{"id":6377,"date":"2026-02-04T10:21:51","date_gmt":"2026-02-04T17:21:51","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/novus2.com\/righteouscause\/?p=6377"},"modified":"2026-02-26T21:54:49","modified_gmt":"2026-02-27T04:54:49","slug":"the-slippery-communion-cup-when-selective-literalism-undermines-its-own-argument","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/novus2.com\/righteouscause\/2026\/02\/04\/the-slippery-communion-cup-when-selective-literalism-undermines-its-own-argument\/","title":{"rendered":"The Slippery Communion Cup: When Selective Literalism Undermines Its Own Argument"},"content":{"rendered":"

A Theological and Exegetical Response to<\/strong><\/span>
\nBrad East’s “Jesus Did Not Serve Grape Juice”<\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\n
\n

In the February 2026 edition of Christianity Today<\/em>, theologian Brad East mounts a spirited case that evangelical churches should abandon grape juice in the Lord’s Supper and return to wine. His argument, built on the premise that Christians ought to “use what [Jesus] used,”<\/strong><\/span> initially possesses persuasive appeal. After all, who among us wishes to deviate from our Lord’s express commands? Yet upon closer examination, East’s thesis collapses under the weight of its own selective literalism\u2014a hermeneutical inconsistency so pronounced that it renders the entire argument reductio ad absurdum.<\/p>\n

Christianity Today: Jesus Did Not Serve Grape Juice<\/strong><\/a><\/p>\n

When I teach evangelical college students about the practicalities of Communion, I\u2019ll often begin with the Last Supper, with Jesus and the disciples, because it raises some straightforward questions. I\u2019ll ask them: Should we obey Jesus? Should we celebrate the meal as he instituted it? Should we do what he said? Should we use what he used, eating what he ate and drinking what he drank?<\/em><\/p>\n

Obviously, they respond\u2014but then they catch themselves. On second thought, their churches don\u2019t do that. And it occurs to them that they can\u2019t quite offer an explanation why.<\/em><\/p>\n

Some of their churches have taught them that the Communion elements don\u2019t matter at all: Cheez-Its and Minute Maid will work in a pinch. Whatever\u2019s on hand can do the job. Why be such a legalist? God doesn\u2019t care. It\u2019s about the intention of your heart.<\/em><\/p>\n

…<\/em><\/p>\n

To use wine in the Supper would bring our churches into alignment both with the rest of the global church and with Christian tradition prior to Welch\u2019s grape juice. It would bring them into alignment, too, with Scripture\u2019s rich symbolism of the fruit of the vine. And finally, it would bring them into alignment with\u2014I want to say, obedience to\u2014the teaching and practice of the apostles and of the Lord Jesus himself.<\/em><\/p>\n

There is no better reason than that.<\/em><\/p><\/blockquote>\n

East correctly observes that Jesus employed wine (oinos<\/em>) at the Last Supper, that the Passover meal required unleavened bread (azumos<\/em>), and that symbols carry theological freight. These observations are unassailable. However, East then performs a remarkable feat of theological sleight-of-hand: he insists upon rigid adherence to one element of the Supper while ignoring dozens of others that possess equal or greater attestation in the biblical text. If we are truly committed to replicating the Lord’s Supper as Jesus instituted it, we must ask a series of questions that East’s article conspicuously avoids.<\/p>\n

\n

The Problem of Selective Replication<\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\n

Consider what we actually know about the Upper Room on that fateful Thursday evening. The disciples gathered with Jesus to observe Passover, which carried specific ceremonial requirements far beyond merely bread and wine. If East’s hermeneutical principle\u2014that we must replicate the elements Jesus used\u2014holds water (or wine, as it were), then we face a cascade of uncomfortable questions:<\/p>\n

What elements were actually present at the Lord’s Supper?<\/strong> <\/span><\/em>The Passover Seder included bitter herbs (maror<\/em>), the roasted lamb (korban pesach<\/em>), charoset<\/em> (a mixture of apples, nuts, and wine), a vegetable dipped in salt water (karpas<\/em>), and four cups of wine\u2014not merely one. The unleavened bread was matzah<\/em>, specifically prepared according to rabbinic regulations. If symbolic precision matters as much as East contends, why does he not advocate for the full Passover meal? Why wine but not lamb? Why unleavened bread but not bitter herbs?<\/p>\n

How “oft” should the Supper be celebrated, if at all?<\/strong><\/span> Paul’s instruction to do this “as often as you drink it”<\/em> (1 Corinthians 11:25) provides remarkable latitude. The phrase \u1f41\u03c3\u03ac\u03ba\u03b9\u03c2 \u1f10\u1f70\u03bd \u03c0\u03af\u03bd\u03b7\u03c4\u03b5<\/em> (hosakis ean pin\u0113te) suggests frequency is a matter of Christian liberty, not prescription. If Jesus intended rigid replication of form, would the apostle not have specified weekly, monthly, or annual observance? The early church appears to have practiced communion with considerable variation\u2014some daily (Acts 2:46), some weekly (Acts 20:7), some at varying intervals. East’s argument for wine-as-necessary oddly coexists with evangelical indifference to frequency.<\/p>\n

Must the bread be “broken”?<\/strong> <\/em><\/span>Jesus “took bread, and blessed, and brake it”<\/em> (Matthew 26:26, KJV). The Greek \u03ba\u03bb\u03ac\u03c3\u03b1\u03c2 (klasas<\/em>) indicates a deliberate breaking. Many churches now use pre-cut wafers or individual communion cups with pre-sealed bread. Has not the symbolism of the one loaf broken for the many been equally compromised? Paul explicitly connects this imagery to ecclesiology: “For we being many are one bread, and one body: for we are all partakers of that one bread”<\/em> (1 Corinthians 10:17). If symbolic integrity demands wine over grape juice, does it not also demand a single loaf broken before the congregation over individual servings?<\/p>\n

