Daniel N. Lee

So the question then is, what should we do? I must say, that I do not know. We have become so far removed from the setting of the first century worship assembly that it would be nearly impossible to take the meal as they did week after week. Instead of smaller groups of believers meeting in each others homes to share a meal, including the Lord’s Supper at the end, we have thousand-member congregations sitting in pews, staring at the floor or at the back of their sister’s head.

I’m not suggesting to completely rid ourselves of these “mega-church” type settings. I find it very encouraging to worship in one place at one time with hundreds or thousands of fellow believers. However, this type of setting is not easily conducive to the spirit of the Lord’s Supper. So what can be done?

Here are a few suggestions that others and I have brainstormed:

• While the communion trays are passed, instead of sitting silently by yourself, have everyone in the congregation turn to their neighbors (2 or 3 friends/family members) and remember Christ together. Share stories about how the resurrection of Christ has changed your life. Reminisce about times that God has shown his love to you. Laugh, have fun, get excited because you are a part of the greatest story of redemption the world has ever known!
• Or maybe we should periodically have fellowship meals following the service, in potluck style like they were obviously doing in Corinth. At the end of the meal, before anybody leaves, we could break bread and pass the cup in remembrance and thanksgiving.
• Or, should we not do communion at all during the morning service and wait until Sunday night when we could meet as families in each other’s homes to have food, fellowship, and communion in a more intimate setting. (We would make arrangements on Sunday morning for those unable to attend a Sunday night small group)

Let me know what you think, and if you have other suggestions based off the discussion then please let me know.

Ok, sorry it has been so long between the first section and this next one. This is an important issue, and I needed some extra time to work some things out. Plus life just catches me off guard sometimes. But it’s alright now. I’m taking a break from my first-person narratives to bring you the long-awaited 2nd half of the discussion I started about a month ago.
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Alright, so we’ve sped through Luke, looking more closely at the meals which Jesus shared with those desiring to follow him. These were meals of celebration, community, covenant renewal. And the Last Supper was the climax of such meals which actually instigated a new covenant instead of renewing the old one.

And after all this through the life of Jesus, we see in Acts that these meals were shared quite frequently among the believers. These meals were also in celebration of the new covenant and the resulting community which those who choose to follow Christ share with God, Christ, the Spirit, and each other.

So now, after looking at the Luke-Acts, let’s turn to the other passage most commonly referenced and misunderstood concerning instructions on the Lord’s Supper — 1 Corinthians 10 and 11.

Let’s start in 10:14-22, bearing in mind that this passage is dealing more with the issue of meat sacrificed to idols than instructions on the Lord’s Supper, but Paul raises some interesting points.

In verse 18 Paul compares the Lord’s Supper with the fellowship offering which was under the old law. Of the three types of offerings neither the burnt offering (which was completely consumed by fire from the altar) nor the sin offering (which was completely consumed save for the portion of meat which the priest could take for themselves to eat) were comparable to the sacrifice of Jesus, nor our meal which we share together under his command. The fellowship offering was taken to the altar and singed. The priest was allowed to take his fair share of it and then the rest was taken back to the community of family and friends to eat in celebration of God’s love and forgiveness toward his covenant people. (Leviticus 1-7)

But also notice that while these offerings were sacrificed at the altar, that is not where the celebration took place, obviously. The celebration came at the table. Paul says here that those who eat the sacrifices are sharers in the altar, and I believe that those who eat of the Lord’s Supper are partakers in Christ’s altar, the cross, for Paul says in 11:26 that by eating this meal we proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes. But Paul then goes on to say in 10:21 that we are partakers in the table of the Lord. And the table theme throughout the New Testament is one of joy, celebration, and renewal.

So, some principles from this passage in chapter 10:

• The Lord’s Supper is compared to the fellowship meals which the Jews ate together in celebration.
• We are partakers in the table, not the altar. At the altar we find death, gloom, sadness, guilt, unworthiness. At the table we encounter life, joy, celebration, forgiveness, and acceptance.
• It seems like too many Christians are eating the meal as if it were Friday, not Sunday.

And finally, I would like to take a closer look at the issues which Paul is addressing in chapter 11. The beginning of this chapter is the start to a lengthy discussion on order in the assembled body of believers. I believe that this simple fact has a lot to do with the way much of the material in 11-14 is interpreted. Let’s especially keep this in mind when Paul reaches his discussion on order in the Lord’s Supper (11:17-34). I’m not able to go in depth with every individual verse along the way, but I hope to hit some of the highlights.

