Until He Comes
"For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes." — 1 Corinthians 11:26
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Introduction
We have come to the end of this series on the Lord's Supper, and there is something extraordinary in this final phrase Paul leaves us with: "until he comes." Just three words, yet they completely transform the meaning of this sacred meal. The Supper is not merely a memory we cherish, nor a ritual we observe out of obligation. It is a living act, stretched between two moments in history: what has already happened at Calvary and what is yet to come at the parousia — the glorious return of the Lord Jesus Christ.
Throughout these weeks, we have reflected on the origin of the Supper, its meaning, and the seriousness with which we are called to participate in it. Today, however, we look forward. The Supper does not keep us anchored to the past; it points us toward the horizon. It is like an arrow planted firmly in the ground of history, pointing without hesitation toward the consummation of all things.
Allow me, then, to walk you through three foundational truths this verse teaches us about the Supper as proclamation and as eschatological hope.
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1. The Supper Is a Sermon Without Words
Paul uses a very specific verb: "you proclaim" — katanggéllō in Greek, the very same word used for the preaching of the Gospel. Every time we break the bread and drink from the cup, we are literally proclaiming the Lord's death. The table becomes a pulpit.
There is a beauty here that ought to move us deeply. Not everyone in the congregation on Sunday mornings can read. Not everyone is able to follow a lengthy sermon. But the Supper speaks to everyone — directly, viscerally, visibly: "Christ died for you." The broken bread recalls His body given up for us. The poured-out wine recalls His blood. It is the Gospel in the form of a meal.
The practical application is this: when we approach the Lord's table, we do so with the awareness that we, too, are preachers. This is not a passive moment. It is an act of proclamation — before the congregation, before the world, and, as some of the early Church Fathers taught, before the spiritual powers themselves. Do you participate in the Supper distracted or mechanically? Let this verse awaken you: you are preaching. Preach well. Preach with your whole heart present.
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2. The Supper Holds a Healthy Tension Between the Already and the Not Yet
The phrase "until he comes" establishes in our Christian life what theologians call eschatological tension — and it is a healthy, necessary, life-giving tension. We already have Christ. We still await Christ. We have already been saved. We still await the final redemption of our bodies and of all creation.
This tension protects us from two opposite errors. On one hand, it guards us against a naive enthusiasm that pretends the Kingdom has already arrived in its fullness — that there is no more suffering, that everything has already been made right here on earth. On the other hand, it guards us against a defeatist pessimism that forgets that Christ has already reigned, already triumphed, and that the outcome of history is already secured.
The Supper is, therefore, the sacrament of active hope. Every time we break the bread, we are reminded: "We are passing through." This life is real — it has weight, it has pain — but it is not our final destination. We are pilgrims with a table set along the way, and that table is a guarantee that the eternal banquet is coming.
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3. The Supper Is a Rehearsal for the Heavenly Banquet
At the Last Supper, Jesus said something that often goes unnoticed: "I tell you I will not drink again of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father's kingdom." (Matt. 26:29). There is a Supper yet to be fulfilled. There is a table at which we will one day sit — all together, with Christ Himself as our host, in a joy that no eye has seen and no ear has heard.
Our Sunday Supper is the rehearsal for that meal. It is like an engagement that anticipates the wedding. And anyone who has ever lived in the hope of a gathering that is already scheduled knows how that expectation transforms the present. The groom who knows that he will soon be with his beloved walks through the difficulties of the day with a different kind of lightness.
May every Supper we share fill you with that lightness. May every time you hear the words "This is my body, which is given for you", your heart stir with this certainty: He is coming. He promised. He will keep His word.
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Conclusion
This series has come to an end, but the Supper continues — Sunday after Sunday, table after table, "until he comes." Do not approach this table with indifference or with fear. Come as one who proclaims, as one who hopes, as one who already carries the invitation to the eternal banquet in their heart.
Today, if there is something keeping you from this table — unconfessed sin, bitterness toward a brother or sister, a settled unbelief — this is the moment to bring it before Christ. He does not turn away those who come with empty hands and an open heart. Come, and proclaim with your very presence: "I believe in His death. I live in His resurrection. I await His coming."
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Closing Prayer
Lord Jesus, may every Supper we share be an act of faith, of proclamation, and of living hope. Keep us on our knees before the cross and with our eyes fixed on Your return. Until You come, may Your table sustain us and Your promise guide us. Amen.
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