The Lord’s Supper

The Passover, one of our oldest traditions, was always meant to be celebrated with great joy. Why? Because it commemorates God’s defining act in freeing the Children of Israel from slavery in Egypt. And our joy in this festival has never dimmed, even over many hundreds of years. It is at the heart of our faith, and especially the Passover meal, called the Seder. No Jewish tradition is more important and none is more joyous than Passover. Year after year, we look forward to it with great anticipation.

But not this one. Not this time. Not for us.

This Passover week was unlike any other. It was filled with a darkness that swallowed up any hope of a joyous festival. While we did not dare to speak it, there was a current of fear that something was about to erupt among us, something so terrible, something that we could not stop or prevent.

Tension among the twelve of us had been building for weeks, now approaching a climax that would literally shake the ground beneath our feet. All of us would feel it; one of our party would even be so broken by it, that he would feel led to do the unthinkable. Another would expose his deepest fears in a despicable act of cowardice. The rest of us would flee in panic.

In your time, you know this particular Seder meal as the Eucharist, or Lord’s Supper. And you see only its beauty and its deep spiritual meaning. But you did not have to live through it.

Like we did. Let me explain.

Perhaps it was the miracle raising of Lazarus from the dead that began the final countdown to what you call Good Friday. We already knew that opposition to Jesus was on the rise. Whenever we encountered Pharisees or other leaders of our faith, their hostility was plain to see. Criticisms from them regularly assaulted us, together with stern warnings about what they considered our departures from Jewish laws and traditions.

What’s worse, the raising of Lazarus was witnessed by a large crowd, including many from our capital city, Jerusalem. Word of it raced through the population, clearly upsetting our religious leaders even more. In their minds, Jesus had become a threat to their authority. He had to be stopped.

You must remember that much of the past three years had been spent in Galilee, far away from Jerusalem and mostly out of sight. But now, we were slowly making our way to the festival, and picking up followers along the road. Our ministry of preaching and healing had become a movement, one that in no way could slip the notice of the elders.

We had always felt safe with Jesus. Yes, even from the beginning, we were aware of the opposition. But Jesus always had an answer for their pointed questions and criticisms. Whenever we showed concern, he assured us that all was well.

But now, his demeanor had changed. Yes, several times before, Jesus told us that he would be killed and then raised from the dead. And yes, we should have heeded his words. But honestly, the prospect of his death and resurrection seemed far-fetched and, speaking for myself, totally unrealistic. Because by now, you see, we were of the belief that Jesus was the Messiah and the Son of God. How could the Son of God be killed? Out of the question!

And now, on the road to Jerusalem, he told us again, for the third time. This time, we had to listen and seriously consider his words. Here is what your Gospel of Matthew writes:

They were on the road, going up to Jerusalem, and Jesus was walking ahead of them; they were amazed, and those who followed were afraid. He took the twelve aside again and began to tell them what was to happen to him, saying, ‘See, we are going up to Jerusalem, and the Son of Man will be handed over to the chief priests and the scribes, and they will condemn him to death; then they will hand him over to the Gentiles; they will mock him, and spit upon him, and flog him, and kill him; and after three days he will rise again.’

Yes, as Matthew wrote, we were afraid. Not only for him, but also for us. If our Lord was to be taken and killed, what would happen to us? Would we also be killed? The whole prospect of following Jesus, and our entire experience of the past three years, was raising fearful questions in our minds.

And I can assure you that none of us bargained for this turn of events when we accepted the call of Jesus.

You surely remember our entry into Jerusalem, how a large crowd welcomed Jesus as a king. But not everyone was happy to witness his joyous arrival. Our religious leaders had sent men into the crowd, spying to see how Jesus would be welcomed. And they were not pleased by what was reported back to them. As we later learned, they had begun to make a plan.

After our triumphant reception, we encamped on the Mount of Olives, just outside the city. And as we unpacked our things, we were surprised by Jesus’ outpouring of emotion. Again, here is what your Gospel says:

As he came near and saw the city, he wept over it, saying, ‘If you, even you, had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace! But now they are hidden from your eyes. Indeed, the days will come upon you, when your enemies will set up ramparts around you and surround you, and hem you in on every side. They will crush you to the ground, you and your children within you, and they will not leave within you one stone upon another; because you did not recognize the time of your visitation from God.’

