“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
In the upper room, on the eve of His betrayal, a silence fell. Jesus offered no lecture, parable, or miracle. Instead, He offered His very self: His body as the broken bread, His blood as the outpoured wine. Here, He established the ultimate model of leadership.
“To lead in the kingdom of God is to walk the path of Christ –
a path that leads not to applause, but to the altar.
This is not leadership as ascent, but descent:
a movement away from self and toward surrender.“
It is a pursuit not of platforms, followers, or recognition, but of surrender, suffering, and servanthood. For in Christ, the table is never a place of strategy; it is always a place of sacrifice.
The Spirit still summons us back to that table, a call for every leader, pastor, elder, and servant to cease our climbing and embrace our pouring out. We are not called to manage crowds but to carry the cross. Understand this: true spiritual leadership will always cost more than it promises. For it is in this breaking and this pouring out that Christ is most clearly seen in us.
I. The Table of Surrender (Luke 22:19–20)
At the heart of Jesus’ final night lies not a mere meal, but a metaphor made tangible: broken bread, poured-out wine. These are more than tokens of remembrance; they are tokens of identity. Jesus does not say, “This is what I do,” but “This is who I am.” His body, broken. His blood, poured out.
For the spiritual leader, this is our defining paradigm.
True leadership begins here, not in charisma or credentials, but in cruciformity. If Jesus leads by laying down His life, so must we. This table becomes our altar, the place where we lay down our ambition, our self-preservation, and our entitlement. It is where we cease striving to be impressive and choose to remain surrendered.
To lead like Jesus is to enact the truth He proclaimed: “This is My body, given for you.”
This is not a one-time ceremony but a continuous posture. It is lived out not only during communion but 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 paradox at the heart of God’s ways: the path to genuine fruitfulness winds directly through the valley of death, death to self, death to pride, and death to independence. Understand this: 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 imminent sacrifice, compares Himself to a seed. Life will come, but not before death. The same is true for leaders. A seed must first be buried, its shell cracked open, and its identity lost in the darkness. Only then can roots drive deep. Only then can true fruit emerge.
The pattern is consistent across Scripture:
- Moses was shaped for forty years in the wilderness of Midian before he could shepherd Israel through one.
- Joseph was confined to a pit and a prison before he was elevated to a palace.
- David was anointed king in a secret ceremony, but his heart was forged in the desperation of desert caves.
- Paul was struck blind on the Damascus road before he could truly see the scope of God’s calling.
We long to be used by God, yet we instinctively resist being undone by Him. But God never uses a man greatly until He has wounded him deeply, not to destroy him, but to dismantle his self-sufficiency and usher him into a state of absolute dependence.
In spiritual leadership, our natural gifts may draw attention, but it is our brokenness that releases the authentic fragrance of Christ. As Watchman Nee observed, “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 shielding from God’s loving, breaking hand? Where must I surrender my need for safety and control so that the seed of something eternal can finally break through?
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, true spiritual leadership, is almost always lonelier than it appears. For every sermon delivered with conviction and authority, there are prayers whispered in exhaustion. For every visible moment of anointing and ministry, there are private seasons of struggles and ache. The applause of the people may echo, but the soul of the leader often groans in the silence.
The Apostle Paul, who walked with miraculous power and apostolic authority, also walked with a thorn, with tears, and with 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 quiet wounds of disappointment, the weight of unseen responsibility, the sting of criticism, and the ache of unanswered prayer. These are not marks of failure but of fellowship, a sharing in the sufferings of Christ. He too was despised, rejected, and acquainted with grief (Isa. 53:3).
Yet here lies a sober truth: when a leader neglects or conceals their inner brokenness, choosing the facade of strength over the humility of confession, the foundation crumbles. What begins as a private ache can become a communal collapse. Trust is broken. The vessel, designed for God’s glory, shatters not under the pressure of His hand but under the weight of its own pride.
But when a leader offers their hidden pain to God in surrender, those very cracks become channels of grace. The treasure was never in the perfection of the vessel, but in the presence of Christ within.
Reflection:
Am I tending to my private walk with God as faithfully as I tend to my public calling? Who knows the person behind the pulpit, and am I allowing Christ to 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 the highest form of 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 the sake of 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 never the main sacrifice; it was the accompaniment, the fragrant overflow that ascended to God. Paul saw his life and ministry in this light: Christ is the once-for-all sacrifice, and we are the accompanying outpouring of love and devotion.
To lead well, then, is to love deeply and give freely, even when no one witnesses it, applauds it, or returns it. The poured-out life is not fixated on results; it is rooted in radical obedience. Like Mary of Bethany (John 12), we break open our most precious treasures, trusting that the aroma of our devotion will fill the Lord’s house.
True leadership does not calculate the cost; it offers the heart. And in that surrender, there is a profound joy, not found in control or human acclaim, but in the quiet certainty that we have given our all for Christ and His people.
Reflection:
Have I poured out my life in love, or have I withheld the fragrance, keeping the jar unbroken?
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. This table is not merely a place of remembrance; it is a place of reckoning. Here, we confront the cost of Christ’s calling, not as a concept, but in the quiet surrender of our own will.
This is your summons to return.
To every pastor weary from labor.
To every ministry leader aching in secret.
To every servant questioning if the pouring out has been in vain.
Return – not to demonstrate your strength, but to confess your emptiness.
Return – not to perform, but to be remade.
Return – not to be served, but to serve again.
Christ still meets His leaders here. What He breaks, He blesses. What He pours out, He fills with His own Spirit. You are not forgotten. You are not finished. You are being re-formed in the pattern of His death and resurrection.
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 your achievements, but with your hunger. He who was broken for you will make you whole again.”
Prayer
Lord Jesus,
You were broken for our healing,
poured out for our redemption.
We come to You now – weary, yet willing.
Strip us of empty striving.
Empty us of stubborn pride.
Cleanse us from hidden fear.
And rekindle the holy fire within.
Take our lives – break them in Your hands,
pour them out at Your feet,
and lift them up in Your resurrection power –
for Your glory alone.
We are Yours.
Break us. Fill us. Use us.
Amen.
A Shepherd’s Seal
Let us not fear the breaking, for it releases the fragrance of Christ.
Let us not resist the pouring, for it makes His love visible.
This is our calling:
To be bread, broken to nourish.
To be wine, poured out to gladden.
To be spent in the service of the King who was spent for us.