Today is World Communion Sunday—a day I honestly hadn’t paid much attention to until this week. I saw a church I follow on social media post that they would be celebrating Communion today because of the occasion. I paused for a moment and thought, That’s wonderful. A day specifically set aside to highlight and participate in one of the central Sacraments Christ commanded His Church to observe—“as often as you drink it”—is something to celebrate.
Over the past year, I’ve noticed a growing renewal of interest in the Table—whether you call it the Eucharist, Communion, the Lord’s Supper, or the Lord’s Table. In many churches, there’s a quiet but steady movement to return to the centrality of this sacred meal in worship. And it’s not without reason.
When we look at Scripture, we see that the early Church placed the Table right at the heart of their gatherings. Acts 2:42 tells us, “They devoted themselves to the apostles’ teaching and to fellowship, to the breaking of bread and to prayer.” The “breaking of bread” here isn’t just sharing a meal—it’s the Eucharist. The early believers didn’t treat Communion as an occasional ritual. It was a regular and vital act of worship, a visible expression of their fellowship with Christ and with one another.
And that pattern continued for centuries. Through the early Church Fathers, through the medieval Church, through the Reformation and beyond, the weekly celebration of the Eucharist was the norm. It’s still the case today in many Anglican, Orthodox, Lutheran, and Catholic churches. The Table wasn’t an optional extra—it was the very center of Christian worship, the place where heaven and earth meet in the mystery of God’s grace.
But somewhere along the way—particularly in Protestant churches in America—that rhythm changed. For many congregations, especially in non-denominational or contemporary settings, Communion is now a monthly or quarterly event, sometimes even less. It’s not that these churches don’t love Jesus or value the cross—it’s that the Table has been unintentionally sidelined.
Part of this happened out of necessity. In the early years of the United States, the Church was spreading faster than clergy could keep up. Methodist circuit riders, for example, traveled hundreds of miles to serve multiple congregations. They might only reach a particular church once a month, and when they did, that was when the Lord’s Supper was celebrated. It was a practical and pastoral reality, not a theological one—and in many places, it’s still necessary today.
But over time, this practical limitation became a habit, and that habit became a tradition. What began as an issue of logistics slowly reshaped our theology and expectations. People grew accustomed to celebrating Communion infrequently, and that irregularity came to feel normal—even spiritual.
The second shift was theological, and this one has had a deeper, more lasting impact. During the Radical Reformation, some reformers—wanting to distance themselves from perceived excesses in medieval theology—rejected the idea that Christ is truly present in the elements. They reduced Communion to a symbolic act of remembrance, a kind of mental exercise to recall the crucifixion.
Now, remembrance is indeed part of the Supper. Jesus Himself said, “Do this in remembrance of me.” But to say it is only remembrance is to strip away something sacred and mysterious. For the first 1,500 years of Christianity, believers of every tradition—East and West—affirmed some form of the Real Presence of Christ in the Eucharist. They might have debated how it happens, but they agreed that when we gather at the Table, Christ is truly present among us in a unique and powerful way.
Even the early Reformers like Luther, Calvin, and Cranmer held to this conviction, each in their own language. The Anglican tradition developed a rich understanding that Christ is “really and spiritually present” in the Eucharist, not in a crude or mechanical sense, but through the mystery of the Holy Spirit. The Wesleys inherited this view, and through Methodism, they brought a renewed emphasis on the Eucharist as a means of grace—a channel through which God works to strengthen, renew, and sanctify His people.
But over time, the symbolic-only view spread widely, especially through revival movements and the broader Evangelical world. Many sincere and faithful believers came to see Communion as little more than a memorial, a time to think about what Jesus did for us. And while that reflection is good and necessary, it misses the deeper truth that the Supper is not just something we do for God, but something God does in us.
In much of Evangelicalism today, even in denominations that officially affirm the Real Presence, the practice of Communion has been shaped more by the radical reformers than by the classical Christian consensus. Part of the reason is the proliferation of evangelical publishing—books, study guides, and devotional materials that are biblically faithful and orthodox in many ways, yet often reflect a theology of the sacraments that is thin or incomplete. These materials have shaped generations of believers who, though belonging to liturgical or sacramental traditions, now think and practice more like Baptists or Zwinglians when it comes to the Table.
I don’t say that to criticize—it’s simply the reality of how ideas spread. People need good content to learn and grow from, and for a long time, most of what was available leaned toward a non-sacramental framework. That’s why I’m so encouraged by organizations like Seedbed, which are creating thoughtful and engaging resources from a Methodist and Wesleyan perspective—resources that help reclaim a fuller, richer understanding of grace and sacrament.
So here’s my plea to the Church: let’s come back to the Table. Let’s make the Lord’s Supper central again. Not as a token observance, but as the heartbeat of our worship. When we gather around the Table, we don’t just remember Christ’s sacrifice—we receive it afresh. We are nourished by His grace. We are united with one another. We are strengthened for mission. The Eucharist is not an empty symbol—it’s a living encounter with the risen Christ who meets us where He promised to be.
And this isn’t something that only large or liturgical churches can do. Whether you worship with a guitar and projector or a choir and organ, whether you meet in a cathedral or a rented school gym, Christ’s Table fits every context. The meal He gave us isn’t bound by style or size. It’s the meal where He Himself is both the host and the feast.
If we long to see revival in our churches, renewal in our lives, and transformation in our communities, we won’t find it through better programs or slicker production. It starts where the early Church started—with the breaking of bread, with the Word, with prayer, with fellowship around the Table.
Because when we gather there, Christ Himself is in our midst.
And that changes everything.