My body… given so you can stand alone.”
He says,
“This is My body… so you can be drawn into a community shaped by grace, humility, mercy, and holiness.”
His offering creates a table where every race, every age, every background, every personality, every story sits side by side — not because we agree on everything, but because we bow to the same Savior.
At Christ’s table…
No one is too important to kneel.
No one is too wounded to be welcomed.
No one is too sinful to be forgiven.
No one is too different to belong.
This is the community born from Christ’s words:
“This is My body… given for you.”
A community where love is not optional.
Forgiveness is not a suggestion.
Service is the normal way of life.
And humility is the air we breathe.
It is the only place on earth where sinners can come as they are and not stay as they are.
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THE OPPOSITE COMMUNITY — WHEN THE BODY BELONGs TO THE SELF
Now turn the phrase around.
Take the same words Jesus spoke — “This is my body” — and turn them inward, away from sacrifice, away from surrender, away from love.
What kind of community forms around that idea?
A community built not from grace but from self-rule.
Not from sacrifice but from self-expression.
Not from love but from personal autonomy.
On the surface, it looks like freedom.
It sounds like liberation.
It advertises itself as empowerment, identity, authenticity.
But look deeper.
A community built on self-ownership eventually becomes a community of isolation —
because when everyone is the center, no one is connected.
When the self becomes the final authority, relationships turn into negotiations.
Love becomes conditional.
Commitment becomes optional.
Belonging becomes temporary.
The world preaches,
“This is my body… and no one has the right to ask anything of me.”
But you cannot build community on a foundation that refuses surrender.
You cannot build family on a creed that rejects covenant.
You cannot build belonging when the highest virtue is personal autonomy.
The world calls this freedom,
but Scripture calls it loneliness with a crowd around you.
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THE TWO TABLES: THE BODY THAT MAKES ONE AND THE BODY THAT STANDS ALONE
Now place these two tables side-by-side.
At Christ’s table, the bread is broken, the cup is shared, and sinners become saints who belong to one another.
At the world’s table, each person keeps their own bread, takes their own cup, and protects their own life from any claim but their own.
One table forms a body;
the other forms a crowd.
One table produces communion;
the other produces consumers.
One table binds hearts;
the other isolates souls.
One table grows saints;
the other grows strangers.
In the kingdom of God, the cry is: “His body makes us one body.”
In the kingdom of self, the cry is: “My body makes me my own.”
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THE GOSPEL COMMUNITY IS NOT BUILT ON PREFERENCE BUT ON PRESENCE
Here is something modern Christianity struggles to accept:
Community is not built on preference. It is built on presence.
The world says you can belong as long as the group fits your style, your comfort zone, your taste, your politics, your personality, your expectations.
But Christ says,
“You belong because My body was given for you, not because the people around you match your preferences.”
Christian community is not a group we choose; it is a family we inherit.
You don’t get to pick your spiritual siblings any more than you picked your earthly ones.
Jesus didn’t say,
“This is My body given so you can curate your own community.”
He said,
“This is My body so you can live in the community I create.”
And the community He creates is a strange, beautiful, often uncomfortable miracle.
It puts people together who would never naturally gather.
It binds together personalities that would never naturally mix.
It joins stories that would never naturally intersect.
Why?
Because the unity does not come from us.
It comes from Him.
From His broken body.
From His poured-out love.
From His Spirit who knits us together.
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THE WORLD’S COMMUNITY IS BUILT ON NEED, NOT LOVE
Worldly “community” is built on what people need from each other:
I stay with you as long as you agree with me.
I walk beside you as long as you affirm me.
I’m committed as long as you fulfill something in me.
This is not belonging.
It is transaction.
It is connection without covenant.
It is closeness without commitment.
But Christ’s community is built on what He has done for us.
It is built on forgiveness, not validation.
It is built on grace, not agreement.
It is built on covenant love, not convenience.
That’s why the early church didn’t just gather — they devoted themselves to fellowship.
Not because it was easy.
Not because it was pleasant.
Not because it was efficient.
They devoted themselves because the One who gave His body had called them to become His body — and bodies don’t function if the parts don’t stay connected.