What was happening in Corinth was that as the church would assemble, they would have pot-luck style meals to share together, ending off with the Lord’s Supper. However, the upper class citizens would be able to gather earlier than the lower class simply because they didn’t have to do as much work, if any at all. Everyone brought to the table whatever they could bring to share with others. The richer folks might bring meats, wines, and other fancy foods. The peasants might only be able to bring a few carrots or loaves of bread. But since the richer folks were arriving earlier, they also began to eat before the others could arrive. So the poor were stuck with what meager food they could bring, and the rich were getting full and drunk. They were not waiting on each other and treating each other like family, much less like the body of Christ.

So with this context in mind, let’s reexamine some of the verses which many have ripped from their original context and twisted to fit their views on how things should be done. It seems to me that what Paul is saying in this passage is that the Lord’s Supper is meant to be a shared experience with all believers, and none is to be left out. I see nothing in this section about a quite time of individual self-evaluation and introspection, sitting silently while a trayful of crackers is passed to you. This is what many people have done in order to comply with Paul’s words about taking the meal in a “worthy” manner (11:27) and “judging the body rightly.” (11:29)

First of all, let’s contextualize what unworthy manner Paul is talking about. It goes back to what Paul was just talking about – taking advantage of the less fortunate of the church and looking out solely for one’s own interests. If you don’t care about the communal aspect of “Communion”, then you are taking it in an “unworthy manner” just as Paul describes in 11:19-22.

Then, I have also heard that we should be focused on the body of Christ which was sacrificed for us on the cross, and I agree with that to an extent, but again, we are taking the meal on Sunday, not Friday. Also, the group of believers is referred to as the body of Christ, which makes more sense in the context of ch. 11 & 12. It is the body of believers that we are to be judging rightly. We should care about the needs of our brothers and look out for the interest of our sisters. Paul is simply saying in these verses that if the Christians at Corinth were going to share a meal together, they should do so in a way that includes everyone so that all may have an equal share of the meal, including the Lord’s Supper at the end.

Paul ends by telling them to wait for each other, and if anyone is really so hungry that he cannot possibly wait, then he should eat at home before coming. Paul is stressing the community and fellowship behind Communion. Without that community orientation, the meal is nothing more than some bread and wine. But as we gather together in God’s name, then the meal is transformed into to flesh and blood of the covenant.

Honestly, from Paul’s discussion on the meal as a communal event, I feel that we are just as wrong to sit silently in our pews, blocking out the rest of the world, including our brothers and sisters right next to us, as we assume the common eyes-down-Bible-opened-introspection position. It is not supposed to be some individual experience like we have turned it into. I feel like we have seen what happened in Corinth and have gone to the polar opposite in order to avoid making those same mistakes. Ironically, we have become even more individualistic and selfish in our taking of the Lord’s Supper as the Corinthians were.
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These are just some thoughts. If you see what I’m talking about and it makes sense, please do something about it. Let’s try and be consistent when we look to scripture for a model of how to do church. Let’s break out of our tradition of individualism and see the light and joy that comes from sharing a fellowship meal with those whom we are closest to.

I know what it’s like. I’ve been there, I’ve done that. I was gone. I was so far away from God, that I didn’t know if there was any hope of finding my way back. I had completely lost control. I was in a constant struggle against Satan, and I was outnumbered because I tried to handle it myself. But by the time I realized I wasn’t strong enough, it was far too late.

Before I knew it, I was having fits of blind rage. I ended up hurting the ones I loved the most, and I had no memory of it. I had lost all control over my actions. I couldn’t think straight, I did things to completely defame myself and my family. It wasn’t long before I had lost complete control over everything. My life just crumbled apart beneath my feet, and I fell down into what seemed like a bottomless pit of depression, rage, hostility, aggressiveness, and complete antisocial behavior. They had no choice but to banish me from the city. I was unclean. I was dangerous. I was possessed.

By that time, all control had been seized by the demons inside of me. I wasn’t really I that got cast out of the city, but rather the vile creature that was inhabiting my body. It was controlling my every thought and action. It made me do things that are completely unexplainable. The townspeople tried to restrain me with ropes and chains, but somehow I would always burst free and run out into the wilderness, hurting anyone or anything that got in my way.

