Jeremy Haroldson stands before his congregation holding bread and cup, but his message isn't about following religious protocol. His opening statement cuts through centuries of mechanical ritual: "Communion isn't just a religious act. It's actually a weapon of warfare."
This isn't hyperbole or spiritual theatrics. In this focused teaching on 1 Corinthians 11:23-26, Jeremy reveals the dual power of communion—what it does for you (reminds you of your covenant) and what it does to opposition (reminds the enemy he is defeated). Whether you practice this alone, with family, or in community, this ancient practice becomes a present-tense declaration of victory.
The core revelation Jeremy unpacks is deceptively simple: "What communion does is it reminds you of the covenant you have with the Father. And it reminds the enemy that he is defeated."
This dual function transforms communion from passive tradition into active spiritual strategy. When you hold the elements, you're not performing empty ritual—you're re-centering your focus back on the price that was paid. Jeremy's tone here is urgent but not frantic: this isn't about working yourself into an emotional state. It's about remembering truth when surrounded by chaos.
The ancient text Paul quotes is direct: "This is my body, which is for you. Do this in remembrance of me... This cup is the new covenant in my blood." Remembrance isn't nostalgia—it's proclamation. Every time you eat and drink, you're declaring a completed reality: the price is paid, the covenant is sealed, the enemy's defeat is final.
Jeremy's pastoral insight cuts to the modern struggle: "So many times we look at what's going on in the world, and we look at the chaos, and we look at the struggle, and we look at just the junk. Can we just agree there's a lot of junk?"
His tone shifts here—empathetic, almost conspiratorial. He's not dismissing real problems. He's acknowledging the gravitational pull of chaos: "It's really easy to get our eyes fixated on the junk." This is the human condition—overwhelm, anxiety, doom-scrolling through crises we can't control.
The solution isn't denial. It's re-centering: "When we take communion, what we're doing is we are re-centering our focus back on the One who paid the price for the junk." This practice becomes a rhythm of returning—from news cycles to covenant truth, from fear to remembrance, from chaos to the cross.
Jeremy's explanation of the bread element is both theological and intensely practical: "He paid the price for your sin. He paid the price for your sickness. He paid the price for your peace. He paid the price for your joy."
Notice the expansion: not just sin (the obvious religious answer), but sickness, peace, and joy. The body that was broken purchased wholeness in every dimension. Jeremy articulates this with precision: "The body that was broken for you was so that you could be made whole."
His prayer over the bread is a declaration: "By His stripes we are healed. And Lord, we just receive that healing right now in Jesus' name." Communion becomes a moment of active reception—not hoping for future wholeness, but receiving present healing based on a completed transaction.
The cup represents something even more foundational than forgiveness—it's relational access. Jeremy frames it clearly: "The blood that was shed for you was so that you could be forgiven and have a new covenant—a relationship with the Father."
His tone becomes reflective, almost intimate here. This isn't transactional forgiveness (sin deleted, move on). It's covenantal relationship: "A covenant of grace, a covenant of mercy, a covenant of life." The blood didn't just pay your debt—it opened the door to ongoing connection with the Father.
Then his tone shifts to triumphant: "The enemy has been defeated by the blood of the Lamb and the word of our testimony." This isn't future hope—it's accomplished fact. Every time you drink the cup, you're testifying to a victory already won.
Jeremy's closing prayer over the cup becomes a model for how communion functions as warfare through testimony:
"We testify that Jesus is Lord. We testify that the tomb is empty. We testify that the King is coming back."
Three declarations, each in present tense. Not "we hope" or "we believe"—we testify. Testimony is warfare because it proclaims reality in the face of circumstances that scream otherwise. When chaos says "you're defeated," you hold the cup and testify: the tomb is empty, the enemy is beaten, the King is coming.
His final declaration shifts to mission: "Until then, Lord, we will occupy, and we will stand, and we will fight the good fight of faith." Communion isn't escapism—it's fuel for engagement. You remember what's true, then you return to the fight with clarity about who already won.
One of the most liberating truths Jeremy emphasizes: communion isn't locked behind religious gatekeeping. You need some form of juice and some form of bread—that's it. Grape juice is traditional, but flexibility is permitted. Crackers work. Even if you don't have the "proper" elements, celebrate with what you have.
Why? Because Jeremy's focus is clear: "It is about your heart responding to the gift that Christ gave you on the cross." The power isn't in the elements—it's in the remembrance, the covenant reality, the testimony proclaimed.
Many people practice this during personal or family devotional time. It becomes a rhythm of re-centering: when the world feels overwhelming, when anxiety creeps in, when you need to remember who paid the price—you take bread and cup, and you proclaim truth over chaos.
Communion isn't religious obligation—it's strategic remembrance. In a world drowning in chaos and information overload, this ancient practice offers something countercultural: pause, remember, proclaim.
When you hold the bread, you're not just thinking about history. You're receiving present wholeness based on a body that was broken. When you drink the cup, you're not performing ritual. You're declaring covenant relationship and enemy defeat based on blood that was shed.
Jeremy's final words capture the heart: "He is worthy. He is so worthy." Not because communion earns His worthiness—but because remembering what He did reveals how worthy He already is. And in that revelation, you find strength to occupy, stand, and fight until the King returns.
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Key Scripture Reference: 1 Corinthians 11:23-26
"For I received from the Lord what I also delivered to you, that the Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it, and said, 'This is my body, which is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.' In the same way also he took the cup, after supper, saying, 'This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.' For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord's death until he comes."
Yes. According to this teaching, communion is a weapon of warfare because it serves two functions: it reminds you of your covenant with the Father and simultaneously reminds the enemy of his defeat through the blood of Jesus.
The bread represents the body of Christ broken for your wholeness (healing, peace, and joy). The cup represents the new covenant in His blood, which grants relational access to the Father and forgiveness of sins.
Communion acts as a "re-centering" practice. When you are fixated on the "junk" and chaos of the world, taking communion shifts your focus back to the finished work of the Cross, declaring truth over your current circumstances.