“And when He had taken some bread and given thanks, He broke it and gave it to them, saying, ‘This is My body, which is given for you; do this in remembrance of Me.’” — Luke 22:19 (NASB 1995)
When the Table Becomes the Altar
A sacred silence envelops the table as they break bread and pour wine. In the upper room, on the eve of His betrayal, Jesus did not offer a lecture, a parable, or a miracle. Instead, He offered Himself—broken bread, poured wine. The act was not merely a memorial gesture. It was a model of leadership.
To lead in the kingdom of God is to follow the path of Christ—not toward applause, but toward the altar. Spiritual leadership is not upward mobility; it is downward descent. It is not about platforms, followers, or recognition—it is about surrender, suffering, and servanthood. In Christ, the table is not a place of strategy—it is a place of sacrifice.
This article is a callback to that table. A summons to leaders—pastors, elders, servants, disciplers—not to climb higher, but to be poured lower. We are not called to manage crowds but to carry crosses. True spiritual leadership will always cost more than it appears. But it is in the breaking and the pouring that Christ is most revealed through us.
I. The Table of Surrender (Luke 22:19–20)
At the heart of Jesus’ final night with His disciples is not just a meal—it is a metaphor. Bread broken. Wine poured. These are not tokens of remembrance alone; they are tokens of identity. Jesus does not say, “This is what I do,” but “This is who I am.” His body was broken. His blood poured out.
For spiritual leaders, this is our blueprint.
Leadership begins here—not with charisma, not with credentials, but with cruciformity. If Jesus leads by laying down His life, so must we. The table becomes our altar, where we lay down ambition, self-preservation, and entitlement. It is the place where we stop striving to be impressive and start becoming surrendered.
To lead like Jesus is to say, in action, what He said in word: “This is My body, given for you.”
This is not just a one-time act but a continuous one. It’s not just during communion, but it’s within the community.
In Luke 22, the bread did not remain whole. It had to be broken. The wine did not remain contained. It had to be poured out. And so must we.
II. Brokenness Before Usefulness
“Truly, truly, I say to you, unless a grain of wheat falls into the earth and dies, it remains alone; but if it dies, it bears much fruit.” — John 12:24 (NASB 1995)
There is a divine paradox in the way God prepares His servants: the road to fruitfulness runs through the valley of death—death to self, death to pride, death to independence. Brokenness is not God’s rejection of a leader; it is His preparation of one.
“God breaks a man before He blesses his ministry. The breaking is not cruelty—it is consecration.”
Jesus, speaking of His own impending death, compares Himself to a seed. Life will come, but not before death. The same is true for leaders. A seed must first be buried, cracked open, and hidden in darkness. Only then can roots take hold. Only then can fruit emerge.
The pattern is consistent across Scripture:
- Moses spent forty years in Midian before he could shepherd Israel.
- Joseph was confined in a pit and a prison before ruling in a palace.
- David was anointed in secret but formed in caves.
- Paul was struck blind before he could see clearly the call of God.
We long to be used by God but often resist being undone by Him. Yet God never uses a man greatly until He wounds him deeply—not to destroy him, but to strip him of self-sufficiency and draw him into absolute dependence.
In spiritual leadership, our gifts may impress, but only our brokenness allows the fragrance of Christ to be released. As Watchman Nee wrote, “The Lord does not care so much for our eloquence or ability, but for whether our outward man has been broken.”
Reflection:
What part of my life or ministry am I still holding back from God’s breaking? Am I willing to let go of safety so that something eternal can be born through me?
III. The Private Price of Public Ministry
“But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, so that the surpassing greatness of the power will be of God and not from ourselves.” — 2 Corinthians 4:7 (NASB 1995)
Leadership—especially spiritual leadership—is almost always lonelier than it looks. For every sermon spoken with conviction, there are prayers whispered in exhaustion. For every visible moment of ministry, there are private seasons of struggle. The applause of people may echo, but the soul of a leader often groans in silence.
