Passover Upended

Scripture: Maundy Thursday, A.D. 2015 B

Sermon:

Grace, mercy and peace to you from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

The Last Supper is a Passover meal turned on its head. It must have been very disconcerting to sit through.

For thousands of years, God’s people Israel have come together to celebrate the Passover. For thousands of years they have gathered on or around this night in order to remember, and to retell, the story of God’s faithfulness, and the promises He fulfills for His people in every age. The Passover meal is a remarkable thing. Every part of the experience—what foods are eaten, what Psalms are sung, the manner in which diners recline—each aspect tells the tale of God’s people in a visceral and living way. It is a liturgy.

We’ve read the tale of the Exodus, learned about Moses and Mt. Sinai in Sunday School. We’ve even seen the miracles of Israel’s liberation translated to the silver screen. 10 Plagues, 10 Commandments, burning bush and parting sea—we know this story by heart, at least in the broad strokes. But in the Passover meal it becomes more than something written. In some deeply real and mystical way, when God’s people reenact the liberation of the Exodus together, in this meal, on this night, we join in the original event. The story of God’s faithfulness becomes not a story but our story, not ancient history but present reality!

This is what Jesus’ Apostles had come to expect from lifetimes spent as faithful and observant Jews. But when they gathered in Jerusalem some 2,000 years ago to celebrate the Passover with their Rabbi, they got more than they bargained for. The Last Supper is anything but an ordinary Passover meal.

First up, I want us to understand just how ridiculously tense the entire situation had to have been. All of Israel at this point is a powder keg, and Jerusalem is the fuse. This is due to a perfect storm of political and religious pressures. By the time of Jesus, the Roman Empire has been expanding throughout the Middle East for centuries. This stems in part from Rome’s obsessive need for stability; the Empire fears chaos, anything it cannot control, so more often than not the Legions are sent in to conquer a troublesome neighbor and stamp out the embers of unrest before they become a conflagration. Why should Jerusalem be any different?

Israel, however, is not like the other nations that Rome has conquered. God’s people have seen it all. Though tiny compared to the might of Rome, Israel has already outlived all the great empires of history: Egypt, Assyria, Babylon, Persia, and Greece have each come and gone. All of them at some point attempted to wipe out the Jewish people; all of them, without exception, failed. Israel always outlives her enemies. Always. Why should Rome be any different? Then of course there’s the whole matter of the Messiah.

The Prophets of Israel—and those of Rome, for that matter—had for centuries predicted that God would send His Anointed One from Heaven to inaugurate the New Covenant, the new Kingdom of God on earth. And, wouldn’t you know it, He’s due to show up right around the time that Jesus’ ministry begins. Many other would-be Messiahs have already led abortive rebellions against Rome. Many others would follow. They all ended up on crosses. But this Jesus, He’s different. He might be the real deal.

Just a few days earlier, when Jesus arrived at the gates of the city, all of Jerusalem, along with the crowds from the countryside trailing behind Him, proclaimed Jesus as the Son of David, rightful heir to the throne of Israel. Only a few days before that, He had very publically raised a man from the dead not two miles from Jerusalem, causing widespread ecstasy and panic. With all the excitement around Jesus a revolution was brewing, and it could only be a matter of time before Rome brought the hammer down. Jesus Himself predicted as much.

Against this backdrop, Jesus comes to Jerusalem and asks His disciples Peter and John to prepare the traditional Passover meal. They secure a private room and set up the triclinium, a horseshoe-shaped table only six inches or so off the ground. Guests would recline on pillows, propping their left elbows on the table. Peter and John, as the hosts, would sit on the ends of the horseshoe to serve the food. Jesus, as the guest of honor, would recline next to John, Judas next to Jesus, and so on down the line to Peter. As low man on the totem pole it would be Peter’s duty, then, to wash everyone’s feet before the meal. This was all very traditional.

But barely have the Apostles gotten situated when Jesus abruptly stands up, takes off His outer robe, and wraps a towel about Himself to wash everyone’s feet. Peter is understandably flustered. Washing is his humble job, not fit for the guest of honor—especially when we’re talking about the Messiah. Yet Jesus does this as a lesson in service and humility. “My commandment I give to you,” He says. “Love one another as I have loved you.”

No sooner have the Apostles time to digest this than Jesus throws them another curveball. “One of you will betray Me,” He says. Whoa, what? How can this be? The Apostles are Jesus’ inner circle, His most beloved disciples! “Surely not I, Lord,” they each protest. Yet Jesus grimly states that it will be the one who dips bread in His bowl at the table—in other words, the man to His left. Up shoots Judas and out the door, off to betray our Lord to His enemies by night. Astonishingly, Jesus does not run or hide, though it must’ve seemed surely time to evacuate. Instead, He finally sits down to the Passover proper, to tell the old, good story of God’s love for His people. Yet even this He will upend.

The Apostles expect Jesus to lead them in the ancient and traditional Passover meal, to retell and relive the story as God’s people have done for over a millennium. He is to remind them of what it is that makes this night different from all other nights, this night of liberation, this night of promises fulfilled. Royal wine represents the sweet fruit of freedom. Flat bread reminds us of the rapidity with which the bondsmen were delivered, so quickly that loaves had not the time to rise. It is the ancient story, the good old story—our story. That’s what the Apostles have come to hear. But that’s not quite what they get.

Jesus takes the Passover bread, blesses it and breaks it, and proclaims that from now on, this bread shall be, in fact, His Body, given over for us. He takes the wine of liberation and declares that now this cup is the New Covenant in His Blood, shed for us and all people for the forgiveness of sin.

What does this mean? He is retelling the old, good story, but He is also making it bigger, expanding its scope, proclaiming it new again. The Passover, in Jesus, is no longer about one nation’s deliverance from slavery but about all nations’ deliverance from sin, death, and hell. The bread that we eat and wine that we drink become the flesh and blood of God Incarnate, nourishing us, imparting to us eternal life, binding us as one within the Body of Christ. It is the old story made new: the old story fulfilled.

Perhaps the Apostles now begin to understand. Jesus is the Messiah, and here in this moment He is establishing God’s New Covenant for all mankind, as promised through the Prophets. They come now in joy to the climax of the Passover meal. Throughout the Passover, four cups of wine are to be drunk, representing four ways in which God has lavished graces upon His people. It was at the third cup, the Cup of Blessing, that Jesus proclaimed the New Covenant. Now all that is left is to sing the great Hallel, Psalm 136, and to drink the fourth and final cup, which represents God’s blessings in the coming age of the Messiah! Then shall the Passover be well and truly finished!

They sing the Psalm, prepare for the finale—and suddenly Jesus stands up and walks out. Just like that. Right before the best part! He cuts off the Passover meal abruptly and strides out into the night, out of the house, out of the city, down through the great cemetery of the Kidron Valley, and into a darkened olive grove to pray. Nothing could prepare them for this. Confused, they follow, out of the city, through the graveyard, up the Mount of Olives. This has been the strangest Passover of their lives: a new commandment, a New Covenant, and there didn’t even seem to be a Passover lamb. What about the fourth cup? What about the messianic age?

One thing’s for sure on this most bizarre of nights. As the Apostles head off into the darkness, pursued through the shadows by Judas and the Temple guard, it becomes dreadfully clear to them all that there remains a Lamb to be sacrificed. There remains one last cup to drink. This Passover isn’t finished yet.

In the Name of the Father and of the +Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.