God Without Religion_ Can It Really Be This Simple_ - Andrew Farley [57]
Lately, though, the physical nourishment hadn’t been possible. The poor would show up, and there’d be nothing left. Paul says, “one remains hungry, another gets drunk” (v. 21).
The Unworthy Manner
So what’s the “unworthy manner” in which they were eating and drinking? It’s pretty clear when you picture it. They weren’t reflecting on the death, burial, and resurrection of Jesus Christ. They weren’t using the bread and wine to remember him. Instead, they were consumed with being first, filling their own stomachs, and looking to alcohol as the cure for their emotional ails. Their eating involved gluttony, and their drinking involved drunkenness. They brought disgrace on the celebration itself. And a number of them were literally getting sick or maybe even dying of alcoholism:
That is why many among you are weak and sick, and a number of you have fallen asleep. (1 Cor. 11:30)
Gluttony and drunkenness were the unworthy manner. This is why Paul gave the Corinthians this simple solution as he concluded his thoughts:
So then, my brothers, when you come together to eat, wait for each other. If anyone is hungry, he should eat at home, so that when you meet together it may not result in judgment. (1 Cor. 11:33–34)
That’s the whole solution: “wait for each other” and “eat at home.” But what about the “judgment” mentioned here? Christians won’t be judged or punished by God (John 3:18; 1 John 4:17–18). So what could this judgment mean? From the context, it’s obvious that they were judging each other. This judging of each other was the source of their divisions and factions discussed in the previous verses:
In the first place, I hear that when you come together as a church, there are divisions among you, and to some extent I believe it. (1 Cor. 11:18)
Imagine you’re a poor member of the early church. You bring your family to a church meal, only to find that everyone else beat you to it. They’re sprawled all over the place, complaining about how full they are. Some are even drunk or passed out. What would your reaction be? I’d be tempted to criticize, ridicule, and slander those who were “stealing” the food intended for my family: “Look at Aegeus! He doesn’t care about us poor people. All he cares about is himself and his own family. Every time we gather, they’re always the first ones here, and they end up eating platefuls of food, leaving none for us. And how about Xenos over there? He drinks even more than he eats! And he ends up passing out in his chair before we’re done, drunk as a skunk.”
This is why their church meetings together would “result in judgment” (1 Cor. 11:34). This is why Paul tells those who have plenty, “Wait politely for each other, and eat at home if you’re really that hungry.” That’s how the passage concludes, because that’s the whole solution to their problem.
What did they need to “examine”? The way they were eating and drinking at the Lord’s Supper. What was the “unworthy manner”? Their gluttony and drunkenness! This passage isn’t about some sort of required inspection of our sins in order to qualify for the Lord’s Supper. In context, it was about the Corinthians needing to celebrate the Lord’s Supper in the right way and for the right reasons. We’re called to celebrate “in remembrance of [Jesus],” not in remembrance of our recent performance. To teach that we must first go through a purging or cleansing in order to partake of the bread and wine is not the meaning of this passage. And it is a disgrace to the finished work of Christ that has qualified us, once for all.
Communion without Religion
I began this chapter by telling you about our experience in visiting a church where religion took center stage during communion. I’d like to end by telling you a little about what the celebration of the Lord’s Supper can be. If we’re not supposed to spend all this time confessing, what do we actually do?
At Ecclesia, we combine the Lord’s Supper with a message that centers on the finished work of Christ. We make it very clear why we are celebrating. The lights stay on. And there’s no crying