The Bread Which We Break

One of the less well-observed rubrics in the English Book of Common Prayer is the requirement that the bread for communion ‘be such as is usual to be eaten; but the best and purest Wheat Bread that conveniently may be gotten’. Instead of the loaf of leavened wheat bread the rubric calls for, one usually sees wafers. It is much the same story in the other parts of the Communion I know best: the Episcopal Church (USA), the Anglican Church of Canada, and the Scottish Episcopal Church. 

It was not always so. Like many aspects of contemporary Anglicanism, the use of wafers – so unremarkable today – is a development of the late 19th and early 20th centuries. First, the 1549 Prayer Book called for bread for Communion to be ‘unleavened, and rounde, as it was afore, but without all maner of printe, and somethyng more larger and thicker than it was’. That is, the bread was to still be unleavened but was to be significantly larger than the pre-Reformation wafers, so that one bread fed at least two people. From the 1552 Book of Common Prayer on, then, the prayer book rubrics called for the use of regular bread. Here is the relevant 1552 Prayer Book rubric:

And to take away the supersticion, whiche any person hothe, or myghte have in the bread and wyne, it shall suffyse that the bread bee such, as is usuall to bee eaten at the Table wyth other meates, but the best and purest wheate bread, that conveniently maye be gotten

It is true that Elizabethan injunctions of 1559 did (controversially!) call for the use of unleavened bread, contradicting the 1559 Prayer Book rubrics. But even this, where it was observed, was distinct from pre-Reformation practice. What’s more, her successors did not renew the injunction. In the Stuart church, ordinary leavened bread replaced the Elizabethan large unleavened bread virtually everywhere. So it continued for several hundred years.

The Ritualist movement of the 19th century reintroduced the use of wafers in many Anglo-Catholic parishes. Indeed, the use of wafers rather than the customary leavened loaves of bread was one of the so-called ‘Six Points’ of advanced ritualism, along with eastward celebration, incense, altar lights, the mixed chalice, and eucharistic vestments. Like the rest of these points, the use of wafers was originally condemned in the strongest terms. The 1871 judgment of the Judicial Committee of the Privy Council in Hebbert vs. Purchas declared the use of wafers illegal, for ‘the law of the Church has directed the use of pure wheaten bread’, a law which excluded wafers. But just as with vestments and the rest, this judgment was eventually ignored, and what was once highly controversial became an increasingly normative practice.

Are there good reasons to consider using actual bread (whether leavened or unleavened) rather than wafers, beyond fidelity to traditional Anglican practice? I think there are very good reasons to use loaves of bread ‘such as is usual to be eaten’, and the ‘best and purest’ that can be attained – and, for that matter, delicious communion wine – and articulated well by Heinrich Bullinger and John Calvin.

Both Calvin and Bullinger draw upon Augustine to argue that in the sacraments there is an analogy between the sign and the thing signified, an analogy designed to lead us from the physical to the spiritual. Thus Calvin writes in the 1559 Institutes that ‘from the physical things set forth in the Sacrament we are led by a sort of analogy to spiritual things’ The sensible sign of the sacrament symbolizes the invisible gift which the Spirit imparts to the faithful recipient via the sign. Similarly, Bullinger says in the Sixth Sermon of the Fifth Decade that one of the ends of the sacraments – along with sealing God’s promises, gathering us together into one body, and reminding us of our duty – is to ‘resemble…by likeness and by a certain imitation’ God’s spiritual gifts.

Why does this matter? According to both, God gives us the sacramental analogy as gracious condescension to our weakness and inability to perceive spiritual things. Thus Bullinger writes, ‘men do more easily conceive and understand the doctrine of heavenly things, when it is shadowed out under some dark and covert sign of earthly things, than when it is nakedly and spiritually indeed delivered’. This is why Jesus preached in parables, and also why he instituted sacraments. The water of baptism, and the bread and wine of the Supper, serve as sensible representations of God’s invisible, spiritual grace applied to the faithful recipient, to help us more fully understand and receive God’s goodness to us.

What do the bread and wine symbolize? Christ’s body and blood, of course — but not just Christ’s body and blood as such, but Christ’s body and blood as given to us for our salvation on the cross.

