Binding blood
Commentary
The Unity Ribbon. Never heard of it? Well, the unity ribbon was the brainchild of two guys in Colorado Springs, Colorado, in response to the September 11 terrorist attacks. On the graveyard shift in their plant one night, they started talking about the tragedy, and they wanted to find a way to help people come together. From that the Unity Ribbon was born. It's a stars-and-stripes colored piece of ribbon, folded. It exists mainly as a drawing on their website, which they invite others to download and put on their own web pages, desktops, walls and so on. There are also craft suggestions about how to make Unity Ribbon pins that you can wear.
What the two guys did was to build on the symbol of the folded ribbon in various colors worn by various groups to give them a sense of unity and purpose.
It's an admirable idea, to build a feeling of unity that would be nationwide, particularly after a national tragedy. But will it work? Where does unity really come from in our world?
It is an eons-long quest of humanity, the quest for unity, national and otherwise. In a fragmented world in which differences are so easy to magnify, in which there seems to be an interest organization or a political action committee for each sub-sub-sub grouping in the nation, unity, a sense of oneness, is elusive.
What would you say if I told you that there is a unique unity among people that comes from blood? And not blood relationships, but from spilled blood? That's the unity between people who bear the name Christian.
Exodus 12:1-14
Exodus 12:1-14 portrays God's instructions to Moses and Aaron as the Israelites prepare to leave Egypt and slavery, and as God is about to visit the final plague upon Egypt. But it is clear that there is also in this the directions for a later liturgical observance, designed to be used well after Israel has come into the Promised Land and has settled down.
Of course, religious ceremonies have a way of taking on a life of their own, of operating outside the written histories and perhaps even outside the very theology they convey. So it is, for example, that the Christian time of celebrating the Incarnation, Christmas, has been linked with the winter solstice, and the pagan symbol of a fir tree has been universally adopted into the Christian celebration.
In this passage, several traditions are represented, and several liturgical threads come together. So, according to scholars, the details concerning the lamb and how it is to be chosen, roasted, eaten and shared all point to a Middle Eastern spring festival of killing and eating a lamb, probably from nomadic sheepherders, which has found its way into Judaism with the Passover and the paschal (from Hebrew pesach, passover) lamb. Further, that festival was merged with a Festival of Unleavened Bread, and together they became identified with the Exodus from Egypt and so produced the sacramental observance of the Passover.
It's not surprising that these rituals would come together under the rubric of the Exodus. After all, God's salvation of Israel is the central theological belief of Judaism, the singular defining event that makes Israel Israel, both the historical nation Israel and the Jewish people. So important is it, in fact, that it becomes the first month of the year (v. 2). And Passover is the singular celebration of that.
The blood of the lamb on the doorposts and lintel of a house is a sign of God's protection. It is a sign that the people inside the door are of the house of Israel, and that they are committed to the Lord God, and even if they haven't been committed, the ritual is itself an act of commitment. By the very act of painting the blood on the doorposts and lintels, it makes a statement, it takes a stand. It says to the One who is passing over, "I am yours," adding, as a sort of coda, "henceforth."
In other words, Passover is a celebration and a remembrance of the event, and perhaps even more than that. Perhaps it becomes a sacrament of the Exodus, to give it a Christian parallel, which is mandated by the statute in verse 14. In the Passover meal, the event is reenacted, and the same commitment is made to God that was made by those who were led out of slavery in Egypt.
And for Christians (see 1 Corinthians 5:7) the paschal lamb of the Passover meal becomes an extended metaphor for Jesus, whose blood was also shed as a way to establish and confirm our relationship with God.
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
It may be hard to believe, but churches actually suffer conflict. It could be internal or external, but, yes, much as we would like to think otherwise, churches have disagreements. And the church at Corinth, a church established by the Apostle Paul, was no exception. In fact, the conflict at Corinth was what prompted Paul's letter.
