Can you drink the cup?
Thomas O'Loughlin
Whilst our common memory of the origin of the Eucharist in the ‘Last Supper’ is that Jesus took ‘bread and wine’ (a recollection that emphasises the distinct materials), by contrast all our early texts notice that he took ‘a cup.’[1] And that it was filled with wine is then inferred from a subsequent statement found in the Synoptic Tradition: ‘Truly I tell you, I will never again drink of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God.”[2] But is this early usage of ‘a cup’ (and, therefore, on how that drinking took place) when contrasted with the later emphasis on the cup’s contents (hence, on what was consumed) of any real significance? Put another way, is seeing a specific reason for the mention of ‘a cup’ anything more than an academic curiosity?
That this is important can be seen in a variety of ways. The most obvious evidence that ‘a cup’ was significant in the churches’ memory was that having taken the cup, and blessed the Father, Jesus gave it to those at table so that they each drank ‘from it.’ It was not that they all drank wine – or any other liquid – which they could do from their individual cups, nor that they all had a drink of the same wine in that it came from one source, such as a flagon, but that they passed a cup from one to another and each drank from that same cup. When we recognise this we see at once that ‘the cup’ was, at least, as significant to them with as what it contained. The focus of early memory was on the how of their drinking, not upon what they drank.
Just one cup?
We need to begin by recognising how unusual was this action of sharing a drinking vessel. There was no equivalent to it in any known Jewish practice. Making the sharing of a cup part of one’s table manners is confined exclusively to the followers of Jesus.
Moreover, that Jesus’ followers considered it to be a deliberate and significant ritual is seen in that they located it, and remembered it, explicitly in the relation to Jesus’ own action and wishes.[3] Here we have a practice unique to the churches. Indeed, so distinctive that its features of being ‘disruptive of expectations’ and ‘multiple attestation’ (Paul, the Synoptics, the Didache – and, as we shall see, possible John) allows us to see an action that goes back to Jesus himself.[4]
Since Christians today see people sharing the cup there is a danger its human implications are opaque, while its Christian implications become invisible. While drinking is a part of the meal rituals of all cultures, the notion of regularly passing a cup is rare. Sharing the same body of liquid – but not the same cup – is common. The exceptions such as the sharing of a victory cup or ‘loving cups’ derive their significance from their rarity. While we love to share meals, we like having our own drinking vessels. Only in emergencies (sharing a canteen of water) or moments of exceptional informality (two friends, one bottle of beer, and no cup) will we drink from a container in sequence. Even then, we wipe the container’s lip after drinking. This anthropological insight alerts us that, firstly, the widespread adoption of this action of sharing a cup cannot be dismissed as some minor detail: it was a very deliberate choice. Secondly, we can appreciate why, in virtually Christian tradition, there has been an unspoken aversion to its full implementation.
That it was the action of sharing one cup that was central (rather that drinking from a common volume of wine) is seen indirectly from the second- and third-century evidence when uniformity between the churches was becoming more important. One of the practices that came under criticism was that of sharing a cup of water at the Eucharist.[5] This practice was both widespread and deep-rooted, and it cannot be dismissed as some sort a later-developing deviation. Using water probably avoided disputes over the interaction of rich and poor, the problem of cost, and between those happy to drink wine and those who suspected the practice (such as former disciples of John the Baptist). But when later bishops wrote about the practice, that they did not deny the reality of those Eucharists, but stressed the better practice of using wine. The implication: they recognised sharing of a common cup was fundamental.
Whilst our common memory of the origin of the Eucharist in the ‘Last Supper’ is that Jesus took ‘bread and wine’ (a recollection that emphasises the distinct materials), by contrast all our early texts notice that he took ‘a cup.’[1] And that it was filled with wine is then inferred from a subsequent statement found in the Synoptic Tradition: ‘Truly I tell you, I will never again drink of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the kingdom of God.”[2] But is this early usage of ‘a cup’ (and, therefore, on how that drinking took place) when contrasted with the later emphasis on the cup’s contents (hence, on what was consumed) of any real significance? Put another way, is seeing a specific reason for the mention of ‘a cup’ anything more than an academic curiosity?