Bullinger provides a set of physical analogies in the elements and action of the Lord’s Supper to the benefits of Christ’s death for us in the same sermon: as bread nourishes the body, so ‘the body of Christ, eaten by faith, feedeth and satisfieth the soul of man, and furnisheth the whole man to all duties of godliness’; as wine is drunk by the thirsty and makes us glad, so Jesus’ blood, drunk by faith, ‘doth quench the thirst of the burning conscience, and filleth the hearts of the faithful with unspeakable joy’. The breaking of the bread and pouring of the wine represent Christ’s death. We tear the bread because by our sins we crucified Christ. We take both elements into our hands because we believe that Christ suffered for us and has communicated his gifts to us. Just as bread and wine are changed into the substance of our body, so Christ, eaten by faith, is united with us by the Spirit so that we dwell in him and he in us. And that the bread is of one loaf rather than many wafers also matters: we communally partake of the one bread to show and promote unity among Christians (cf. 1 Cor. 10:17).

Calvin makes a similar point in the 1559 Institutes:

[W]hen bread is given as a symbol of Christ’s body, we must at once grasp this comparison: as bread nourishes, sustains, and keeps the life of our body, so Christ’s body is the only food to invigorate and enliven our soul. When we see wine set forth as a symbol of blood, we must reflect on the benefits which wine imparts to the body, and so realize that the same are spiritually imparted to us by Christ’s blood. These benefits are to nourish, refresh, strengthen, and gladden. For if we sufficiently consider what value we have received from the giving of that most holy body and the shedding of that blood, we shall clearly perceive that those qualities of bread and wine are, according to such an analogy, excellently adapted to express those things when they are communicated to us.

So, the bread (because it nourishes and sustains us) and the wine (because it quenches our thirst, strengthens us, and makes us glad) help us understand what Christ’s body and blood do for us: nourishing and strengthening our spirits, quenching the thirst of our conscience and filling us with joy. And as noted above, Bullinger goes on to outline various other analogies between the physical action of the Supper – the breaking, the pouring, the taking, the eating, the use of one loaf – and our feeding upon the body and blood of Christ crucified.

Now, what does all this have to do with the question of what bread to use? Well, if we accept that the bread in the Supper represents the nourishment that Christ’s body offers, then the bread used should be physically nourishing and sustaining. And, if we’re to go with Bullinger’s fuller set of analogies, it should also be able to be broken and torn to represent Christ’s death for us and crucifixion because of us, and it should be a single loaf to represent our unity with each other in Christ. Thus the analogy is more fully and clearly exhibited.

Surely the bread that symbolizes the body of Christ should be nourishing and delightful to the body, as Christ’s body nourishes and delights the soul! Surely too should the bread that symbolizes our unity with Christ and each other be one (it is curious that contemporary Anglican practice is often quite insistent about the use of a single chalice rather than individual wine cups for precisely this reason, yet does not extend the same logic to the bread, though Paul does in 1 Cor. 10:17). Unleavened or leavened is not terribly important, although it does seem to me that where leavened bread is ordinarily eaten, such bread should also be used for communion. What is important is that it be bread, and good bread at that, to show us by our senses the goodness that Christ’s body invisibly gives us.

Incidentally, this also suggests to me that recipients should be encouraged to consume more bread and wine in the Supper than is often the case today. If you look at churchwardens’ reports from, say, the 18th century, you will see that large quantities of both bread and wine were acquired for Communion Sundays. This was for good reason. If the analogy is that Christ’s body nourishes you just as bread nourishes you, you should actually eat enough bread to nourish you! If the analogy is that Christ’s blood refreshes and gladdens you just as wine refreshes and gladdens you, you should drink enough wine to refresh and gladden you! And indeed, taking a bit more time to eat and drink allows one to more fully reflect on the nourishment that Christ gives invisibly through (as well as outside of) the visible nourishment of the bread and wine.

Now, to be sure, Christ really offers himself via a wafer as much as via a chunk of good bread. But I am increasingly convinced of the value of using real, good bread – not just ‘to take away the supersticion’, as the rubric says, but also to give the signs their full representational force. The use of a single loaf of nourishing, delicious bread and a single cup of gladdening wine – encouraging communicants to take amply of each – helps the Supper more fully show forth to the senses what it effects spiritually: signifying, sealing, exhibiting, and conveying to the faithful recipient the body and blood of the Crucified Lord for her salvation.