The Sacrament: More Than I Thought

I was baptized in 1988. For most of my 38 years as a member of this Church, I understood the sacrament in a fairly simple way: I show up, I partake, and my sins from the week are washed away. I start fresh.

As I prepared this message, I learned something that stopped me. Elder David A. Bednar taught in the April 2016 General Conference: "The act of partaking of the sacrament, in and of itself, does not remit sins."

That surprised me. I thought that was exactly what it did.

But then he explained what actually happens, and it's even better than what I thought. I want to share what I've learned, because it has changed how I experience this ordinance.

The Lamb That Was Always Pointing Forward

Let me take you back 3,500 years. You're standing in Egypt. It's the night before the Exodus. Death is coming. The destroying angel will pass through Egypt at midnight, and every firstborn will die—unless there is blood on the doorposts.

God gives Moses specific instructions. Take a lamb. Not just any lamb—a male without blemish. Kill it at twilight. Take its blood and mark your doorposts. Roast the lamb with fire. Eat it with unleavened bread and bitter herbs.

This is the first Passover. And everything about that lamb was pointing to someone.

The lamb had to be without blemish—so was Christ, the only sinless person to ever live. Its bones could not be broken—when they crucified Jesus, they broke the legs of the thieves beside Him, but when they came to Jesus, He was already dead. Not a bone was broken (John 19:36). The blood on the doorposts saved Israel from physical death—the blood of Christ saves us from spiritual death. The bitter herbs symbolized bondage to Egypt—Christ drank the bitter cup to free us from bondage to sin. The unleavened bread, free from corruption—Christ, the Bread of Life, in whom there is no impurity.

For 1,500 years, Israel killed Passover lambs. Every single year. Every single family. Every single lamb was a shadow pointing forward.

And then one night, in an upper room in Jerusalem, the reality arrived.

The Night the Shadow Became Substance

It's Passover again. Jesus is with His twelve apostles. They've just finished eating the Passover lamb. The bitter herbs are still on the table. The unleavened bread is still there. And Jesus does something that must have stopped their hearts.

He takes the bread. He blesses it. He breaks it. And He says: "Take, eat; this is my body." Then He takes the cup and says: "Drink ye all of it; For this is my blood of the new testament, which is shed for many for the remission of sins" (Matthew 26:26–28).

President Howard W. Hunter taught in the April 1985 General Conference: "How fitting it was during the observance of this ancient covenant of protection that Jesus should institute the emblems of the new covenant of safety—the emblems of his own body and blood. As he took the bread and broke it, and took the cup and blessed it, he was presenting himself as the Lamb of God who would provide spiritual nourishment and eternal salvation."

The sacrament didn't replace the Passover. It fulfilled it. It revealed what the Passover had always meant.

And the Joseph Smith Translation adds a detail that deepens this moment. In JST Mark 14, the Savior says: "Behold, this is for you to do in remembrance of my body; for as oft as ye do this ye will remember this hour that I was with you." And of the wine: "As oft as ye do this ordinance, ye will remember me in this hour that I was with you and drank with you of this cup, even the last time in my ministry."

Remember this hour.

Not just the Atonement in general. This hour. The Passover. The teaching. The washing of feet. The love. The betrayal. The agony in Gethsemane. The totality of that sacred evening. Every time we partake of the sacrament, we are transported back to that room. We are sitting at that table. We are hearing His voice. We are witnessing His sacrifice unfold.

Bread First, Then Water—and Why It Matters

As I studied for this message, I learned something about the order of the sacrament that I'd never considered. We partake of the bread first, and then the water. That sequence isn't accidental.

Jacob taught that because of the Fall, we all face two deaths. Physical death—the separation of body and spirit. And spiritual death—separation from God because of sin. "O how great the goodness of our God, who prepareth a way for our escape from the grasp of this awful monster; yea, that monster, death and hell" (2 Nephi 9:10).

Christ's Atonement conquers both.

The bread represents His broken body. When we eat it, we're acknowledging that He died so we could live again. Every one of us will be resurrected. Every one of us will stand before God. That's the gift of the bread.

But the fundamental question is not whether we will return to God's presence—we all will. The question is whether we can remain there.

That's where the water comes in. The water represents His blood, shed in Gethsemane and on Calvary. The Lord Himself described that suffering: "Which suffering caused myself, even God, the greatest of all, to tremble because of pain, and to bleed at every pore, and to suffer both body and spirit" (D&C 19:18).