Eventually, they stopped trying to lock me up and just let me loose inside a cemetery. I was dead to them. I was living where they thought I belonged. My persona had even given up trying to fight its way to the forefront so that I could be normal for a few moments. I had lost myself. I was dead. The only thing keeping me alive was whatever had come inside me. It was a miserable existence.

If you could see me then, you would not recognize me as the man standing in front of you today. While living in the tombs, I would unashamedly run around naked, yelling at and harassing anyone who came near. Then one day, I heard some people passing by, so I went out to yell at them. But these were no ordinary passers-by. The sight of the one leading the other men sent a sense of fear and dread down my spine, which was strange for I had not feared another man since I had become possessed. This man was different. I didn’t know him, but the things living inside me sure did.

I ran out to meet him, fell down before him, and in dread I cried out, “What do I have to do with You, Jesus, Son of the Most High God?! I beg you not to torment me!”

I could sense some sort of power in this man, Jesus, such as I had never known before. He had even more power than the devils inside of me, and before I knew it he was speaking authoritatively to them. I could begin to feel a release on my body, as if a great weight were being lifted from my weary shoulders. All the while those demons, which called themselves “Legion”, were fighting and pulling and twisting, pleading with Jesus for him to send them into the herd of pigs up on the hill.

And then it happened: I was free. I fell to the ground in exhaustion, feeling as if I had been held under water for too long and now could finally gasp in some air. I looked up to see the entire herd of pigs turn and run off the cliffs and into the sea.

I couldn’t believe it. Jesus had given me my life back. He had removed those demons from my life which had ruined me and led me to end up in a graveyard for the rest of my pitiful life. That was the greatest single moment I had ever experienced. Jesus had saved me from the fiery pits of hell.

By the time I had become fully awake and conscious again, the owners of the pigs were bringing what seemed like the entire village with them to talk with Jesus. I thought they were going to thank him and give him the appreciation and honor he deserved, but instead they pleaded fearfully with him to leave. He didn’t try to argue with them, as I felt he should have. He simply ordered those with him to prepare the boats for the return trip across the Galilean Sea.

Before he left, I pleaded with him to let me come with them. I dreaded having to face my friends and family again. I just wanted to leave, to start over, to spread the good news about Jesus to those whom I would meet along the way. I wanted to be fully devoted to Jesus, but I just could not face those back home. I could not face my past. I could not own up to the things I had done and the relationships I had destroyed because of what happened to me. I just wanted to leave.

But Jesus told me to go back home and proclaim the things he had done for me. Let me tell you, that was the hardest thing I ever did. I got looks of fear, hatred, and disgust. Some were confused to see me fully clothed and acting calmly. As I walked down the street back home, I could hear people whispering, “Psycho,” “Crazy,” “Freak,” “Whacko.” I felt the skeptical stares as I walked past, but I tried my hardest not to let these things pull me down again. I was better than that. Jesus had made me better. He had given me a new life, a fresh start, a new name. I now had the courage to face my past and shape my future around the kingdom of God.

These are the great things God has done for me: He had given me a new life and a second chance. I have found true love, mercy, and forgiveness. I have rebuilt relationships which are stronger than ever. I take nothing for granted, especially a proper shelter, a warm meal, and a nice set of clothes. I am not judgmental, legalistic, or overly concerned with “normal” worries of this world. I know God is able to provide for me. I love, I forgive, and I attempt to change lives through the power of God.

So what has God done for me? Everything.

What has he done for you?

Hopeless doesn’t really start to describe how I felt. Pitiful is getting closer. Embarrassed, ashamed, angry, disheartened. This is how I felt at the sudden realization of my own disillusionment. I really thought He was the one. I had devoted the last couple years of my life to following this Rabbi, this Prophet who claimed to be the Messiah – the One who would certainly deliver us from our oppression. I really thought this was it. Israel would finally break free from the Roman Empire and regain its full glory like the days of King David. Our Savior had finally come, and He had come in my own lifetime!

And then in the blink of an eye it was all over.

This was how I felt as I, Cleopas, and my friend, who wishes to remain unnamed, were walking down that lonely, seven-mile road back home to Emmaus. I was terrified of what my family and friends were going to think of me. I had forsaken everything to follow this Jesus of Nazareth, and now I had to go back to the people whom I had left because of what this Man said. His words were still ringing clearly in my ears as if they were said yesterday, “Anyone who loves his father and mother, his brothers and sisters, even his own life more than Me, he is not worthy of discipleship to me.”