Paul addresses various pieces of the conflict, and eventually he comes to the Lord's Supper, where there had apparently been abuses. It is clear from the context (11:17-22) that the word Paul had been getting about the church was that the meals that were, ostensibly, the Lord's Supper, really were not. Instead, they were what sounds like church potluck suppers, in which people eat when they are served, and one person takes too much and another doesn't get anything at all, and then those other ones over there are getting drunk. (Okay, okay, so that last part doesn't usually happen in Presbyterian churches.) It is to that situation that Paul writes of what he had received about the Lord's Supper.
His words in verse 23, "For I received from the Lord what I also handed on to you ..." describes the oral tradition that had been operating in this young religion. And so it is that we have Paul's account of the Last Supper, and the institution, therefore, of the sacrament of Lord's Supper. Since 1 Corinthians predates the earliest Gospels by, perhaps, 20 years, this is the earliest account.
In general, the various accounts of the supper are in accord, but there are some differences. Perhaps the biggest of these is that whereas the synoptics identify the Last Supper with the Passover meal, Paul makes no mention of it. Instead, it is simply "the night when he was betrayed...." Further, we find twice here the statement "do this in remembrance of me" which is found once only in Luke, and that is textually questionable.
What we can conclude is that Paul's version of the institution of Holy Communion is the earliest, and it reflects liturgical practice in the early church, a liturgical practice that by the time of the writing of the letter (circa A.D. 55) had a distinct and well-established form.
It matters deeply here that Paul's directions about the Lord's Supper, the message that he had "received from the Lord," is delivered to a church in conflict, a church that is failing to find unity, in its faith, in its loyalties and in its practice. Can Paul heal the divisions of the church at Corinth by giving, among other things, an authoritative message about the sacrament and offering a standardized approach? That is the hope, both for the Corinthians of 2,000 years ago and for us. We indeed all hope that there are some things in the world and in Christendom that bring us together, things that transcend denominations and sects and theologies, that unite instead of divide. And perhaps this Lord's Supper that Paul describes is that very thing.
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
John's version of the events of the Last Supper differs from those in the synoptic Gospels in two very big ways. First of all, in John the Last Supper is not the Passover meal. It is clear that it is taking place the evening before the Passover (see John 13:1 and 18:28). The second big difference is that there is no mention of the Eucharist. Indeed, the Gospel of John is silent on the subject of the Eucharist, even though there are portions of the gospel (e.g. John 6:51-58) that might reasonably be called "eucharistic."
Yet there is in John a unique ritual that might come close to the Lord's Supper in depth of meaning, and to which a number of Christian communions attribute a quasi-sacramental status. And that is foot washing.
There is great drama and set-up in the telling of the story. Verses 1-3 set the stage for ... for what? Well, given that those verses speak of Jesus' knowledge that he came from God and would be returning to God, one might understandably expect something glorious and godlike: a claiming of his divine birthright, say, or some deep and lasting pronouncement.
But no, that's not what happens. What Jesus was preparing to do was not a godlike thing, at least in our usual idea of godlike. John describes Jesus' preparation in detail: Jesus rose from the table, took off an outer robe and got a towel to tie around himself. He poured water into a basin, to get ready. As Jesus drew near, Peter saw what was coming, and balked, as we all would. Being served, particularly in a way that might seem humiliating to the servant, is much harder for most of us than doing the serving. But Jesus proceeds, with the comment that they don't understand now, but they will.
Jesus provides two interpretations of the foot washing. The first, during the act of washing, is about Jesus: Jesus as servant. The message is that despite our objections that we aren't worthy, or that it is embarrassing, we need to let ourselves be served, and cleansed, by Christ. In fact, for us to "share with him," it is a requirement that we be cleansed.
The second interpretation, in verses 12-17, comes afterward. It is a message about the disciples, both the Twelve and, presumably, all others, even two millennia later. "You call me Teacher and Lord," says Jesus. "You're right; that's what I am. So if your Lord and Teacher has washed your feet, then you also ought to wash one another's feet. I have set you an example." This is the Gospel of the moral example, the Gospel that says Jesus offers himself as the model of sacrificial servanthood.