That this is important can be seen in a variety of ways. The most obvious evidence that ‘a cup’ was significant in the churches’ memory was that having taken the cup, and blessed the Father, Jesus gave it to those at table so that they each drank ‘from it.’ It was not that they all drank wine – or any other liquid – which they could do from their individual cups, nor that they all had a drink of the same wine in that it came from one source, such as a flagon, but that they passed a cup from one to another and each drank from that same cup. When we recognise this we see at once that ‘the cup’ was, at least, as significant to them with as what it contained. The focus of early memory was on the how of their drinking, not upon what they drank.
Just one cup?
We need to begin by recognising how unusual was this action of sharing a drinking vessel. There was no equivalent to it in any known Jewish practice. Making the sharing of a cup part of one’s table manners is confined exclusively to the followers of Jesus.
Moreover, that Jesus’ followers considered it to be a deliberate and significant ritual is seen in that they located it, and remembered it, explicitly in the relation to Jesus’ own action and wishes.[3] Here we have a practice unique to the churches. Indeed, so distinctive that its features of being ‘disruptive of expectations’ and ‘multiple attestation’ (Paul, the Synoptics, the Didache – and, as we shall see, possible John) allows us to see an action that goes back to Jesus himself.[4]
Since Christians today see people sharing the cup there is a danger its human implications are opaque, while its Christian implications become invisible. While drinking is a part of the meal rituals of all cultures, the notion of regularly passing a cup is rare. Sharing the same body of liquid – but not the same cup – is common. The exceptions such as the sharing of a victory cup or ‘loving cups’ derive their significance from their rarity. While we love to share meals, we like having our own drinking vessels. Only in emergencies (sharing a canteen of water) or moments of exceptional informality (two friends, one bottle of beer, and no cup) will we drink from a container in sequence. Even then, we wipe the container’s lip after drinking. This anthropological insight alerts us that, firstly, the widespread adoption of this action of sharing a cup cannot be dismissed as some minor detail: it was a very deliberate choice. Secondly, we can appreciate why, in virtually Christian tradition, there has been an unspoken aversion to its full implementation.
That it was the action of sharing one cup that was central (rather that drinking from a common volume of wine) is seen indirectly from the second- and third-century evidence when uniformity between the churches was becoming more important. One of the practices that came under criticism was that of sharing a cup of water at the Eucharist.[5] This practice was both widespread and deep-rooted, and it cannot be dismissed as some sort a later-developing deviation. Using water probably avoided disputes over the interaction of rich and poor, the problem of cost, and between those happy to drink wine and those who suspected the practice (such as former disciples of John the Baptist). But when later bishops wrote about the practice, that they did not deny the reality of those Eucharists, but stressed the better practice of using wine. The implication: they recognised sharing of a common cup was fundamental.
