Scripture Matthew 26:17-31
On the first day of Unleavened Bread the disciples came to Jesus, saying, “Where do you want us to prepare for you to eat the Passover?” He said, “Go into the city to a certain person, and say, ‘The Teacher says, My time is near; I will keep the Passover at your house with my disciples.’” So the disciples did just as Jesus instructed them, and they prepared the Passover meal.
When it was evening, he reclined at table with the twelve, and while they ate, he said, “Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me.” And they became deeply grieved and each one began to say to him, “Not me, is it Rabbi?” He responded and said, “The one who dipped his hand into the bowl with me will betray me. Indeed, the Son of Woman goes away as it is written of him, but woe to the person by whom the Son of Woman is betrayed! It would have been better for that person not to have been born.” Judas, who betrayed him, responded and said, “It wasn’t me was it, Rabbi?” He replied, “You said it.”
While they were eating, Jesus took a loaf of bread, and blessing it, he broke it, and gave it to the disciples, saying, “Take, eat; this is my body.” Then he took a cup, and giving thanks he gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for forgiveness of sins. I tell you all, I will not drink again of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new with you all in the realm of my Abba.”
And when they had sung the hymn, they went out to the Mount of Olives. Then Jesus said to them, “You will all become scandalized to the point of desertion because of me this night; for it is written,
‘For I will strike the shepherd,
and the sheep of the flock will be scattered.’
Meditation
This was an awkward dinner party. I’m sure you’ve been to one, yourself.
The one where a couple is in the middle of a fight, and everyone can feel the electricity of their fury in the air.
The one where auntie or uncle makes a statement that leaves everyone with their jaw hanging open, and no one can think of a reply to get the conversation moving again.
The one where one person, simply, does not, will not speak, nor make eye contact with anyone.
Here are some—but not all!—of the awkward points at the Last Supper:
This is Thursday. On Wednesday—which the church calls, Spy Wednesday—Judas goes to the religious leaders of Jerusalem. He offers them information as to where and when to arrest Jesus, and, in return, they pay him 30 pieces of silver—and an internet search tells me that would be the equivalent of about $1,200.00.
And now, that same Judas is at table, in the upper room. And Jesus is there, too, along with all his inner circle of friends and followers.
That’s awkward.
And no sooner have Jesus and his friends taken their places around the table than Jesus makes an announcement: Truly, I tell you: one of you will betray me tonight.
That’s awkward.
The disciples, having absolutely no chill, begin to say, “Is it I, Lord? Did I betray you?” Which is kind of sweet, actually. Finally, it’s Judas’s turn to ask, and he is the only one to whom Jesus gives a direct answer:
“You said it.”
That’s extremely awkward.
There is a tension in that upper room, from the very beginning of the sacred meal. Maybe everyone is exceptionally quiet, because the tension has them on edge. Or maybe everyone is extra chatty, in an attempt to cover over the tension. Maybe Jesus’s declarations strike everyone silent.
And, finally, the moment after the meal when Jesus take bread, and blesses it, and breaks it, and shares it with his friends, saying, “Take, eat. This is my body.” And the moment following, when he pours out wine into a common cup and days, “Drink from it, all of you; for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for forgiveness of sins.”
Another awkward moment?
I’m not so sure. This might be the moment when everyone begins to understand what’s at stake, at this meal and in its aftermath.
Jesus has been telling his disciples, over and over, that he will suffer and die in Jerusalem—and then be raised. But there has been no sign, so far, that this has sunk in.
Jesus holds bread out to his friends, saying, “This is my body.” It’s a confusing thing to say—of course, that’s not Jesus’s body. It’s bread. But Jesus is ensuring that the disciples understand that an offering is being made. A sacrifice is being offered. A person going into the temple to sacrifice a lamb would say the exact same thing, because the same word was used for animals, alive or dead. This is my body.
Jesus’s friends may well understand now that he is offering his body for some higher purpose. He is offering it to them, in this moment. He is giving himself, body and soul, for their sake. On the very same night, in the gospel of John, Jesus says, “No one has greater love than this, to lay down one’s life for one’s friends.” This is an offering of love.
And, you know, that can be awkward, too, a life-and-death-defining offering of love. It’s the kind of thing that makes you either look directly into the person’s eyes or to gaze down in embarrassment; there’s really nothing in between. But on this night, at this tense and holy meal, in the face of betrayal, Jesus is committed to offering himself for the sake of that love.
Jesus has made so many gestures of love in his ministry. From his call to turn our lives around and hear the good news—that God’s reign is this close, and we are invited to be a part of it—to this bittersweet moment in which he lets his most intimate friends know the extent to which he is willing to go, to show that love… there have been countless acts of love in his ministry. In another gospel, Jesus gets up from the table, wraps a towel around his waist, gets a bowl of water, and begins washing his friends’ feet. Also awkward, as the throw-down with Peter reveals. This is a man who is always making these gestures, doing these things, showing us the love of God.
Honestly, this does not feel like a God who is going to watch from a great distance as he offers up his Son to be tortured and executed, because that is what he is owed to account for sinful humanity. This God feels like a heartbroken mother, who will weep as her child becomes a victim of state-sponsored violence, who, will be there, in and with his earthly mother, as his limp body is laid in her arms.
This feels like a God whose chief purpose in Jesus is to show us this kind of love—a love without limits, a love with purpose, a love that seeks to lift us up, all the days of our lives. This is a love of liberation—of good news to the poor, of captives released, of new sight to the blind, and release from oppression for those who are suffering. This feels like the God of whom, in later years, an epistle-writer named John will say, “God is love.” And if God is love, then, of course, Jesus is love, which is why we can see God through Jesus.
After dinner the disciples go out singing, to Mount Olivet, where they will rest. They will no doubt be singing one of the traditional psalms of Passover, the Hallal psalms. These are six psalms of praise, numbers 113 through 118, which we prayed together on Sunday; we prayed Psalm 116 just a few minutes ago. Hear again, just a few of the lines of Psalm 116, which would have been chanted, sung, by Jesus and his friends as they went to the mountain:
What shall I return to the Lord
for all his bounty to me?
I will lift up the cup of salvation
and call on the name of the Lord;
I will pay my vows to the Lord
in the presence of all his people.
Precious in the sight of the Lord
is the death of his faithful ones.
O Lord, I am your servant;
I am your servant, the child of your serving girl.
You have loosed my bonds. ~Psalm 116:12-16
The most awkward things can happen around dinner tables, and the most beautiful things. Jesus gave his closest friends the gift of the truth that night, and he gave them a gift of yet another sign of God’s exquisite, bottomless well of love for all of us. And so tonight, in memory of him, we will lift the bread of salvation and the cup of life together. We will call upon God’s name, we who are God’s servants. We, who have been entrusted with sharing God’s love.
Thanks be to God. Amen.