It's a picture of a world and of Christian discipleship that Jesus paints in this. It is a world where people put the needs of others before their own, and it is a discipleship in which the bonds -- within the community and between Jesus and his followers -- are built of mutual service.
Or it can be put another way, as a new commandment, as Jesus gives in verses 34-35. "Love one another. As I have loved you, you also should love one another." In fact, that is the mark of the disciples, love.
Application
They came, according to some authorities, to keep the Passover, much as Jews had kept the Passover for hundreds of years.
The Passover cup was there. And Jesus, like countless Jews before him, from the time the instructions were recorded in Exodus, probably recited the words: "Blessed art thou, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who created the fruit of the vine." The bread was there, unleavened because there had been no time for it to rise. And Jesus said the blessing and broke the bread, handing some to each person. And then the meal was over.
But Jesus wasn't finished. He had something else to do. Because the bread became his life, his offering of salvation to the world. And the cup became his blood, sealing a new covenant.
Blood to seal a deal was nothing new. As Israel prepared to leave Egypt, blood, the blood of a lamb, became the symbol of a connection, a deep connection that we call a covenant, between God and this group of nomads. And with that mark of blood, the commitment was established, and the parties -- God and Israel -- were bound.
Do you remember the childhood club, which you join by pricking your thumbs and pressing them together, merging the blood. A blood ritual brings people together. It is a way of being a part of things. A way of signing on. It says, "Count me in." So the new covenant with God was sealed in the blood of Jesus.
Or maybe not. According to another source, there was something else that went on in that Upper Room after supper. John describes how Jesus went through careful preparations, getting up from the table, taking off his robe, filling a basin with water. And this rabbi, this Lord, this Messiah, knelt, assuming a posture of submission and supplication, and proceeded to wash the dirty, calloused feet of his followers. Their teacher became their servant.
And then Jesus left the Upper Room: he went out to betrayal and death. But whatever the details of what went on in the room, something was left behind, something was changed. His disciples would never be the same, and neither would their successors. Because in that Upper Room, as they gathered for their last meal together, they were bound: to Jesus and to each other.
And when we gather with other followers and when we celebrate the meal, or when we wash each other's feet, we, too, are bound to Jesus and to each other. What was left behind in that room, and what has since spread to the far corners of the planet, was a binding.
It's an amazing thing. At that table with Jesus were a tax collector, a doubter, a zealot, one who would deny and even one who would betray. What sort of bond could Jesus forge among such disparate types? It certainly was not a bond of consensus or agreement or common intent, because the disciples had none of those things. In fact, they were still going to deny and betray Jesus.
No, Jesus never expected common thought or word or deed. He didn't want his disciples to think alike or feel alike, but to share a commitment. He knew that the tie binding person to person is forged not in the intellect, but in the soul; not in the mind, but in the spirit. A bond like that will conquer distance, outlive change, bear diverse opinion. It can bear doubt and even denial. When Jesus left that Upper Room to go out and die, the disciples were left with a special relationship: with Jesus, with each other, and with God. And that's what Christ has in mind for us.
We look at our world; and we see person against person. Country versus country. East versus West. Jew versus Arab. Even Muslim versus Muslim. First World against Third World. The haves versus the have-nots. And it goes on.
We look at Christianity; and we see fundamentalists arguing with liberals. Liberals arguing with conservatives. Churches who think they have a corner on the truth or on salvation. And it goes on.
We look at our lives; and we see feeble attempts at being close to one another. We see our culture's substitutes for real love: disinterested sex, pornography, using people as playthings, because we can't get really close to people. And it goes on.
What will bring us together? Where are the bonds of person to person, of nation to nation, of the world with its creator?
Most of our closeness and relationships are superficial. We think that if we agree on ideas, then that is enough. The problem is, that when we disagree, that breaks the relationship. Too often we make our relationships depend on ideas. We substitute agreement for unity. Consensus for love. We look for real closeness and intimacy. And we can't find them. The world can't find them. And so we settle for substitutes.