Significance
Are there any traces of how this most unusual gesture was understood? Clearly, by parallel with the sharing of portions of the loaf, a key element in the significance of the shared cup may have been the gathering’s unity with one another and with the risen Lord. If sharing a loaf indicated the intimacy of the table, and the unity of those around it, then the level of intimacy of passing a cup around the table is even greater. However, hints linking of the cup to the unity of the community are not found in our earliest sources. In the Didache where the unity of the community and the work of Jesus in gathering it, is presented by analogy with grains that formed the loaf, we do not find any parallel notion such as that of individual grapes being combined to form wine – a parallel emphasising the cup’s content rather than its sharing. Likewise, Paul points out that ‘Since there is one loaf, we who are many are one body, because we all partake of the one loaf’ (1 Cor 10:17), but there is no parallel statement about sharing the cup. For Paul the choice facing those who share the cup is between ‘the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons. You cannot partake of the table of the Lord and the table of demons’ (10:21). This choice between the Christ and the demons was a choice that faced all Gentile disciples: were they willing to turn from the idols that were part of the social and domestic fabric of Greco-Roman urban life. If one wanted to express the new discipleship then one not only turned from that which had been offered to idols, but one partook of the common cup of the disciples of the Christ. Drinking from the common cup was a ‘boundary ritual’ that expressed commitment to discipleship, and as such was a serious matter: they may have to answer for their decision to drink from that common cup (11:27-8). Since it is the action of declaring both commitment to discipleship and rejection of idols, it is a participation in the life-blood of the Christ (10:16) and makes them part of the new covenant which was sealed in Christ’s blood (11:25). For Paul discipleship is about being part of the new covenant and sharing in the new life offered by the Christ; and taking the common cup – not a gesture done lightly – was accepting that discipleship and taking that life-blood of the Christ into one’s own body. We are accustomed to think of the act of baptism as the boundary ritual of the new community, but for Paul at the time he first wrote to the Corinthians, the sharing of the cup was also a demarcation ritual – and since it was repeated weekly it was the on-going declaration of willingness to continue along the Way.
That such a paralleling of drinking the cup with baptism was present in Paul’s mind when he wrote about that church’s meals is confirmed by his remark about the Spirit being present in that church: ‘For by one Spirit we were all baptised into one body -Jews or Greeks, slaves or free - and all were made to drink of one Spirit (12:13). Just as the Spirit united them in baptism, so the Spirit was now what they drank in common. In short, if they wanted to be part of the new people, then they drank from the common cup accepting the consequences.
The Didache’s assumption is that those eating the meal have already made a choice between the ‘Way of Life’ and the ‘Way of Death’; and it is explicit that only those who are baptised are to eat and drink (9:5) – so willingness to eat from the loaf and drink the one cup are marks of continuing commitment. This relationship between baptism and drinking as boundaries may seem strange to us who put these ‘sacraments’ into different theological compartments: one is about joining and a once-off event, while the other is about continuing and is repeated over a lifetime. However, such a neat system of ‘outcomes’ does not fit with how ritual establishes and maintains identity. One-off events need to be constantly recalled, while that which is an on-going concern needs to be seen to have a moment of establishment. They were living as disciples – day-by-day facing its challenges – and so declared themselves day-by-day while looking back to the moment when discipleship was established. The two rituals, baptism and drinking the common cup need to be seen as complementary within living a life of commitment, rather than as distinct from one another with different meanings in a theological system.
Looking at the Synoptic Tradition we see that this notion that the one cup of the Lord is be taken as willingness to accept all that discipleship involves is reinforced, while being given a narrative expression, within a paradigm encounter of would be disciples with Jesus. The scene appears in Mk 10:35-40 where James and John, the sons of Zebedee, ask if they can sit beside Jesus in glory. This prompts a challenge that links drinking the same cup as the Lord with baptism: ‘Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptised with the baptism that I am baptised with?’ (10:38). When they reply that they are able, they are told that ‘The cup that I drink you will drink; and with the baptism with which I am baptised, you will be baptised’ but that will not guarantee them their desired places. To accept fully what it is to be a disciple is both to share in the baptism that of Jesus and to drink the same cup as him. In Mt 20:20-23 the story re-appears but now the question is asked by their mother and the reference to baptism has disappeared, but the message is just as stark: to be a disciple means drinking from the same cup that Jesus drinks – and this invites from the audience a ritual conversion: if you drink the ritual cup, then you consciously declare your readiness to accept the cost of discipleship.
This theme linking the cup and discipleship is further developed when Jesus’ own discipleship to the Father is presented as his willingness to drink the cup that the Father offers him. In both the Synoptics and John the suffering the Father’s Anointed must undergo is presented in terms of his ‘cup’ and Jesus’ willingness to drink it. In Mk 14:36, followed closely by Mt 26:39 and Lk 22:42, this is presented as part of his prayer in the garden: ‘Abba, Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet, not what I want, but what you want.’ And thus with obedience he accepts where his discipleship has led. In Jn 18:11 Jesus is presented as doing the Father’s will without hesitation or any sign of human fear, but again he is drinking ‘the cup’ that the Father has given him.