When we drink the water, we're acknowledging that His blood cleanses us from sin—that He suffered so we could stand in God's presence not just resurrected, but clean. The bread addresses our return to God's presence through resurrection. The water addresses how we can remain there through cleansing from sin. Together, they encompass the full scope of the Atonement.

An Altar, Not Furniture

I also learned something about the sacrament table itself. I never thought of it as an altar. But it is. Elder Jeremy R. Jaggi taught in the October 2025 General Conference: "The sacrament table and temple altars symbolize the sacrifice of Jesus Christ and His infinite Atonement. As we make and honor our covenants, receiving the ordinances of the sacrament at church and the endowment and sealing at the temple, we bind ourselves to the Savior, gaining greater access to His mercy, protection, sanctification, healing, and rest."

An altar is where heaven and earth meet. An altar is where sacrifices are offered. An altar is where covenants are made. Every Sunday, young men kneel at an altar and offer prayers given by the voice of the Lord Himself. The sacrament table is not furniture. It is the place where we meet God.

A Rehearsal for a Celestial Feast

Now here's what changed everything for me. The sacrament doesn't just look backward. It looks forward.

On that final night in the upper room, after Jesus blessed the wine, He made a promise: "Verily I say unto you, I will drink no more of the fruit of the vine, until that day that I drink it new in the kingdom of God" (Mark 14:25).

He's saying: I'm not done. This isn't the end. There's a future feast coming. And I will drink with you again.

And then, in the Doctrine and Covenants, the Lord expands this promise in a way that is breathtaking:

"Behold, this is wisdom in me; wherefore, marvel not, for the hour cometh that I will drink of the fruit of the vine with you on the earth, and with Moroni … and also with Elias … and also with Elijah … and also with Joseph and Jacob, and Isaac, and Abraham, your fathers … and also with Michael, or Adam, the father of all, the prince of all, the ancient of days; and also with Peter, and James, and John … and also with all those whom my Father hath given me out of the world." (D&C 27:5–14)

"All those whom my Father hath given me out of the world." That includes us.

The sacrament is a rehearsal. Every Sunday, we are practicing for a future celestial feast—a gathering where we will sit with Christ, with Adam, with Abraham, with Moroni, with Peter, James, and John, and with all the faithful—and partake together in the kingdom of God.

The sacrament is not just a memorial. It is a promise of reunion. It is the Lord saying: This is what's coming. Get ready.

Elder John H. Groberg said it beautifully in the April 1989 General Conference: "The Lord instituted the sacrament during what we commonly call the Last Supper. In one sense, it was the last supper, but in another, it was the first supper—the beginning of many spiritual feasts."

The last supper. And the first supper. The end of the old covenant. And the beginning of the new. Every sacrament meeting is a continuation of that meal. We are still at the table. The Lord is still the host. And the feast continues, week after week, until that day when we drink it new with Him in His Father's kingdom.

Not a Vending Machine—A Relationship

So let me come back to where I started. For most of my life, I assumed the sacrament automatically washed away my sins from the week. I'd partake, and I'd start fresh. Many of us probably think of it that way. That's not wrong. But it's incomplete.

Elder Bednar laid out what actually happens, and it's a chain with four links: First, we partake of the sacrament with a broken heart and a contrite spirit. Second, we are promised the constant companionship of the Holy Ghost. Third, the Holy Ghost sanctifies us. Fourth, that sanctification brings remission of sins.

He said in the April 2016 General Conference: "The act of partaking of the sacrament, in and of itself, does not remit sins. But as we prepare conscientiously and participate in this holy ordinance with a broken heart and a contrite spirit, then the promise is that we may always have the Spirit of the Lord to be with us. And by the sanctifying power of the Holy Ghost as our constant companion, we can always retain a remission of our sins."

The sacrament is the gateway. The Spirit is the power. The sacrament gives us access to the Holy Ghost, and the Holy Ghost does the cleansing.

When I first learned this, I thought, "Well, that's harder than what I thought." But then I realized—no, it's better. Because it means the sacrament isn't a vending machine where you insert bread and water and forgiveness drops out. It's a relationship. A living, breathing, weekly connection between me and God through the Holy Ghost. That's more personal, more powerful, and more beautiful than what I thought before.