But in the Lord's Supper there is another kind of binding: the binding of our spirits to Jesus of Nazareth, who on that evening something under 2,000 years ago, gave his followers a bit of bread and a sip of wine, and washed their feet. And when we do those things again, following the pattern he set, we too are bound: to each other and to him and to his life and even to his death.
Alternative Applications
1) John: Sacrificial Service. Peter objected to being served. It is often thus, that the one being served is more uncomfortable than the servant. What is that all about? Why do we resist having someone serve us? Perhaps it's because we simply don't like the idea of service, that it doesn't fit our notions of equal treatment and fair play. Or perhaps it is because we realize that if someone serves us, then we, in turn, might need to serve others. Well, as a matter of fact, that was precisely the point that Jesus was making as he washed the disciples' feet, a point about how we should serve others.
2) Exodus: A Visible Commitment. On the eve of their departure from Egypt, the Israelites made their commitment public, by wiping lamb's blood around the front doors of their houses. It was a sign visible to all of the other Israelites in Egypt, and to the Egyptians, and to God. Is there an equivalent for us? It's pretty easy to be committed to a cause or to a person when there doesn't need to be an outward sign of it. It becomes harder when we have to proclaim it by some visible token. What is the modern day equivalent of the blood of the lamb on the doorposts and lintel? Do we have things that proclaim our allegiance as forcefully as the Israelites proclaimed theirs? Maybe we should.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
Exodus 12:1-4 (5-10) 11-14
Once again the preacher is confronted with a text that will be used in all three cycles of the Revised Common Lectionary. In fact, all of the four texts for Holy Week remain the same through the three years -- Isaiah 50 for Passion Sunday, Exodus 12 for Maundy Thursday, Isaiah 52:13--53:12 for Good Friday, Acts 10 for Easter. The lectionary committee wants these texts used!
To place our text in its historical setting in Exodus, the time is about 1290 B.C. The Semites who will form the people of Israel are still slaves under Pharaoh Ramesses II in Egypt. But the Lord has seen their affliction, he has heard their cry under their taskmasters, he knows their sufferings, and so he is coming down to deliver them out of the hand of Egypt and to set them on their journey toward the Promised Land (Exodus 3:7-8). Our text therefore forms the story of their preparation for that deliverance.
God commands Moses and Aaron to instruct the people in the first celebration of the Passover. Each Israelite family is to roast the lamb of a goat or sheep on the evening of the 14th day of the month of Abib (March-April). Appropriately that month is to mark the beginning of the Israelite New Year, for they will be given a new life.
Passover is to be a family affair or shared in the home with a neighbor. The lamb is to be a year old, without blemish (cf. John 19:36), and eaten with bitter herbs, signifying the bitterness of Israel's slavery, and with unleavened bread, symbolizing her hurry in escaping. Some of the blood of the lamb is to be daubed on the doorposts and lintels of the house. If any of the meat is left, it is to be burned in the morning. And the whole meal is to be eaten hastily, with the Israelites prepared for flight. For on the next day, the Lord will "pass over" the houses marked with blood to execute his wrath on the enslaving Egyptians and to set Israel free from her bondage. God further commands the people through Moses and Aaron to observe such a Passover feast every year in the future, that they may remember that the Lord has delivered them from slavery. It was therefore a Passover meal that our Lord Jesus celebrated with his disciples in Jerusalem on the night that he was betrayed and given over to trial and crucifixion.
Passover remembers Israel's deliverance from bondage. Indeed, that deliverance in the Exodus from Egypt is the central redemptive event remembered throughout the Old Testament. God "redeems" his people, which means that he buys them back out of slavery. According to the law of the Old Testament, a "redeemer" is a family member who buys back one of his relatives (Leviticus 25:47-49). And so in the redemption of Israel from Egypt, God acknowledges that the Israelite forbears are his people, his family members. Indeed, Hosea 11:1 even says that God regards the Israelites as his adopted son. From the very first, he sets his love upon them and reclaims them for himself.