Drinking from one cup declared acceptance of a shared community destiny, and a common destiny with the Christ. As such it formed a very real, and possibly physically dangerous, boundary for the people of the New Covenant. It was also an act that shattered other boundaries such as those of race, social status, and factions with the churches, and implied as willingness for a new fictive community and a new intimacy in Jesus. Sharing a cup they had become blood brothers and sisters.
And today …
Does this call to drink from the one cup pose a challenge to contemporary Christian practice? It could be argued that sharing the cup is now common in many communities – though most Catholics would still find it most unusual, while many presbyters find ‘reasons’ for avoiding it. Our hesitations to sharing a vessel that touches our lips are deep-seated. The Orthodox churches, for example, use a spoon – which destroys the gesture’s force. Some Protestant churches use individual thimble-sized glasses that are as destructive of Jesus’ bold symbolism as pre-cut Catholic wavers destroy the original loaf symbolism, while both transmit signals that appeal to an individualistic consumerist culture. While among Catholics, even a flu scare banishes the cup! Some years ago a bishop at a Eucharist at a meeting of theologians, lest bird-flu spread, restricted the cup to concelebrants. In that bishop’s eyes,’ presbyteral ordination immunised against flu!
In every community the common cup is a source of contention in some way or other: and possibly that is the true value of this symbol in that it demands that each ask whether they can accept the implications of discipleship. Meanwhile, we rationalise these stresses with a mix of practicality, hygiene, and theology. In one tradition this will be the fear of ‘a spillage of the precious blood,’ in another it will be hygiene, while somewhere else it will be the time taken or the awkwardness involved, or the problem of alcoholic wine … and the list – all with some factual basis – grows longer and longer. Likewise, groups develop subterfuges such as using a spoon or straws (fistulae), dipping (‘intinction’), trays of mini-glasses; and, the most extreme deviation, restricting the cup to the president. These ‘developments’ miss both the central imagery of the action, and the ‘shock’ that is at the gesture’s core: will you share a cup and a common destiny in discipleship that might demand ‘obedience unto death’ (Phil 2:8)?
‘Examine yourselves, and only then eat of the loaf and drink of the cup’ (1 Cor 11:28). Can we face the common cup of shared covenant discipleship?
[1] 1 Cor 10:16 and 21; 11:25, 26, 27 and 28; Mk 14:23; Mt 26:27; Lk 22:17 and 20; and Didache 9:2.
[2] Mk 14:25; Mt 26:29; and Lk 22:18.
[3] This is already in evidence in Paul when he wrote to the Corinthians assuming there is a single cup (10:16) and that they all drink ‘the cup of the Lord’ (11:27); and that this is a practice ‘received from the Lord’ (11:23).
[4] See J.P. Meier, ‘The Eucharist at the Last Supper: did it happen?’ Theology Digest 42(1995)335-51.
[5] See A.B. McGowan, Ascetic Eucharists: Food and Drink in Early Christian Ritual Meals, Oxford 1999.
Further reading:
