Just as it is necessary that Christ took on flesh for our salvation, so too, it is necessary that he should be in the supper bodily
“Oh dear man! If someone does not want to believe the article of faith concerning the Lord’s Supper, how will he ever believe the article of faith concerning the humanity and divinity of Christ in one person?” [1]
Within the Scriptures, there is a clear parallel between the doctrine of the Incarnation and the doctrine of the real presence of Christ in the Lord’s Supper. As Olivier-Thomas Venard writes, “[Sacraments] are isomorphic to Christ: the word is joined to the sensible sign, just as in the mystery of Incarnation the Word of God is united to sensible flesh.” [2] Venard’s perspective follows a quick survey of Scripture. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14) reads in the same extraordinary manner as that of Christ’s words in the Gospels when he says, “Take, eat; this is my body” (Matt. 26:26).
In the ecumenical Church, there is no shortage of debate surrounding the nature of the Lord’s Supper. Roman Catholics continue to hold to the doctrine of transubstantiation; Protestants are split between memorial and real presence doctrines; and real presence Protestant doctrines are split over how exactly Christ is present in the Supper. These sacramental controversies are far from new and played a large role in the German Reformation. Luther, though critical of the Roman Catholic mass, was careful not to “reject the idea of transubstantiation itself, since it was an attempt to protect the idea of Christ’s real presence in the sacrament,” though he certainly did not regard it as an “appropriate” doctrine. [3] Conversely, the German reformer famously rejected the Zwinglian view that Christ’s “is” in the Words of Institution actually means “signifies,” and went further than the Calvinist understanding of Christ as spiritually present in the Eucharist, insisting in countless tracts and sermons that Christ’s very body and blood are necessarily present in the Supper.
While he spent his life shying away from philosophical descriptions of various articles of the faith, Luther recognized that rejecting Christ’s true presence in the Lord’s Supper was tantamount to rejecting the Incarnation. When Christ’s true body and blood are cast out of the Supper, Christ becomes more and more immaterial — merely a divine essence, or an abstracted archetype worthy of emulation. For the Christian, just as it is necessary that Christ took on flesh for our salvation, so too, it is necessary that he should be in the supper bodily. Any other understanding of Christ’s presence in the Sacrament rhetorically and confessionally chips away at the doctrine of the Incarnation: the divine and human natures made manifest in one person. Like Luther, the sole concern of the Christian must be to take Christ’s words of institution by faith and leave the theoretical logistics to our Savior’s goodwill.
Luther took serious issue with Zwingli, Karlstadt, Oecolampadius, and other reformers who denied the presence of Christ’s body and blood in the Sacrament. The problem at hand extended far beyond the Eucharist, as it challenged the orthodox understanding of the Incarnation. As Matthieu Arnold asserts, “For Luther, to deny the efficacy of the flesh of Christ in the Lord’s Supper is the same as denying the incarnation, which itself is not confined to the past.” [4] By endangering the mysterious (though ontological) reality of Christ’s body and blood in the Lord’s Supper, the doctrine of the Incarnation is dually at risk, and, as Luther would suggest, perhaps even already forfeited.
The parallels between the Lord’s Supper and the Incarnation are clear both broadly and particularly. In a general sense, both doctrines crumble into meaninglessness before modern scientific considerations, such as: “What did Christ’s DNA look like?” or “Do the bread and wine transform materially?” These questions are Zwinglian in nature, focusing on reason rather than on faith. Both the doctrines of the Lord’s Supper and the Incarnation must be regarded as metaphysical mysteries, as human reason falls short of understanding exactly how God accomplishes these realities. In the Incarnation, we see Christ blessing humanity with his physical presence, by which he brought the divine and human natures into a redeeming union. In the same way, Christ consecrates the bread and wine of the Eucharist with his presence so that, through a material vehicle, we may have true communion with the body of Christ. Just as God uses the bones of Elisha as a vessel by which to resurrect the dead and inspire faith, so too, Christ’s human body and the bread and wine of the Lord’s Supper are used for his good purposes. According to Athanasius, “that which they deride as unfitting, his goodness makes most fit; and things which these wiseacres laugh at as ‘human,’ he, by his inherent might, declares divine.” [5]
Where the Incarnation differs from the Lord’s Supper is in the Word’s communion with human nature. Maximus the Confessor describes it as “[the] ineffable and incomprehensible hypostatic union between Christ's divinity and humanity.” [6] In a sense, we can think of Christ’s human body as a vehicle by which he expresses his love, but also emblematic of the human nature which he has redeemed. The Sacrament, however, must only be considered a vessel of his love. Christ does not sanctify the natures of bread and wine, but uses the material as a means by which to approach and sanctify his people.
Though Luther could speak philosophically, he refused to stake his convictions on anything else but the words of Jesus.
At the words of institution, Christ affirms not only his divinity, but simultaneously, his humanity. He does this in two ways. First, the very account of his corporeal human presence with the disciples, washing their feet, dining with them, and teaching them, along with all the other Gospel accounts of his human interactions, serves as evidence of his humanity. Secondly, Christ refers to the bread and wine in the institution as his Body and Blood; not spirit, metaphor, or anything in-between, but his very flesh. Thus, Christ insists that we think of him as both true God and true man. “The saying is just and true” (Phil. 4:8). As Luther argues in his Sermons on John, “this article that Christ is both very God and very man is the rock on which our eternal welfare and salvation are built.” [7]
Some who scoff at Christ’s true presence in the Supper will not deny his humanity. Yet they will deny his words, calling them metaphor or spiritual. By the time such philosophizing has broken down the doctrine of the Lord’s Supper, it will move to destroy the Incarnation, if it has not already. It is the next logical step, the next domino that must fall. This has always been the path when reason is held supreme to faith: the flock is pulled further away from Christ.
Mysterious words require faith. That which we understand, we humbly thank God for, and that which we are ignorant of, we submit to his divine majesty, and pray for understanding. Though Luther could speak philosophically, he refused to stake his convictions on anything else but the words of Jesus. Only with this approach in mind and heart can the contemporary Christian protect the doctrines of God from sliding into heresy. While the Church at large is still divided on the matter, we must boldly confess with Luther:
“He has said it; I shall adhere to that. If he misleads me, then I am being misled for my salvation. He has never lied yet and he cannot lie” [8]
