The Eucharist and Me: A Protestant’s Reflection

Today, we have a contributor to my blog.  Danny is a dedicated member of our church community, where he faithfully serves in all aspects of media.  If you've been following us on Instagram or Facebook, you can see his passion.  His profound love for sacramental theology complements his technical expertise.  I'm so honored to share his piece on my blog.
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I still remember the first time I held the small piece of bread and the tiny cup of juice in my hands. The sanctuary was quiet, the air heavy with reverence. I was young in my faith, unsure of what to feel, although it was something we did every year, I knew this moment mattered. It was not just a ritual; it was a reminder, a proclamation, and a mystery all at once.

As a Pentecostal, growing up, the word eucharist did not exist in our paradigm—it was often called the Lord’s Supper or “la santa cena” and it was all about remembering. “Do this in remembrance of me,” Jesus said (Luke 22:19). And so, we remember: His body broken, His blood poured out, His love given freely. A SYMBOL of his sacrifice. But over the years, while diving deep into church history, learning how deep and profound it was to the early Christians, I have come to see that it is more than a memory. More than an ordinance. More than a symbol, it is nourishment. It is grace. It is a sacrament.

Different traditions within Protestantism understand the Eucharist differently. Some emphasize it as a symbolic act, a way of recalling Christ’s sacrifice. There are also those who limit Christ words “this is my body” “this is my blood” to a simple metaphor and nothing more like when Jesus said “I am the door” (john 10:9) or “I am the vine” (john 15:5) Others, like the Reformed tradition, speak of Christ’s real spiritual presence—He is not physically in the bread and cup, but He is truly present with His people as we partake.

For me, the Eucharist or the Lord’s supper is more than a symbol and has become a place where heaven and earth meet. When Christ said, “Do this in remembrance of me,” he wasn’t simply talking about a memorial. The Greek word for Remembrance is anamnesis; this word not only means to recall something mentally, but it also means that we are bringing it into the present time. So, what does that mean exactly? There is a part in the liturgy of the eucharist when the bishop or priest extends their hands over the elements (the bread and the wine), asking God to sanctify them and make Christ truly present in the elements by the power of the holy spirit. With this action, God brings heaven on earth. The elements are no longer just bread and wine, but they become the body and blood of Jesus Christ. “This is my body,” “this is my blood” becomes a literal fact instead of a metaphor. We do not know how it happens, but it does! It is a mystery! It is not just about looking back to the cross, but also about experiencing Christ’s presence here and now. In seasons of doubt, when prayers feel dry and God seems silent, the bread and cup remind me that His grace does not depend on my feelings. He is with me, even when I cannot sense Him.

It is not a private act. It is a shared meal. When I take the bread and cup, I do so alongside brothers and sisters who are as broken and needy as I am. We come from diverse backgrounds, with different struggles, but at the table, we are one body.

Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 10:17, “Because there is one bread, we who are many are one body, for we all partake of the one bread.” The Eucharist humbles me. It reminds me that faith is not an individual achievement but a shared journey.

Finally, the Eucharist points forward. Every time I eat the bread and drink the cup, I proclaim the Lord’s death until He comes (1 Corinthians 11:26). It is a rehearsal for the great banquet of the Lamb when every tear will be wiped away and every hunger satisfied.

In that sense, the Eucharist is both sobering and hopeful. It anchors me in the reality of Christ’s sacrifice, but it also lifts my eyes to the promise of His return.

For me, the Eucharist is not just bread and cup, not just memory and symbol—it is encounter. It is the place where Christ meets me in my weakness, where His grace breaks into my ordinary life, and where I am reminded that I belong to something far greater than myself. At the table, heaven touches earth. At the table, strangers become family. At the table, the crucified and risen Lord nourishes His people with His very life.
Every time I come forward with empty hands, I am reminded that this is how we all come to Christ—empty, needy, dependent. And every time, He fills me again with His presence, His mercy, His promise. The Eucharist is not about what I bring, but about what He gives.