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THE MIRROR AND THE CROSS
Two images dominate the two communities formed by these two meanings of “This is my body.”
The first image is a mirror.
Because secularism teaches us to look at ourselves:
our desires, our preferences, our needs, our rights.
The second image is the cross.
Because Christ teaches us to look at Him:
His sacrifice, His forgiveness, His humility, His love.
You cannot build Christian community with mirrors.
Only crosses build communion.
At the mirror, I see myself and protect myself.
At the cross, I see Him and surrender myself.
At the mirror, I say,
“This body belongs to me.”
At the cross, He says,
“This body is given for you.”
And when you kneel before the cross — when you receive His body broken for you — something supernatural happens:
Your life becomes a place where someone else can belong.
This is what the world cannot understand:
Only surrendered bodies create surrendered communities.
Only broken bread creates united people.
Only a crucified Christ can build a church that loves like He loves.
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THE TABLES WE SIT AT SHAPE THE CHURCH WE BECOME
A church shaped by Christ’s table becomes a community where:
• grace is normal,
• forgiveness flows,
• people matter more than positions,
• love covers a multitude of sins,
• humility is strength,
• and belonging is rooted in the cross.
A church shaped by the world’s table becomes a community where:
• preference outruns covenant,
• offenses last longer than relationships,
• commitment is shallow,
• and membership is optional.
But here is the good news:
No matter how divided the world becomes,
no matter how loud the culture gets,
no matter how many people shout, “My body is mine,”
Christ still holds out the bread and the cup and says:
“This is My body… given for you.”
And wherever that bread is broken,
wherever that cup is shared,
wherever His body is received in humility and faith —
a community of love and grace begins to form again.
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THE INVITATION — WHICH TABLE ARE YOU SITTING AT?
We have heard the two voices.
We have seen the two tables.
We have walked through the two meanings of one sacred sentence:
“This is my body.”
Jesus speaks it as a declaration of sacrifice.
The world speaks it as a declaration of sovereignty.
Jesus uses these words to form a community of grace.
The world uses them to form a culture of autonomy.
Now it is time to bring this message to the heart — your heart, my heart, the heart of the church.
Because no one hears these words neutrally.
They call for response.
They require decision.
They invite surrender.
The question is not whether you speak these words.
The question is how you speak them
and which voice you are echoing.
Are you echoing Christ?
Or are you echoing the culture?
Are you living at the table of surrender?
Or the table of self?
Every believer must eventually answer the question:
What does “This is my body” mean in my life?
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WHAT DOES CHRIST'S STATEMENT REQUIRE OF US?
When Jesus said,
“This is My body, given for you,”
He wasn’t only announcing His sacrifice.
He was inviting ours.
He wasn’t just revealing who He is.
He was showing us who we must become.
Because the moment you receive His body —
the moment you take the bread and the cup into your hands —
you are confessing with your own life:
“My body is not mine.
My life is not mine.
My purpose is not mine.
I belong to Him.”
Christ’s ownership over us is not domination.
It is liberation.
He does not say,
“Give Me your life so I can control you.”
He says,
“Give Me your life so I can heal you, restore you, transform you, and make you whole.”
To receive His body is to surrender yours —
your desires, your ambitions, your wounds, your scars, your identity, your future.
To receive His body is to finally admit,
“I am not my own.
I was bought with a price.
And the One who bought me loves me more than I have ever loved myself.”
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AND WHAT DOES THE WORLD’S STATEMENT REQUIRE?
When the world says,
“This is my body,”
it requires a different kind of sacrifice —
not surrender, but separation.
The world demands that you separate yourself from anything that calls you out of yourself:
• Separate from holiness.
• Separate from accountability.
• Separate from covenant love.
• Separate from the claims of Christ.
• Separate from anything that challenges your personal sovereignty.
It is a gospel of isolation.
A creed of self-protection.
A spirituality with no Savior but the self.
The world says,
“If you keep your body for yourself, you will be free.”
But that promise has never delivered freedom.
It has only delivered loneliness, confusion, addiction, despair, and broken identity.
It produces communities that do not know how to stay,
relationships that do not know how to heal,
and souls that do not know where to belong.
The world keeps promising connection
while building a culture of disconnection.
