The question and conversation of Sacraments, particularly in the Protestant context, is an interesting one. Primarily, it is not even over the number of Sacraments—that, as we’ll see, is a secondary concern. Often the prevailing question is, “Do Sacraments even exist?” As I discussed in a previous post on restorationism, there’s a strong wing in the Protestant Church that seeks to strip away the language of “sacrament” altogether, preferring the term ordinance. In this view, Baptism and Communion are simply things Jesus told us to do as reminders, symbols of faith and obedience, memorials of grace already received.
While there certainly are elements of memorial and obedience present in these practices, that’s a severely myopic view of what the historic Church has understood these actions to be. When we look at Scripture and the witness of the early Church, we find that the Sacraments are more than mere actions, they are means by which God actually works in the world and in our lives.
The classical definition, first clearly articulated by St. Augustine, is that a sacrament is “an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.” That is, God uses material things, bread, wine, water, oil, hands, words, and even people—to communicate His unseen grace. Sacraments are moments where heaven and earth intersect, where the invisible grace of God touches the tangible realities of human life.
In the Protestant imagination, this definition has often been treated with suspicion. Some fear it implies a kind of “magical” view of the elements, as though grace were a substance dispensed through ritual. But that is not what the historic Church has ever meant. Rather, the Sacraments are relational and covenantal. God binds Himself to His promises through physical signs, and in faith we receive what He offers. As Augustine said, “The word comes to the element, and it becomes a sacrament.
Traditionally, the Church has spoken of seven sacraments: Baptism, Eucharist, Confirmation, Penance (or Confession), Anointing of the Sick, Marriage, and Holy Orders. The medieval Church taught that all seven were instituted by Christ, but during the Reformation, Protestant theologians made distinctions.
Luther, Calvin, Cranmer, and Wesley each affirmed that Baptism and the Lord’s Supper were directly instituted by Christ Himself, and therefore uniquely sacramental in nature. These two are what we might call the Sacraments of Christ—those commanded by Jesus and visibly tied to the Gospel. They are not merely symbols; they are Gospel enacted. In Baptism, we are buried and raised with Christ (Romans 6:4); in Communion, we are united with His body and blood (1 Corinthians 10:16). Both are means by which the Holy Spirit conveys grace to believers, nourishing faith and deepening union with God.
The other five—Confirmation, Confession, Marriage, Anointing, and Ordination—have deep biblical and theological roots, but were viewed by the Reformers as sacramentals or rites of the Church rather than direct Sacraments of Christ. They are practices through which God’s grace may indeed be experienced, but not necessarily instituted with a visible sign and direct command by Jesus.
At the heart of the sacramental vision is the belief that God is present in and through His creation. The Incarnation itself is the ultimate Sacrament—God taking on flesh. If in Christ, the invisible God becomes visible, then every sacrament participates in that same mystery. Bread and wine, water and oil, are all created means through which the Creator communicates Himself. When we lose the sacramental imagination, we risk reducing the faith to ideas and morals, rather than encounter and transformation.
This is why the early Church saw the Sacraments as mysteries—not puzzles to be solved, but realities to be entered. The Greek term mysterion carried this sense of divine participation, and the Latin word sacramentum added the idea of sacred commitment, a binding oath. Together they express that in the Sacraments, God commits Himself to us, and we respond in faith and obedience. They are not our performances, but God’s gracious initiatives.
The Reformers often spoke of the Word and the Sacraments as the “two hands of God.” Through the Word, God addresses our minds and hearts; through the Sacraments, He touches our bodies and senses. Both are expressions of the same Gospel. The Word declares grace; the Sacraments enact it. The Word proclaims forgiveness; Baptism washes it over us. The Word promises Christ’s presence; Communion feeds us with it.
When either hand is neglected, the fullness of Christian life suffers. A purely verbal faith can become cerebral, disembodied, and disconnected from lived experience. But a sacramental faith without the Word becomes superstition or magic. The balance of the two keeps us grounded—faith comes by hearing, but it is confirmed in tasting, touching, and participating.
If the Sacraments teach us that God works through physical means, then all of life becomes potentially sacramental. Every meal shared in gratitude echoes the Eucharist. Every baptismal remembrance at the sink reminds us we are washed and called. Every confession spoken in humility opens the way to reconciliation. Marriage, ordination, and anointing remind us that vocation, love, and suffering are all places where grace can dwell.
This is where Protestants can rediscover a rich theology of everyday holiness. The same God who meets us at the Table meets us in the mundane—at the dinner table, in the hospital room, in the workplace, and in the home. The “sacrament of daily life” does not replace Baptism or Communion; it flows from them. The worship service becomes the pattern for life, and life becomes an extension of worship.
In our age of rationalism and technology, mystery often feels like an intrusion—something we must explain away or control. Yet the Church is healthiest when it embraces mystery as the place where faith and awe dwell together. To confess that God is truly present in the Sacraments is not to claim we understand how, but to trust that He is faithful to His promises.
For Protestant churches seeking renewal, this may be the way forward: not abandoning the Reformation’s commitment to the Word, but deepening it through a sacramental imagination. We need not fear that reverence for the Sacraments will lead us back to superstition. Instead, it may lead us forward—to a faith that is once again whole: intellectual, embodied, communal, and full of wonder.
Perhaps it’s time for Protestants to see not just two sacraments and five extras, but a whole life that can become sacramental. The Sacraments of Christ remain the sure foundation—Baptism as entrance, Eucharist as sustenance. Yet the other rites of the Church remind us that grace pervades the ordinary: marriage, vocation, healing, reconciliation—all can become signs of grace when offered to God.
The task, then, is not to argue endlessly about number or definition, but to recover the reality they point to: that God delights to make Himself known through signs and symbols, through word and matter, through flesh and spirit. The Sacraments remind us that salvation is not an escape from creation but its redemption. And that, perhaps, is a truth our world needs to see again—grace that is not abstract, but embodied.