The Apostle Paul, who walked in apostolic authority and miraculous anointing, also walked with thorns, tears, imprisonments, and betrayals. He wrote of being “afflicted in every way, but not crushed” (2 Cor. 4:8)—a testimony of resilience forged in hidden pain.
“Leadership demands public strength but is sustained only by private surrender.”
Many leaders bleed in places no one sees. They carry the wounds of disappointment, the fatigue of responsibility, the sting of criticism, and the ache of unanswered prayers. These are not signs of failure but of fellowship with Christ. He too was despised, rejected, and acquainted with grief (Isa. 53:3).
However, there is a real risk: if a leader neglects or conceals their private life for an extended period, it can lead to not only personal but also communal collapse. Ministries fracture. Trust erodes. The vessel, once used for honor, breaks not in God’s hands but in pride’s rebellion.
But when a leader offers their hidden pain to God in surrender, those very cracks become channels of grace. The treasure is never in the vessel—it’s in the Christ within.
Reflection:
Am I nurturing my private walk with God as faithfully as I lead publicly? Who sees the real me—and do I let Christ minister to that person first?
IV. The Power of Poured-Out Lives
“But even if I am being poured out as a drink offering upon the sacrifice and service of your faith, I rejoice and share my joy with you all.” — Philippians 2:17 (NASB 1995)
To the world, the image of being poured out may sound like waste. But to the apostle Paul, it was worship. His life, like wine upon the altar, was not spilled in vain—it was spent in sacrifice. He did not consume it for himself but emptied it for others.
This is the mystery of spiritual leadership: we are not reservoirs to store, but vessels to release. We were never meant to preserve ourselves—we were meant to be poured out.
“God never asks for what He has not already given. He fills us only that we might be emptied again—for His glory.”
The drink offering in the Old Testament (cf. Numbers 28:7) was not the main sacrifice—it was the accompaniment, the fragrance, the overflow. Paul saw his ministry the same way: Christ is the sacrifice, but we are the accompanying outpouring of devotion.
To lead well is to love deeply and give freely—even when no one sees it, applauds it, or repays it. The poured-out life is never about results—it’s about obedience. Like Mary of Bethany (John 12), we break open our alabaster and let the aroma of devotion fill the house.
True leadership does not calculate the cost; it offers the heart. And in that, there is joy—not in control or acclaim, but in knowing we gave everything for Christ and His people.
Reflection:
Have I poured out my life in love, or have I withheld out of fear? What am I still trying to preserve that Christ is asking me to release?
V. A Call to the Table Again
The first call to leadership is not to a platform, but to a table. It is here—where bread is broken and wine is poured—that the soul of the shepherd is shaped. The table is not merely a place of remembrance; it is a place of reckoning. Here, we confront the cost of Christ’s calling—not in theory, but in surrender.
This is a call to return.
A call to every pastor weary from labor.
To every ministry leader aching in secret.
To every servant wondering if the pouring has been worth it.
Return—not to prove your strength, but to confess your need.
Return—not to perform, but to be made whole.
Return to the table—not to be served, but to serve.
Christ still meets His leaders here. And what He breaks, He blesses. What He pours out, He fills again. You are not forgotten. You are not finished. You are simply being formed. There is still bread to be broken. There is still wine to be poured. And Christ is not finished with you yet.
“Come back to the table—not with answers, but with emptiness. He who was broken for you will make you whole again.”
Prayer
Lord Jesus,
You who were broken for our healing,
You who were poured out for our redemption—
We return to You, weary and worn, yet willing.
Strip us of striving,
Empty us of pride,
Cleanse us from fear,
And kindle again the holy fire within.
May our lives be broken in Your hands,
Poured at Your feet,
And lifted in Your power—
For Your glory, not our gain.
We are Yours.
Break us. Use us. Fill us again.
In Jesus’ name, Amen.
A Shepherd’s Seal
“Let us not fear the breaking—for in it, the fragrance of Christ is released. Let us not resist the pouring—for in it, the love of Christ is made visible.”
This is our calling:
To be bread that nourishes and wine that gladdens.
To be spent in the service of the King who gave Himself for us.