This is why the church must be different — radically different —
not by shouting louder,
but by loving deeper.
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THE CROSS IS STILL THE ONLY TABLE THAT HEALS
We live in a world that says,
“Protect yourself.
Preserve yourself.
Define yourself.
Defend yourself.”
But then Jesus comes and says,
“Give yourself.
Lose yourself in Me.
And you will find life.”
When Jesus breaks the bread,
He breaks the lie of self-ownership.
When He pours the cup,
He pours out the truth of divine love.
When He offers His body,
He heals ours.
At the cross, your body finds meaning.
At the cross, your identity finds truth.
At the cross, your story finds redemption.
At the cross, your community finds its center.
The cross is not only where Christ gave His body —
it is where He created a people.
He made a family out of strangers.
He built a church out of wanderers.
He formed a community that does not exist because of human agreement but because of divine grace.
The world says, “You belong as long as you agree.”
Christ says, “You belong because I died.”
The world says, “You are loved if you perform.”
Christ says, “You are loved because I was pierced.”
The world says, “Your body is yours to discover.”
Christ says, “My body is yours to receive.”
The difference is not subtle.
It is eternal.
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WHAT TABLE ARE YOU FORMING AROUND YOU?
Now let the message turn inward.
Look at your life.
Look at your relationships.
Look at the community you are building around yourself.
There are two tables you can build:
1. You can build a table where you are at the center.
A place where everything must revolve around your comfort,
your preferences,
your control,
your image.
At that table, relationships feel fragile,
commitment feels inconvenient,
forgiveness feels unnatural.
At that table, you have many acquaintances,
but not many brothers.
You have many conversations,
but not much communion.
You protect yourself,
but you do not share yourself.
You appear connected,
but live alone.
2. Or you can build a table where Christ is at the center.
A place where the bread is broken,
the cup is shared,
and the love that saved you begins to shape how you treat others.
At that table:
People matter more than preferences.
Humility matters more than being right.
Grace matters more than grievances.
Presence matters more than posture.
At Christ’s table, you do not just receive His body —
you become part of it.
And once you become part of His body,
you cannot live as though you are your own.
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THE CALL — LEAVE THE TABLE OF SELF AND COME TO THE TABLE OF THE SAVIOR
So let the calling of this message fall gently but firmly on your heart:
Which table are you sitting at?
Are you living as though your life is your own,
your identity is self-created,
your body is self-defined,
your relationships are optional,
and your community is negotiable?
Or are you living at the table where Christ holds the bread and says:
“This is My body… given for you.”
The table of self offers pleasure,
but cannot offer peace.
The table of self offers autonomy,
but cannot offer identity.
The table of self offers connection,
but cannot offer communion.
But the table of Christ offers healing,
belonging,
purpose,
identity,
forgiveness,
and eternal life.
If you have been sitting at the wrong table —
the table of self-protection,
or the table of self-rule,
or the table of self-comfort
— Christ calls you today:
Leave that table.
Come to Mine.
Come to the place where My body is broken,
so yours may be healed.
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THE TAKEAWAY — “THIS IS MY BODY” MUST BECOME YOUR CONFESSION
When you hear Jesus say,
“This is My body, given for you,”
He is giving you more than forgiveness.
He is giving you a new way of life.
A life where your body — your whole person —
is no longer kept for yourself but offered to Him.
A life where you no longer live as your own,
because you belong to the One who loved you first.
A life where community is not an option,
but a calling.
A life where you stop protecting your story
and start sharing your life.
A life where you move from isolation to communion,
from self to Savior,
from autonomy to identity,
from sovereignty to surrender,
from independence to interdependence,
from being alone to being beloved.
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THE APPEAL
I want to speak now to your heart the way the Lord spoke to mine as this message was taking shape:
Stop trying to save a life you are called to surrender.
Stop trying to define a body that God already redeemed.
Stop trying to build a community around your preferences instead of Christ’s presence.
Let Christ say over you today:
“Your body belongs to Me.
Your life is in My hands.
Your future is held by My love.
Your identity is secured by My sacrifice.
Come to My table.
Come to My body.
Come to My community.
Come and be made whole.”
And let the church say,
“Amen.”