I wonder if we realize that it is the central redemptive event that we remember also on this Maundy Thursday. For the New Testament parallel to the Exodus deliverance is the crucifixion of our Lord. It is by the cross of Christ that we too are redeemed from our slavery, not this time to some Egyptian taskmasters, but to sin and death. By his death on the cross, Jesus Christ buys us back from all of our captivity to our sins -- those sins that have so marred our society and our world, that guilt which has so burdened us in the past, those dark memories of our foolish acts that lie just below the surface of our consciousness. By his cross, God in Christ forgives us and releases us from them all, just as he also releases us from the finality of death, promising us eternal life in company with himself. Christ becomes our Passover lamb, whose shed blood and broken body redeem us from the slavery of our sinful past, and it is at this table tonight that we acknowledge that. We "remember the Lord's death until he comes" again.
When Israel is given these instructions for Passover in our text, she is at the same time given the promise of a new life. She is going to be delivered into "the glorious liberty of the children of God." She is going to start on a journey toward a new existence in a new land. God has made her his own. He will redeem her, and she will become a new people, released from her slavery to the past, who will be given a new role in the purpose of God.
The same things can be said of us, can't they? We are so much like the Israel of old. When we eat this bread and drink this cup at the Lord's Table, we will once again hear the glad news that we are redeemed -- forgiven, reunited with our loving God once more, adopted as his sons and daughters, and set into an entirely new life. So this supper is not just a remembrance, you see, any more than the Passover is just remembrance for Israel every time she celebrates it. This supper marks a fresh start. "The old has passed away. Behold, the new has come" (2 Corinthians 5:17). We are made a new people. And so this Lord's Supper is for us, you see, the beginning that is to mark a new way of living. No more are you and I slaves to sin and death. Now we are participants in the freedom given us by Jesus Christ. And we are called to live as women and men delivered from bondage to our old unfaithful ways (cf. Galatians 5:1).
Moreover, like Israel, by this supper, you and I too are set on a journey. We are freed to begin a pilgrimage toward a Promised Land, which in our faith is called the kingdom of God. Ahead of us lies a destination that is marked by goodness, by love, by joy, by abundant life, by resurrection to eternal fellowship with the Father. We are asked to live lives suitable to such a kingdom, starting now this day. We are bidden to act and think as those sons and daughters of God who belong in a binding fellowship with their Lord.
So perhaps, like Israel, as we celebrate this meal, we too are to be prepared in our hearts and minds to set out on that journey, our loins girded, our sandals on our feet and our staff in hand. Are you ready for that departure, good Christians? Are you ready for the journey? Then come, eat this bread and drink this cup, and begin the new life of the redeemed of God.
PREACHING THE PSALM
Psalm 23
Editor's note: The lectionary Psalm for today is Psalm 116:1-2, 12-19, but that is also the reading for April 14, and is treated there in this issue. We have chosen to use Psalm 23 here instead.
For many, this most familiar of all psalms brings to mind the well-know painting of Jesus with a lamb in his arms, but of course, in the Old Testament context, the shepherd is the God of Israel. Many Christians, in using "Lord" to refer to Jesus as well as to God, easily, and in view of John 10, legitimately, have come to view Jesus as the Good Shepherd of Psalm 23.
This psalm fits for Maundy Thursday, for that was the night Jesus began to tread his valley of the shadow of death. It also fits for us, who often feel as if we are in the valley too. Certainly the terrible events of September 11, 2001, and its aftermath plunged many of us into the land of shadow.
But perhaps a better verse for us is the fifth one: "You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies." As our sense of security in our homeland has diminished, we are invited to appreciate more than ever that the goodness of the Lord is a table prepared for us "in the presence of enemies." This psalm comes out of the Middle Eastern world, where in biblical times, there were strong traditions about hospitality. A man who was being pursued by enemies could run to someone's tent and, even if that were the residence of a foe, he could ask for refuge. The tent owner not only took that person it, but also prepared a generous meal for him. His enemies could stand and glare outside the tent, but could do no more as long as the pursued person remained inside.
