There is a striking similarity between the bread we see here and the body of Jesus Christ. There is also a striking similarity between the wine in the cup and the blood of Jesus. If there were no similarity it could not work as a sacrament—it could not even work as a metaphor.
But there are dissimilarities as well, and we do well to keep them in mind. The bread we break here is bread on a table, on a tray, with a white cloth beneath. The body that was broken was laid out on a cross and nailed there. The wine we drink is wine in a cup. The blood that was shed was blood that was spilled.
The sacramental meal we observe is a ritual, a religious ceremony. It is obviously civilized. It is contained, bounded, focused. The reality that it represents was brutal, and despite the efforts of the Sanhedrin to keep their minutes in order, lawless.
These dissimilarities are not limitations or faults in the Supper—this is all apparently a design feature. When the Lord instituted the Supper with His disciples, He used a cup to contain the wine that embodied the blood that the world itself could not contain. The blood of Christ contains the world, not the other way around.
We use particular words to declare universal and timeless truths. Here is an example. Jesus Christ died for the sins of the world. That is a simple declarative sentence, but the reality it references is cosmic. This is a particular cup on a particular Table in a particular town. What does it mean? It means that God saves sinners anywhere, in whatever tattered condition they might come. This is a particular loaf on a particular tray, but it speaks of the universal church, and God’s infinite love.
We remind ourselves of these dissimilarities by means of words, so that we may grasp the instructive point of the dissimilarities by a living faith, the way God intended. So come, and welcome, to Jesus Christ.