T. O’Loughlin, The Eucharist: Origins and Contemporary Understandings (T. and T. Clark, London, 2015).
Are there any traces of how this most unusual gesture was understood? Clearly, by parallel with the sharing of portions of the loaf, a key element in the significance of the shared cup may have been the gathering’s unity with one another and with the risen Lord. If sharing a loaf indicated the intimacy of the table, and the unity of those around it, then the level of intimacy of passing a cup around the table is even greater. However, hints linking of the cup to the unity of the community are not found in our earliest sources. In the Didache where the unity of the community and the work of Jesus in gathering it, is presented by analogy with grains that formed the loaf, we do not find any parallel notion such as that of individual grapes being combined to form wine – a parallel emphasising the cup’s content rather than its sharing. Likewise, Paul points out that ‘Since there is one loaf, we who are many are one body, because we all partake of the one loaf’ (1 Cor 10:17), but there is no parallel statement about sharing the cup. For Paul the choice facing those who share the cup is between ‘the cup of the Lord and the cup of demons. You cannot partake of the table of the Lord and the table of demons’ (10:21). This choice between the Christ and the demons was a choice that faced all Gentile disciples: were they willing to turn from the idols that were part of the social and domestic fabric of Greco-Roman urban life. If one wanted to express the new discipleship then one not only turned from that which had been offered to idols, but one partook of the common cup of the disciples of the Christ. Drinking from the common cup was a ‘boundary ritual’ that expressed commitment to discipleship, and as such was a serious matter: they may have to answer for their decision to drink from that common cup (11:27-8). Since it is the action of declaring both commitment to discipleship and rejection of idols, it is a participation in the life-blood of the Christ (10:16) and makes them part of the new covenant which was sealed in Christ’s blood (11:25). For Paul discipleship is about being part of the new covenant and sharing in the new life offered by the Christ; and taking the common cup – not a gesture done lightly – was accepting that discipleship and taking that life-blood of the Christ into one’s own body. We are accustomed to think of the act of baptism as the boundary ritual of the new community, but for Paul at the time he first wrote to the Corinthians, the sharing of the cup was also a demarcation ritual – and since it was repeated weekly it was the on-going declaration of willingness to continue along the Way.
That such a paralleling of drinking the cup with baptism was present in Paul’s mind when he wrote about that church’s meals is confirmed by his remark about the Spirit being present in that church: ‘For by one Spirit we were all baptised into one body -Jews or Greeks, slaves or free - and all were made to drink of one Spirit (12:13). Just as the Spirit united them in baptism, so the Spirit was now what they drank in common. In short, if they wanted to be part of the new people, then they drank from the common cup accepting the consequences.
The Didache’s assumption is that those eating the meal have already made a choice between the ‘Way of Life’ and the ‘Way of Death’; and it is explicit that only those who are baptised are to eat and drink (9:5) – so willingness to eat from the loaf and drink the one cup are marks of continuing commitment. This relationship between baptism and drinking as boundaries may seem strange to us who put these ‘sacraments’ into different theological compartments: one is about joining and a once-off event, while the other is about continuing and is repeated over a lifetime. However, such a neat system of ‘outcomes’ does not fit with how ritual establishes and maintains identity. One-off events need to be constantly recalled, while that which is an on-going concern needs to be seen to have a moment of establishment. They were living as disciples – day-by-day facing its challenges – and so declared themselves day-by-day while looking back to the moment when discipleship was established. The two rituals, baptism and drinking the common cup need to be seen as complementary within living a life of commitment, rather than as distinct from one another with different meanings in a theological system.
Looking at the Synoptic Tradition we see that this notion that the one cup of the Lord is be taken as willingness to accept all that discipleship involves is reinforced, while being given a narrative expression, within a paradigm encounter of would be disciples with Jesus. The scene appears in Mk 10:35-40 where James and John, the sons of Zebedee, ask if they can sit beside Jesus in glory. This prompts a challenge that links drinking the same cup as the Lord with baptism: ‘Are you able to drink the cup that I drink, or be baptised with the baptism that I am baptised with?’ (10:38). When they reply that they are able, they are told that ‘The cup that I drink you will drink; and with the baptism with which I am baptised, you will be baptised’ but that will not guarantee them their desired places. To accept fully what it is to be a disciple is both to share in the baptism that of Jesus and to drink the same cup as him. In Mt 20:20-23 the story re-appears but now the question is asked by their mother and the reference to baptism has disappeared, but the message is just as stark: to be a disciple means drinking from the same cup that Jesus drinks – and this invites from the audience a ritual conversion: if you drink the ritual cup, then you consciously declare your readiness to accept the cost of discipleship.
