The Sacred Meal

Propers: Maundy Thursday, A.D. 2018 B

Homily:

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

A loaf of bread. A cup of wine. A gathering of those we love. There is nothing quite so simple, and yet so sacred, as a meal shared at a table.

This is the heart of every holiday. What do we do on every holy occasion? We gather with friends and family. We eat a meal. And we tell stories, don’t we? The food may vary based on the day—corned beef for St Paddy’s, ham for Easter, goose for Mikkelmas—and the stories likewise cycle. On Independence Day we tell the story of our nation; on Valentine’s, the story of our love; on Christmas, we speak of warmth and light and hope amidst the snows.

But this basic ritual, a shared meal, tells us who we are and binds us together in relationship. The word companion literally means someone with whom we share bread. That’s why the evening meal is so important to the health of our families. And that’s also why the first date is almost always dinner and a show—something to eat, something to drink, and something to talk about. Thus are we bound together by our stories, by the tales we tell and the meals we share. What could be more human?

On the last night of His mortal life, Jesus shares a meal with His disciples. It is simple fare, some flatbread, some wine, perhaps a few other dishes. The lamb, we note, appears conspicuously absent. For this is a holy night; this is the Passover. And on Passover, the people of Israel tell their great national story, of how God rescued them from slavery in Egypt and delivered them, through mighty wonders, to freedom in the Promised Land of their ancestor Abraham.

The meal itself told the story. The bread is flat, because on that night, so many centuries ago, God delivered His people so quickly that the bread had not time to rise. The wine, four cups of it, represents the overflowing grace of God’s deliverance, His blessings and His promises poured out upon the family of Abraham. And the lamb, the central dish of the meal, marks each household as God’s own. The blood of the lamb on the posts and lintel of the door proclaimed the household’s trust in God: that judgment would pass over, and mercy be poured forth.

The story would be told, the prayers prayed, and the whole meal would end with the singing of hymns and psalms, and one last parting cup of wine. This was how the story of God’s people—their identity as children of God’s promise—had been passed down from generation to generation since the time of Moses. And in retelling the story in this manner, the Israelites were not speaking of some ancient event long ago and far away. No, for by remembering in this ritual and religious meal, the people were transported, fused to the original event. The Passover remembers not simply the deliverance of our ancestors but of us, now, today!

So, in the Gospel, Jesus’ Apostles gather for the meal, as would any good and observant Israelite. They gather to share the Passover. But something happens. The story, the ritual, changes. Jesus upends their expectations. He does this right off the bat by washing His disciples’ feet: servant work, slave work, not work for the guest of honor. Peter and John, as hosts, should be washing Jesus’ feet, or at least arranging for someone else to wash them.

But the Christ is having none of it. If you want to be great, He says, you will serve. If you love Me, you will follow My example, by loving and serving and healing and saving other people, all those around you, all those in need. Thus will people know that you are My disciples, by the love you show one another.

Then He tells the story of the Passover, but instead of pointing back to the Old Covenant made with Moses atop Mt Sinai, Jesus speaks of the New Covenant, promised through the Prophets from of old. This bread is now My Body, Jesus proclaims, given for you. And this cup is the New Covenant in My Blood, shed for you and for all people for the forgiveness of sins. Do this in remembrance of Me.

As the blood of the lamb once delivered God’s people, and indeed all who trusted in His promise, from slavery in Egypt, so now the Blood of Jesus, the true Lamb of God, delivers all people from slavery to sin, death, and hell. Suddenly it all makes sense. Suddenly it all clicks into place. This is why He was born in Bethlehem, home of the Passover lambs. This is why John the Baptist proclaimed, at the beginning of Jesus’ ministry, “Behold, the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world!”

And this is why Jesus said, “Unless you eat My flesh and drink My Blood, you have no life within you.” Now is the Word made flesh! He was speaking of this moment, of the New Covenant, of all the promises and hopes given unto the people of God from the time of Abraham—nay, from the very Fall of Man—fulfilled at last in Him, the Messiah, the Anointed One, God on earth! He does not do away with the Old Covenant, the old story, but fulfills it, resurrects it, makes it new in Him.

And then suddenly He does something even stranger. Together they sing the Great Hillel, the last and closing psalm, ready to drink the final cup—when He abruptly gets up and leaves. It’s quite the cliffhanger, really. The Apostles must be stunned. “I will not drink again the fruit of the vine,” He proclaims, “until I drink it anew with you in the Kingdom of God.”

Jesus then gets up from the table and goes out into the night—a very strange and suspicious thing in the ancient world—crossing through the Kidron Valley, the valley of tombs, up the Mount of Olives to pray at the garden of the olive-press. Here, as we know, He is betrayed by night, bound and beaten, led clandestinely to a kangaroo court of rulers, priests, and governors, only to be sentenced to the worst and most lingering death they can conceive: death on a Cross.

It is from the Cross, having refused a mixture of herbs and myrrh as narcotic, that Jesus at last says aloud, “I thirst,” and He is offered sour wine in a sponge on a stick. This He tastes, and announces, “It is finished!” before expiring with a loud cry. But what is finished? What has He completed? Why, the Passover Meal, of course. That was the final, parting cup. All of this drama, all of His Passion—the betrayal, the torture, the humiliation and murder—it has all been part of His Passover.

He Himself is the Paschal Lamb, born in Bethlehem to die in Jerusalem. He is the Lamb of God, crowned with thorns, enthroned on a Cross, inaugurating His Father’s Kingdom in one perfect act of self-sacrificial love, pouring out His sinless life—the very Life of God—for the life of the world. And from His side pour blood and water: the Blood of the New Covenant, the water of new birth.

This is the Story we tell. This is the Meal we share. This is what makes us all one in Him. Come to the table to share in the bread and the wine. Come to the Altar to share in His Body and Blood. Come and be joined to the Story sung out for you since before the world began. Come to the Passover of our Lord.

For God so loved the world that he gave His only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him may not perish, but have eternal life. Indeed, God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through Him.

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