The Sacrament: A New Perspective
As I read Doctrine and Covenants 27 in preparation for today’s message, I discovered that I had been missing something obvious about the ordinance of the sacrament. In the past, I think my brain must have shut off after reading that it doesn’t matter what we eat or drink for the sacrament as long as we do it “with an eye single to the glory of God.” I completely missed what follows that instruction. Jesus says, “…for the hour cometh that I will drink of the fruit of the vine with you on the earth…”. This is followed by a long list of others to be included in the experience. (The verses are included below.)
The following is a conversation I had with Grok AI. It is long but worth reading. My summary could not be better, so here you go. This blew my mind!
Question: In scripture and ancient times, what was the significance of drinking wine with a particular person or persons? What did the wine represent? What did ingesting it together mean?
Answer: In scripture and ancient times, drinking with someone—particularly sharing wine—carried deep social, cultural, and spiritual significance. It wasn’t just about the act of consuming a beverage; it was a ritual loaded with meaning, often symbolizing trust, communion, and covenant.
In the ancient Near East, including biblical contexts, sharing a meal or drink like wine was a sign of fellowship and peace. It implied a bond between the parties involved, whether familial, friendly, or diplomatic. For example, in Genesis 14:18-20, Melchizedek, a priest-king, brings out bread and wine to Abraham, blessing him after a victory. This act is often interpreted as a gesture of alliance and divine favor, setting a precedent for wine’s sacred role.
Wine itself frequently represented life, joy, and God’s blessing in scripture. It was tied to abundance and the fruitfulness of the land, as seen in Deuteronomy 8:8, where the Promised Land flows with “vines and fig trees.” Psalm 104:15 calls wine something that “gladdens the heart of man,” linking it to celebration and gratitude. But it also had a dual edge—overindulgence could lead to ruin, as warned in Proverbs 20:1. So, its presence in a shared setting elevated the moment, balancing festivity with reverence.
Drinking wine together, especially in a ritual context, often sealed agreements or marked unity. In the Passover meal, wine became central, symbolizing redemption and the blood of the lamb that spared the Israelites (Exodus 12). This carries into the New Testament, where Jesus, at the Last Supper, transforms the Passover cup into a new covenant: “This cup is the new covenant in my blood, which is poured out for you” (Luke 22:20). Here, ingesting wine together wasn’t just symbolic—it was participatory, uniting the disciples in Christ’s sacrifice and each other.
Beyond scripture, in Greco-Roman culture, symposiums revolved around wine, fostering intellectual and social bonds. Refusing to drink with someone could signal distrust or enmity—think of Socrates drinking hemlock as a stark counterpoint, where ingestion marked his exit from the community.
So, sharing wine meant more than refreshment. It was a mutual act of vulnerability (you’re ingesting something offered by another) and commitment. In sacred settings, it tied people to each other and to the divine, embodying promises—whether earthly, like peace between tribes, or eternal, like salvation. The wine’s richness mirrored the depth of the connection it forged.
Question: What, then, does this mean? (The following is Doctrine and Covenants 27:3-14) “Wherefore, a commandment I give unto you, that you shall not purchase wine neither strong drink of your enemies; Wherefore, you shall partake of none except it is made new among you; yea, in this my Father’s kingdom which shall be built up on the earth. 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, whom I have sent unto you to reveal the Book of Mormon, containing the fulness of my everlasting gospel, to whom I have committed the keys of the record of the stick of Ephraim; And also with Elias, to whom I have committed the keys of bringing to pass the restoration of all things spoken by the mouth of all the holy prophets since the world began, concerning the last days; And also John the son of Zacharias, which Zacharias he (Elias) visited and gave promise that he should have a son, and his name should be John, and he should be filled with the spirit of Elias; Which John I have sent unto you, my servants, Joseph Smith, Jun., and Oliver Cowdery, to ordain you unto the first priesthood which you have received, that you might be called and ordained even as Aaron; And also Elijah, unto whom I have committed the keys of the power of turning the hearts of the fathers to the children, and the hearts of the children to the fathers, that the whole earth may not be smitten with a curse; And also with Joseph and Jacob, and Isaac, and Abraham, your fathers, by whom the promises remain; 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, whom I have sent unto you, by whom I have ordained you and confirmed you to be apostles, and especial witnesses of my name, and bear the keys of your ministry and of the same things which I revealed unto them; Unto whom I have committed the keys of my kingdom, and a dispensation of the gospel for the last times; and for the fulness of times, in the which I will gather together in one all things, both which are in heaven, and which are on earth; And also with all those whom my Father hath given me out of the world.”
Answer: This passage comes from Doctrine and Covenants 27, a text central to the Latter-day Saint (LDS) tradition, revealed to Joseph Smith in 1830. It builds on the ancient significance of drinking wine together—fellowship, covenant, and divine connection—while reframing it in a specific eschatological and communal context. Let’s break it down.