Should the wine be served in “New Testament cups”?<\/strong> <\/em><\/span>Jesus “took the cup”<\/em> (\u03c4\u1f78 \u03c0\u03bf\u03c4\u03ae\u03c1\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd, to pot\u0113rion<\/em>)\u2014singular. The early church shared from a common cup, an image pregnant with meaning about unity, shared life, and mutual acceptance. The individual communion cups that populate most evangelical (and many non-evangelical) churches represent a departure from apostolic practice driven by late 19th and early 20th century concerns about hygiene. This innovation emerged during precisely the same period as Welch’s grape juice. If one accommodation to modernity invalidates authentic communion, why not the other?<\/p>\n

Must we sit at a wooden table?<\/strong><\/em><\/span> Jesus reclined at the table (\u1f00\u03bd\u03ad\u03ba\u03b5\u03b9\u03c4\u03bf<\/em>, anekeito<\/em>) in the Greco-Roman fashion. The triclinium<\/em> arrangement placed diners on cushions around a low table. Shall we install such furniture in our sanctuaries? Must we recline rather than sit in pews?<\/p>\n

Is an “Upper Room” a necessary venue?<\/strong><\/em><\/span> Luke 22:12 specifies an \u1f00\u03bd\u03ac\u03b3\u03b1\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd<\/em> (anagaion<\/em>)\u2014a large upper room. If location bore no theological significance, why did the Holy Spirit preserve this detail? Perhaps churches meeting in gymnasiums, storefronts, or single-story buildings conduct invalid communion services?<\/p>\n

The absurdity compounds with each question.<\/strong> <\/span>Yet East’s argument, taken to its logical conclusion, demands we take each seriously. If the fermentation of the grape juice matters\u2014if the chemical composition of the cup’s contents bears theological weight\u2014then surely the shape of the cup, the posture of the participants, the architecture of the venue, the full menu of the meal, and the frequency of observance matter equally.<\/p>\n

\n

The Hermeneutical Inconsistency<\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\n

East’s argument suffers from what we might call “symbolism selectivity”<\/strong><\/span>\u2014the tendency to invest certain elements with irreducible theological significance while casually dismissing others. He writes that “symbols work because of what they are\u2014and because of what they are not,”<\/em> then proceeds to argue that wine’s symbolic resonance (maturity, celebration, festivity) renders grape juice (associated with children and cheapness) categorically inferior.<\/p>\n

But this analysis mistakes cultural association for a theological mandate. Wine’s symbolic meaning in contemporary American culture is not identical to its meaning in first-century Palestine, in medieval Europe, in modern Saudi Arabia, or in recovering alcoholic communities. East himself acknowledges that wine appears throughout Scripture\u2014but so does water, oil, milk, honey, and blood. The wedding at Cana featured wine; the woman at the well received living water. Do we therefore conclude that water is theologically inferior for baptism because it lacks wine’s “festivity”<\/strong><\/span>?<\/p>\n

Moreover, East’s cultural analysis is tendentious. He claims grape juice “signifies children”<\/strong><\/span> and “preadolescence.”<\/strong><\/span> This represents a peculiarly contemporary and American reading. In cultures where wine is ubiquitous (France, Italy, Argentina), grape juice carries no such connotation\u2014it is simply unfermented wine, a stage in the same agricultural process. The notion that grape juice is inherently childish or cheap is a cultural construct, not a biblical one.<\/p>\n

\n

What the Text Actually Requires<\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\n

When we examine the New Testament’s treatment of the Lord’s Supper, we find remarkable restraint regarding material specifications. Paul’s most extended discussion (1 Corinthians 11:17-34) focuses almost entirely on the manner<\/em> of observance rather than the materials<\/em>. His concern is that the Corinthians are treating the meal as an occasion for division, gluttony, and drunkenness\u2014not that they have procured insufficiently aged wine.<\/p>\n

The Greek phrase \u03c4\u1f78 \u03c0\u03bf\u03c4\u03ae\u03c1\u03b9\u03bf\u03bd<\/em> (the cup) and the reference to “the fruit of the vine”<\/strong><\/span> (\u03b3\u03ad\u03bd\u03b7\u03bc\u03b1 \u03c4\u1fc6\u03c2 \u1f00\u03bc\u03c0\u03ad\u03bb\u03bf\u03c5<\/em>, gen\u0113ma t\u0113s ampelou<\/em> in Mark 14:25) specify grape-derived liquid but make no chemical requirements. The Hebrew equivalent \u05e4\u05b0\u05bc\u05e8\u05b4\u05d9 \u05d4\u05b7\u05d2\u05b6\u05bc\u05e4\u05b6\u05df<\/em> <\/span><\/span>(p’ri hagafen<\/em>) appears in the Passover liturgy for the blessing over wine, but the blessing concerns the grape’s fruit, not its fermentation state.<\/p>\n

We possess no apostolic instruction mandating fermented wine. We possess no patristic consensus that unfermented grape juice invalidates the sacrament. The question simply did not arise in the ancient world because preservation technology did not exist to prevent fermentation. To argue from this silence that fermentation is theologically essential commits the logical fallacy of assuming that technological limitations reflect divine preference.<\/p>\n

\n

The Pastoral Dimension<\/strong><\/span><\/h2>\n

East dismisses pastoral concerns almost parenthetically: “There may be local, person-specific, or missionary situations that raise reasonable questions about exceptions to the rule.”<\/em> This cavalier treatment ignores the profound pastoral complexities surrounding alcohol:<\/p>\n