During the German bombing of London during World War II, this verse was a favorite one for Communion services -- even in one instance while part of the church was hit as the service continued. The Lord's Supper was God's table spread for worshipers, and it continued to nourish them spiritually even while their city was under attack. The Last Supper was such a meal for Jesus.
There are parallels in the natural world. In Africa, especially during times of drought, animals that are normally predator and prey, such as the lion and gazelle, can sometimes be seen drinking at the same time from scarce water holes. The common problem they face, needing water, seems to impose a sort of truce, and the available water becomes the table spread in the presence of enemies. There have also been numerous coyotes in the American West who lived several contented years right under the noses of the trappers who were trying to get them.
Even in the midst of risks, it's quite possible to enjoy and benefit from the blessings God gives, and not be overcome by fear.
What we do need to do, of course, is to share the bounty of our table as freely as possible with those around the world who have less. We cannot hog the table. Maundy Thursday may not be the day to talk of all that, but we are foolish not to eventually look at root causes of the despair that makes one grow up willing to be a terrorist. For Christians, our reaction needs to be larger than our fear.
Even if we do that, however, we will never be without a few spoilers waiting in the garden, because those who are truly evil can never be content with God's peace, but we cannot let our fears cause us to deny the goodness of God's table.
What the two guys did was to build on the symbol of the folded ribbon in various colors worn by various groups to give them a sense of unity and purpose.
It's an admirable idea, to build a feeling of unity that would be nationwide, particularly after a national tragedy. But will it work? Where does unity really come from in our world?
It is an eons-long quest of humanity, the quest for unity, national and otherwise. In a fragmented world in which differences are so easy to magnify, in which there seems to be an interest organization or a political action committee for each sub-sub-sub grouping in the nation, unity, a sense of oneness, is elusive.
What would you say if I told you that there is a unique unity among people that comes from blood? And not blood relationships, but from spilled blood? That's the unity between people who bear the name Christian.
Exodus 12:1-14
Exodus 12:1-14 portrays God's instructions to Moses and Aaron as the Israelites prepare to leave Egypt and slavery, and as God is about to visit the final plague upon Egypt. But it is clear that there is also in this the directions for a later liturgical observance, designed to be used well after Israel has come into the Promised Land and has settled down.
Of course, religious ceremonies have a way of taking on a life of their own, of operating outside the written histories and perhaps even outside the very theology they convey. So it is, for example, that the Christian time of celebrating the Incarnation, Christmas, has been linked with the winter solstice, and the pagan symbol of a fir tree has been universally adopted into the Christian celebration.
In this passage, several traditions are represented, and several liturgical threads come together. So, according to scholars, the details concerning the lamb and how it is to be chosen, roasted, eaten and shared all point to a Middle Eastern spring festival of killing and eating a lamb, probably from nomadic sheepherders, which has found its way into Judaism with the Passover and the paschal (from Hebrew pesach, passover) lamb. Further, that festival was merged with a Festival of Unleavened Bread, and together they became identified with the Exodus from Egypt and so produced the sacramental observance of the Passover.
It's not surprising that these rituals would come together under the rubric of the Exodus. After all, God's salvation of Israel is the central theological belief of Judaism, the singular defining event that makes Israel Israel, both the historical nation Israel and the Jewish people. So important is it, in fact, that it becomes the first month of the year (v. 2). And Passover is the singular celebration of that.
The blood of the lamb on the doorposts and lintel of a house is a sign of God's protection. It is a sign that the people inside the door are of the house of Israel, and that they are committed to the Lord God, and even if they haven't been committed, the ritual is itself an act of commitment. By the very act of painting the blood on the doorposts and lintels, it makes a statement, it takes a stand. It says to the One who is passing over, "I am yours," adding, as a sort of coda, "henceforth."
In other words, Passover is a celebration and a remembrance of the event, and perhaps even more than that. Perhaps it becomes a sacrament of the Exodus, to give it a Christian parallel, which is mandated by the statute in verse 14. In the Passover meal, the event is reenacted, and the same commitment is made to God that was made by those who were led out of slavery in Egypt.