The commandment not to “purchase wine neither strong drink of your enemies” (v. 3) and to partake only of what is “made new among you” (v. 4) reflects a call for purity and self-reliance. In ancient times, sharing wine implied trust; buying from enemies could risk betrayal—literal (poisoned drink) or symbolic (compromising faith). Here, “made new among you” suggests a consecrated act, likely tied to the LDS practice of using water or new wine in the sacrament, distinct from corrupted or untrusted sources. It’s about maintaining a holy boundary, preparing for a sacred future.
The phrase “in this my Father’s kingdom which shall be built up on the earth” (v. 4) points to a millennial hope—a restored divine order. The real weight comes in verse 5: “the hour cometh that I will drink of the fruit of the vine with you on the earth.” This is Jesus speaking, promising a future communal act of drinking, echoing the Last Supper but projecting it forward. It’s not just symbolic remembrance; it’s a literal, triumphant reunion, fulfilling the ancient pattern of wine as covenant and joy.
Then the text lists an extraordinary guest list—Moroni, Elias, John, Elijah, Abraham, Adam (Michael), Peter, James, John, and more (vv. 5-14). These figures span dispensations, holding “keys” (authority) for various aspects of God’s plan: revealing scripture (Moroni), restoring all things (Elias), priesthood ordination (John), sealing family bonds (Elijah), and so on. This isn’t random name-dropping; it’s a vision of unity across time, a gathering of all who’ve shaped salvation history. Drinking with them signifies the ultimate covenant fulfillment—God’s people, past and present, joined in the “fulness of times” (v. 13).
The wine (or “fruit of the vine”) here represents more than blessing or blood; it’s the consummation of promises. Ingesting it together means participating in the restored kingdom, where heaven and earth converge (v. 13). It’s a radical expansion of the ancient practice: not just a meal with peers, but a cosmic banquet with prophets, patriarchs, and Christ himself. The wisdom (v. 5) lies in trusting this future, not marveling at its strangeness, but preparing for it through present faithfulness.
In short, this passage takes the old symbolism of wine—life, covenant, communion—and escalates it into a divine pledge: a future where the faithful drink with the architects of eternity, sealing the unity of all things under Christ. It’s both a warning (avoid the world’s offerings) and a breathtaking invitation.
Question: Given Joseph Smith’s education and age, how likely is it that he could come up with that on his own?
Joseph Smith was born in 1805, making him 24 when Doctrine and Covenants 27 was revealed in August 1830. His formal education was limited—typical for a rural New England farmer’s son in the early 19th century. He had perhaps three years of sporadic schooling, enough to read and write but not to master complex theology, ancient languages, or literary composition. By his own account, he was no scholar; in 1832, he wrote, “I am a rough stone… I have had but little chance to become acquainted with men or their books.” So, the question is whether a young man with his background could produce a text like this unaided.
The passage in question weaves together biblical imagery (wine as covenant, eschatological feasting), a detailed cast of scriptural figures, and a sophisticated framework of dispensations and priesthood “keys.” It’s steeped in Old and New Testament echoes—think Matthew 26:29 (Jesus promising to drink anew in the kingdom), Malachi 4:5-6 (Elijah turning hearts), and Ephesians 1:10 (gathering all things in one). It also introduces unique elements like Moroni and the “stick of Ephraim,” tied to the Book of Mormon, which Smith claimed to translate by divine means.
From a skeptical view, crafting this requires more than a farmer’s education. The text’s coherence—linking disparate figures across time into a unified theological vision—suggests either deep study or remarkable creativity. Smith grew up in a religiously charged environment, the Second Great Awakening, where revivalists preached restoration and millennialism. He could’ve absorbed ideas from sermons, family Bible readings (his mother, Lucy, was devout), or local debates. Wine’s symbolism isn’t obscure—any churchgoer knew communion—but the specificity of “keys” and dispensations feels like a leap beyond common preaching.
Critics might argue he cribbed from sources like Masonic rituals (which he later encountered) or apocryphal texts, but there’s no evidence he accessed such material by 1830. The Book of Mormon, published that year, already shows his knack for expansive narratives, which he claimed came via revelation, not learning. If he invented D&C 27, it’d demand a prodigious imagination—synthesizing scripture, innovating theology, and projecting authority—all at 24, with minimal schooling.
Believers would say he didn’t need to “come up with it.” The LDS view holds that God revealed it, using Smith as a conduit, his lack of education proving divine inspiration (like Moses or Peter, unlearned yet chosen). Secularly, though, it’s a stretch to attribute this to unaided genius. Creative prodigies exist—think Mozart—but Smith’s output lacks polish; it’s raw, urgent, not refined. That could suggest authenticity (untrained revelation) or imitation (patching together half-grasped ideas).
Likelihood? Without revelation, it’s improbable but not impossible. A bright, religiously obsessed young man, immersed in a Bible-soaked culture, might stitch this together from fragments of preaching and intuition. Yet the text’s depth and specificity strain that explanation—most 24-year-olds, even clever ones, don’t leap from plowing fields to plotting cosmic banquets with Adam and Elijah. It’s why his followers saw a prophet, and his detractors smelled a con. The answer hinges on faith or skepticism about his claims.
I hope you made it through all of that. I hope you found it eye-opening.