Choosing to follow Him was the toughest decision I ever had to make. I fought long and hard with my family about this Man. I laid awake in bed several nights as I pondered whether to follow Him or not. I had heard the stories of men and women being expelled from the synagogue for their decision to follow this Rabbi. I knew that I would be laying everything on the line just for the hope that Jesus would be different.

Several individual men had, in the recent years, pretended to be the Messiah, the one who would lead Israel in a revolt against the Romans – men like Theudas, or Judas of Galilee. The words they said had struck a chord in the hearts of many Jews throughout Israel who had been longing for some word of hope and deliverance from their present, pitiful state. Both these men had gathered large followings. Both were arrested and crucified by Rome as revolutionaries. All their followers dispersed, and their movements died out along with them.

But Jesus was different. I just knew He was. Granted, I didn’t know half as much then as I do now, but I could still tell that Jesus had something better to offer. His revolution was more of an inward transformation than an outward uprising. When He spoke, His words were deep, challenging, and meaningful – not shallow, emotional talk of war or revenge. While others told me to hate Rome and love my own nation, Jesus told me to love my enemies and pray for those who persecuted me and my nation. While my countrymen were telling me to only do the minimal requirements expected of me by the empire, Jesus was telling me to go a second mile along with the Roman soldier. While other would-be Messiahs were telling me that God would soon restore the Promised Land to its rightful owners, Jesus was telling us about a new, better, true promised land which is in heaven with God.

Jesus was different.

I’m still not quite sure what made the religious leaders hate Him so much. When they tried to trap Him in His words, He always said the right thing. They tried to catch Him breaking the Law of Moses, but even Herod and Pilate could not find any fault in Him. Yet they killed Him anyway.

I thought Jesus was different. I thought He would be the one. At the time I didn’t understand it all, but I thought that He would somehow liberate us as a people from the inside out. It would be just like in the days of captivity in Babylon. I thought me as a nation would be able to turn our hearts back to God and become fully devoted to Him, and through our national repentance we would gain the freedom we had sought after all our lives. After all, wasn’t that what John the Baptizer was proclaiming?

I thought He was different, but they killed Him anyway. Same song, different verse. I saw the mob with torches and spears drag Jesus into the city. I saw the Roman battalion shove the crown of thorns, or should I say spikes, on His head. I watched from the crowd as they beat His back. I stood on the side of the road where Jesus stumbled beneath the weight of the cross beam. I heard the cries from the cross, “Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?!” Though I watched from a distance, I could see the blood flow from His side as He was pierced by the spear. I stood paralyzed by fear when the sun was darkened and the foundations of the earth quaked beneath my feet. I saw them wrap the cold, bloody, lifeless body in cloth and lay it in a borrowed tomb as the sun set on the darkest day this world had ever seen.

I was there. I saw it. Jesus was dead. And every ounce of hope, joy, confidence, and courage I had gained was ripped away from me, placed inside a tomb, and sealed shut with a gigantic boulder. There is no lower feeling than the one I experienced that Friday night.

My friend and I finished out the rest of the Passover weekend with the apostles and some of Jesus’ other followers. We needed each other. If ever there was a time to love each other as Jesus had commanded, it was that weekend. There were some disciples, mainly some of the women, who were still hopeful. They kept referring back to what Jesus had said about being raised on the third day. We didn’t try to argue with them, but others of us knew that Jesus was the only one who had the power to raise others from the dead – we saw it with Jairus’ daughter and Lazarus. So what happens when the only one with the power to raise the dead dies himself? We knew it was impossible.

But we just let them keep talking. It was good to share our memories of Jesus with each other. Andrew shared fishing stories with us, like the time Jesus told them to cast their nets on the other side of the boat. Mary Magdalene told all of us about her life before she met Jesus and had the demons driven out of her. Matthew, the tax collector, and Simon, the Zealot, together retold the story of how they hated each other initially when they were called by Jesus, but through His teachings and constant show of love, they had become good friends. Peter had the hardest time, though. He sat silently most of the day Saturday, which was completely out of character. Tears rolled down his cheeks for quite some time. He never cracked a smile, even when we talked about the time demons were driven out of those men and into the pigs, which then ran off the cliff into the sea.