And later that same day, we entered the city, marching directly to the temple. I’m sure that you remember how Jesus furiously drove the moneychangers and purveyors of sacrificial animals from the temple grounds, literally shouting, “My house shall be called a house of prayer, but you are making it a den of robbers.”

Again, our religious leaders took note of this, reinforcing their fears of how Jesus could challenge their authority and power.

Each day that week, Jesus taught in the temple. He spoke great truths, of love and freedom and mercy. But spies from the council were also present, and each day, they reported back.

And each day, Jesus became bolder in what he said. Here is an example from your Gospel:

‘Beware of the scribes, who like to walk around in long robes, and to be greeted with respect in the market-places, and to have the best seats in the synagogues and places of honor at banquets! They devour widows’ houses and for the sake of appearance say long prayers. They will receive the greater condemnation.’

Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you clean the outside of the cup and of the plate, but inside they are full of greed and self-indulgence. You blind Pharisee! First clean the inside of the cup so that the outside also may become clean.

 ‘Woe to you, scribes and Pharisees, hypocrites! For you are like whitewashed tombs, which on the outside look beautiful, but inside they are full of the bones of the dead and of all kinds of filth. So you also on the outside look righteous to others, but inside you are full of hypocrisy and lawlessness.’

I’m sure you can imagine their reaction when the spies reported back to our religious leaders. It was almost as if Jesus was inviting them to stop him.

By now, we were becoming deeply concerned about Jesus. We wanted to escape Jerusalem and return to the safety of Galilee. But no, Jesus exhibited a fierce determination to stay and face his accusers, and we knew that we could never alter his course.

And then, the day of the Seder meal arrived. We hesitatingly prepared it, not knowing what to expect. As I said before, the room was filled with tension and fear.

But Jesus surprised us. Removing his robe, he took a basin of water and began to wash our feet, wiping them with a towel. I must tell you that we were all shocked. And you surely remember the reaction of Peter, who at first objected. But Jesus had his way, telling us all that we must let him wash our feet so that later, we would do the same for one another.

And then, it wasn’t long before Jesus surprised us again. We were reclining around the table, in an uneasy stillness. There was none of the normal chatter in the tension-filled room.

Breaking the silence, Jesus calmly said, ‘Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me.’ 

Everyone instinctively looked down in shame. And one by one, each of us haltingly asked, “Surely not I, Lord?”

Judas was the last to respond and when he did, Jesus simply replied, “You have said so.”

You might think the rest of us would feel relieved, but speaking for myself, I did not. The notion that any of us could betray our friend and Lord was repulsive to me, and yet the thought couldn’t leave me that I was capable of betraying him myself. Fear can do that to a man.

And that’s when he surprised us again, for the third time.

Here is the account from the Apostle Paul:

“…the Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, ‘This is my body that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’ In the same way he took the cup also, after supper, saying, ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.’  

Communion of the Apostles, by Fra Angelico, with donor portrait, 1440–41

What was the meaning of this? It seemed as if Jesus had introduced something new to our beloved Passover tradition; something important, something even foundational to who Jesus was and to his mission with us on earth.

Jesus had used these words before (John 6). And at the time, we struggled to understand. But now, it became clear that the “new covenant” was not like the miraculous liberation of Passover, and not a matter of merely feeding our physical bodies. It was much, much more.

In this new covenant, Jesus was telling us that he wants to literally live inside of us, to be the spiritual food that feeds us, and that his sacrifice of body and blood is to be remembered by those who love him.

And really, as I have come to understand, love is what it’s all about. Love of the Father and love of the Son, the one who cared enough to sacrifice himself to show us the extent of God’s love. Jesus, we finally understood, wants to feed us, not merely with bread from heaven, but instead, he wants to give us his very life, holding back nothing, to feed us with his very essence.

Yet we were all unworthy. Weren’t we? Don’t you remember, in that very same meal, each one of us had to ask in shame, “Surely not I, Lord?” But the worthy one, our host in the meal, knowing that we, all of us, were truly unworthy, chose to share himself; actually to literally give himself to us, so that through his sacrifice, we might be worthy to live with him.

And so finally, years later, we celebrate, not the Passover, but instead, the Eucharist, which is the Lord’s Supper. And when we do, we commemorate the love and sacrifice of Jesus, our friend and our Lord. And in our own way, we affirm that he does live inside each of us, and that we will always love him.