This theme linking the cup and discipleship is further developed when Jesus’ own discipleship to the Father is presented as his willingness to drink the cup that the Father offers him. In both the Synoptics and John the suffering the Father’s Anointed must undergo is presented in terms of his ‘cup’ and Jesus’ willingness to drink it. In Mk 14:36, followed closely by Mt 26:39 and Lk 22:42, this is presented as part of his prayer in the garden: ‘Abba, Father, for you all things are possible; remove this cup from me; yet, not what I want, but what you want.’ And thus with obedience he accepts where his discipleship has led. In Jn 18:11 Jesus is presented as doing the Father’s will without hesitation or any sign of human fear, but again he is drinking ‘the cup’ that the Father has given him.
Drinking from one cup declared acceptance of a shared community destiny, and a common destiny with the Christ. As such it formed a very real, and possibly physically dangerous, boundary for the people of the New Covenant. It was also an act that shattered other boundaries such as those of race, social status, and factions with the churches, and implied as willingness for a new fictive community and a new intimacy in Jesus. Sharing a cup they had become blood brothers and sisters.
And today …
Does this call to drink from the one cup pose a challenge to contemporary Christian practice? It could be argued that sharing the cup is now common in many communities – though most Catholics would still find it most unusual, while many presbyters find ‘reasons’ for avoiding it. Our hesitations to sharing a vessel that touches our lips are deep-seated. The Orthodox churches, for example, use a spoon – which destroys the gesture’s force. Some Protestant churches use individual thimble-sized glasses that are as destructive of Jesus’ bold symbolism as pre-cut Catholic wavers destroy the original loaf symbolism, while both transmit signals that appeal to an individualistic consumerist culture. While among Catholics, even a flu scare banishes the cup! Some years ago a bishop at a Eucharist at a meeting of theologians, lest bird-flu spread, restricted the cup to concelebrants. In that bishop’s eyes,’ presbyteral ordination immunised against flu!
In every community the common cup is a source of contention in some way or other: and possibly that is the true value of this symbol in that it demands that each ask whether they can accept the implications of discipleship. Meanwhile, we rationalise these stresses with a mix of practicality, hygiene, and theology. In one tradition this will be the fear of ‘a spillage of the precious blood,’ in another it will be hygiene, while somewhere else it will be the time taken or the awkwardness involved, or the problem of alcoholic wine … and the list – all with some factual basis – grows longer and longer. Likewise, groups develop subterfuges such as using a spoon or straws (fistulae), dipping (‘intinction’), trays of mini-glasses; and, the most extreme deviation, restricting the cup to the president. These ‘developments’ miss both the central imagery of the action, and the ‘shock’ that is at the gesture’s core: will you share a cup and a common destiny in discipleship that might demand ‘obedience unto death’ (Phil 2:8)?
‘Examine yourselves, and only then eat of the loaf and drink of the cup’ (1 Cor 11:28). Can we face the common cup of shared covenant discipleship?
[1] 1 Cor 10:16 and 21; 11:25, 26, 27 and 28; Mk 14:23; Mt 26:27; Lk 22:17 and 20; and Didache 9:2.
[2] Mk 14:25; Mt 26:29; and Lk 22:18.
[3] This is already in evidence in Paul when he wrote to the Corinthians assuming there is a single cup (10:16) and that they all drink ‘the cup of the Lord’ (11:27); and that this is a practice ‘received from the Lord’ (11:23).
[4] See J.P. Meier, ‘The Eucharist at the Last Supper: did it happen?’ Theology Digest 42(1995)335-51.
[5] See A.B. McGowan, Ascetic Eucharists: Food and Drink in Early Christian Ritual Meals, Oxford 1999.
Further reading:
T. O’Loughlin, The Eucharist: Origins and Contemporary Understandings (T. and T. Clark, London, 2015).