There we were – a bunch of second class citizens. Aliens among our own people. What would we do now? What would become of this community that had slowly formed over the last three years? Where would we go? What would we tell people? How could we possibly keep this going if our leader is dead? We had no guidance, no leadership, so direction. We were nothing but a band of outcasts and misfits.

These were the thoughts going through my head as I lay in bed Saturday night. The women had made plans to go back to the tomb first thing in the morning and finish preparing the body for a proper burial, yet a couple were still trusting that the “third day” prophecy would come true. But to me and some others, we knew that the dead cannot raise themselves. The final enemy had won. Victory was swallowed up in the death of Jesus. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I cried myself to sleep that night. I was at rock bottom.

I was roused from my half-sleep by the first ray of light through the window. I crawled off of my mat and stood up, looking around at the others still asleep. The women had already left like they said they would. I figured they should be back in an hour or so, and when they returned, my friend and I would say our good-byes and hit the road. Then I noticed that Peter was awake, standing silently at the window, looking out into the countryside. He still not said a word. I went over and put my arm around him, but he didn’t flinch. He just stared.

I gathered my few belongings together, and by the time I had finished everyone in the house was awake. Breakfast was close to being ready when the women came running back into the house. They were all talking at the same time, and I couldn’t understand anything they said until we could finally convince them to calm down. Then they spoke one at a time, telling us that when they got to the tomb, the stone was rolled away and it was empty except for the linen cloth folded neatly on the stone slab. There was no body.

My first inclination was that someone had stolen the body of Jesus. But why would anyone want to do that? Who would be so sick as to steal the dead body of a Prophet?

Then they went on, saying that they had seen a vision of messengers from God who appeared to them suddenly out of thin air. The messengers spoke to them, asking why they were looking for the living among the dead. They were told that the “third day” prophecy had come true and that Jesus had been raised from the dead.

But that’s impossible, I thought.

This story didn’t make sense to most of us. They didn’t see the dead body, much less the actual risen body. They had no way of proving this alleged encounter with angels. For all we knew, they could be making this all up in order to trick themselves into believing that what Jesus said was true. I couldn’t believe it. This was just too incredible.

After they had finished telling us this story, Peter bolted out the door and down the road toward the tomb, still not saying a word. John took off after him to make sure he would be ok.

I would have liked to stay around some more to discuss these things, but we had to hit the road if we wanted to make it back before dark. We said our good-byes and walked out the door, beginning the loneliest journey of my life.

My friend and I couldn’t stop talking about what had happened and whether we could believe the women or not. Not that they were untrustworthy, and they weren’t the kind of women to lie about these things. It just seemed too good to be true – too incredible, too contrived.

We were walking rather slowly – neither of us had much energy left after the events of the past week – and we noticed a man coming up behind us fairly quickly. He appeared to be returning home after his visit to Jerusalem for Passover.

He caught up with us and slowed down, listening to our conversation. Then he asked us what we were talking about, as if he had no idea. I told him he must have been the only person in Jerusalem that had not witnessed or heard the things that had happened all week.

“What things?” He asked.

What things? How could he not know?

I filled him in on all the things concerning the Rabbi Jesus: how he was a powerful prophet in word and in action; How he was betrayed and arrested for no good reason, receiving a skewed trial, and was sentenced to death, though he had done nothing wrong.

We explained to the man that we had hoped Jesus of Nazareth would truly be the one to deliver our nation from the hand of the Romans and redeem our people. We told him of the third day prophecy and how the women had gone to the tomb and did not find the body. We told him how angels had allegedly appeared to the women and told them that he was alive, but the women themselves did not see him.

We were dazed and confused as to what was going on, and this stranger could tell it. But something seemed different about this guy. I could sense something in the way he looked at us and listened to our story. He had this gleam in his eye. Something was different. I could feel it in my heart.

We finished telling this story, expecting to leave it at that and part ways again, when suddenly he burst out, “You foolish people! You find it so hard to believe all that the prophets wrote in the Scriptures. Wasn’t it clearly predicted that the Messiah would have to suffer all these things before entering his glory?”

We were taken aback. We hadn’t expected this. I thought I knew the scriptures quite well. But he began to reason with us and prove his case through Moses and the Prophets. He told us the scriptures we had heard all our lives, yet we never really made the connection.