And it explains something I think many of us have quietly wondered: why do I sometimes partake of the sacrament and feel nothing? The answer isn't that the sacrament is broken. The answer is that the sacrament requires something from us—a broken heart, a contrite spirit, real intent. When we bring those things, the Spirit comes. When we go through the motions, we're just eating bread and drinking water.

A Reset Button, or a Reconnect?

I was talking to a friend in Pittsburgh a few months ago. He's not a member, but ever since before his new baby came, we've been talking about church. He asked me what the sacrament is for in my church, and I told him it's a way to remember Jesus and renew our promises to Him. He thought about that and said, "So it's like a reset button?" I said, "Yeah, kind of like that." And we left it there.

While preparing this message, I brought it up again last week. I said, "Remember when you asked me about the sacrament? I've been thinking about what I said—the reset button thing. I think it's more than that. It's not just erasing what went wrong. It's more like a restore. Or a reconnect. The sacrament reconnects us to God. And that connection is what carries us through the week." He was quiet for a second, then said, "Okay, that makes more sense. So it's not just about starting over. It's about staying connected." I said, "Exactly."

The sacrament doesn't just wipe the slate clean. It plugs us back in to the source of power we need to keep going.

Alive, Personal, and Powerful

A short while ago, I partook of the sacrament carrying something I'd been wrestling with. Not a crisis. Just the understanding that I needed to be more open with my wife, to talk more, to share more, to let her in. I wasn't brought up in an open family, and I didn't know how. When the bread came, I took it and silently said, "Lord, I need help with this." Nothing happened that Sunday. But the following Friday night, my wife said something to me about talking more, and it opened a door I hadn't been able to find on my own. And I knew where that moment came from. I'd made a covenant that past Sunday, and the Lord answered my silent prayer on Friday. Through my wife. Am I perfect at communicating now? No! Far from it. I may have even become worse after that experience. But now I’ve experienced what better communication can feel like and it’s something I seek to foster in myself. This was truly a blessing.

That's the sacrament working the way it's designed to work. Not automatic. Not instant. But alive, personal, and powerful. And sometimes delivered through the people who love us most.

Elder Patrick Kearon taught something I think we all need to hear. He said in the October 2024 General Conference: "We may have been conditioned to suppose that the purpose of the sacrament is to sit in the pew thinking only about all the ways we messed up during the week before. But let's turn that practice on its head."

Yes, we reflect on our sins. Yes, we repent. But we don't stay in the garden. We don't stay at the cross. We don't stay inside the tomb. We move to the resurrection. We move to the victory. We move to the joy. The sacrament should lead us from sorrow over sin to gratitude for grace. If our worship ends in heaviness instead of hope, we've missed the point. Christ didn't suffer so we could wallow in guilt—He suffered so we could be free. The sacrament is where we claim that freedom, week after week, until it becomes part of who we are.

Take the Sacrament Worthily Every Week

Robert L. Millet, former dean of Religious Education at BYU, shared a powerful experience in a December 1999 Church News article. He wrote of a stake meeting where Elder Bruce R. McConkie was asked: "What must we do to obtain eternal life?" With no more than five seconds of pause, Elder McConkie responded: "Take the sacrament worthily every week."

Not "read your scriptures." Not "go to the temple." Those things are vital. But Elder McConkie understood something: the sacrament, worthily taken, encompasses everything. It requires faith. It demands repentance. It involves covenant-making. It promises the Holy Ghost. It provides access to the Atonement. And as Elder Jeffrey R. Holland taught, the sacrament "invokes all other covenants made in the Church, including those of the temple." Every covenant. Every promise. All renewed. Every week.

A Testimony

Brothers and sisters, I testify that the sacrament is far more than a quiet moment in a Sunday meeting. It is the continuation of the ancient Passover—the blood of the Lamb that delivers us from death. It is the ordinance that addresses both deaths we face and offers both gifts we need—resurrection and cleansing. It is a rehearsal for a celestial feast where we will drink with Christ and with all the faithful in the kingdom of God. And it is the living connection between us and heaven—not automatic, not passive, but alive with the power of the Holy Ghost.

I testify that Jesus Christ lives. I testify that He instituted this ordinance with His own hands, in His own voice, on the night before He died. And I testify that He is waiting for us at that altar—every Sunday, without fail—ready to bless us, strengthen us, and walk us home.

In the name of Jesus Christ, amen.

Talk delivered by Jeffrey Hunt in the North Field 1st Ward Sacrament Meeting on March 8, 2026.