“He will crush your head, and you will strike his heel.”

“They have pierced my hands and my feet.”

“Those who hate me without reason outnumber the hairs of my head; many are my enemies without cause, those who seek to destroy me.”

“Even my close friend, whom I trusted, he who shared my bread, has lifted up his heel against me.”

“The stone the builders rejected has become the capstone.”

“I offered my back to those who beat me, my cheeks to those who pulled out my beard; I did not hide my face from mocking and spitting.”

“He was despised and rejected by men, a man of sorrows, and familiar with suffering…But he was pierced for our transgressions, he was crushed for our iniquities…He was oppressed and afflicted, yet he did not open his mouth…He was assigned a grave with the wicked, and with the rich in his death, though he had done no violence, nor was any deceit in his mouth…Yet it was the LORD’s will to crush him and cause him to suffer…”

I knew he was right. I didn’t understand everything, but I could feel it in my heart that this man was right. I had never heard the Scriptures this way before, and it started making some sense. Everything I thought I knew was wrong.

But there was one problem – Jesus was still dead.

My heart and mind were being pulled in all sorts of directions as we neared Emmaus. I still needed some answers, and this stranger had them. It was getting somewhat late, so we pleaded with the man to stay with us for the evening, eat with us, and explain more to us. Though he looked like he was going further, he agreed to come.

We came to my house, which was just as I had left it before Passover. I scrounged through the cupboards to find something to eat and drink. I grabbed some bread and wine to start off until I could prepare a proper meal for the man and my friend.

When we reclined at the table, the stranger took the bread before I could reach for it. I didn’t argue with him, I just let him serve as host though it was my own house. He took the bread, said a prayer of thanksgiving and blessing, broke it, and handed us our share.

Suddenly, chills went down my spine, my heart raced, and my head started to spin. This was Jesus! It was him all along! How could I have missed it? How could I not have recognized the man to whom I had devoted my entire life? He was right there in front of me and I never knew it until he broke the bread.

Before we could say anything, he vanished. Just like that, he was gone. But we didn’t care. We now knew for a fact that our Rabbi, the Messiah, had indeed risen from the dead. The feeling I got while he was speaking with us on the road was the same feeling I had gotten whenever I heard the words Jesus spoke throughout his ministry. I knew there was something different about that stranger, and I knew there was something different about Jesus.

I had gone from rock bottom to top of the world in the time it takes for a man to break a piece of bread. I now knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the Living God. He is Lord and Master over all things, including death itself. Jesus had been resurrected and so had my hope and my faith.

I knew that Jesus was different.

My friend and I left everything at my house and ran seven miles back to Jerusalem to tell the others what had just happened. When we got there, the scene was much different than it had been just that morning. Instead of crying, there was rejoicing. Instead of confusion, there was confidence. Instead of silence, there was laughter. This was the first testimony to the transforming power of the resurrected Christ. We were the dry bones which God had caused to live again.

Before we could even get our words out, the others greeted us with the news that Peter had encountered the risen Lord. The others had not yet seen Him, but the testimony of Peter was all they needed to be convinced. Then we shared our story of how Jesus met us on the way back to Emmaus and how we didn’t recognize him until he broke the bread for us.

The most amazing part of the story, however, is this: While we were still talking, Jesus himself appeared to all of us. What further proof would anyone need? The rest, as they say, is history.

So that’s my story. But it’s not just my story, it’s really the story of many followers of Jesus. Whenever I share this testimony, I hear countless other stories of people struggling with their faith in the resurrection of Jesus. Or maybe they have a misconception about who Christ really is. Some simply cannot believe that the Savior of mankind had to be killed. Still others are actually walking with Christ but have yet to fully recognize Him in His full glory.

If this is your story as well, I have two words for you: Jesus Lives!

Don’t be foolish like I was. Don’t have as little faith as I had. Simply believe that Jesus lives. I witnessed and felt the transforming power of the Resurrected Christ, and if He can lift me up from the sewers and place me on the mountaintop, I know he will do the same for you.

Jesus is different. Jesus is real. Jesus lives.

Part 2 of the Communion discussion is coming soon.

I just wanted to share something neat with you all:

The word “pray” with all its forms (prayer, prayed, prayerful, etc.) is found 365 times in the NIV.

Get the point?

“Pray continually.” 1 Thessalonians 5:17