And for Christians (see 1 Corinthians 5:7) the paschal lamb of the Passover meal becomes an extended metaphor for Jesus, whose blood was also shed as a way to establish and confirm our relationship with God.
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
It may be hard to believe, but churches actually suffer conflict. It could be internal or external, but, yes, much as we would like to think otherwise, churches have disagreements. And the church at Corinth, a church established by the Apostle Paul, was no exception. In fact, the conflict at Corinth was what prompted Paul's letter.
Paul addresses various pieces of the conflict, and eventually he comes to the Lord's Supper, where there had apparently been abuses. It is clear from the context (11:17-22) that the word Paul had been getting about the church was that the meals that were, ostensibly, the Lord's Supper, really were not. Instead, they were what sounds like church potluck suppers, in which people eat when they are served, and one person takes too much and another doesn't get anything at all, and then those other ones over there are getting drunk. (Okay, okay, so that last part doesn't usually happen in Presbyterian churches.) It is to that situation that Paul writes of what he had received about the Lord's Supper.
His words in verse 23, "For I received from the Lord what I also handed on to you ..." describes the oral tradition that had been operating in this young religion. And so it is that we have Paul's account of the Last Supper, and the institution, therefore, of the sacrament of Lord's Supper. Since 1 Corinthians predates the earliest Gospels by, perhaps, 20 years, this is the earliest account.
In general, the various accounts of the supper are in accord, but there are some differences. Perhaps the biggest of these is that whereas the synoptics identify the Last Supper with the Passover meal, Paul makes no mention of it. Instead, it is simply "the night when he was betrayed...." Further, we find twice here the statement "do this in remembrance of me" which is found once only in Luke, and that is textually questionable.
What we can conclude is that Paul's version of the institution of Holy Communion is the earliest, and it reflects liturgical practice in the early church, a liturgical practice that by the time of the writing of the letter (circa A.D. 55) had a distinct and well-established form.
It matters deeply here that Paul's directions about the Lord's Supper, the message that he had "received from the Lord," is delivered to a church in conflict, a church that is failing to find unity, in its faith, in its loyalties and in its practice. Can Paul heal the divisions of the church at Corinth by giving, among other things, an authoritative message about the sacrament and offering a standardized approach? That is the hope, both for the Corinthians of 2,000 years ago and for us. We indeed all hope that there are some things in the world and in Christendom that bring us together, things that transcend denominations and sects and theologies, that unite instead of divide. And perhaps this Lord's Supper that Paul describes is that very thing.
John 13:1-17, 31b-35
John's version of the events of the Last Supper differs from those in the synoptic Gospels in two very big ways. First of all, in John the Last Supper is not the Passover meal. It is clear that it is taking place the evening before the Passover (see John 13:1 and 18:28). The second big difference is that there is no mention of the Eucharist. Indeed, the Gospel of John is silent on the subject of the Eucharist, even though there are portions of the gospel (e.g. John 6:51-58) that might reasonably be called "eucharistic."
Yet there is in John a unique ritual that might come close to the Lord's Supper in depth of meaning, and to which a number of Christian communions attribute a quasi-sacramental status. And that is foot washing.
There is great drama and set-up in the telling of the story. Verses 1-3 set the stage for ... for what? Well, given that those verses speak of Jesus' knowledge that he came from God and would be returning to God, one might understandably expect something glorious and godlike: a claiming of his divine birthright, say, or some deep and lasting pronouncement.
But no, that's not what happens. What Jesus was preparing to do was not a godlike thing, at least in our usual idea of godlike. John describes Jesus' preparation in detail: Jesus rose from the table, took off an outer robe and got a towel to tie around himself. He poured water into a basin, to get ready. As Jesus drew near, Peter saw what was coming, and balked, as we all would. Being served, particularly in a way that might seem humiliating to the servant, is much harder for most of us than doing the serving. But Jesus proceeds, with the comment that they don't understand now, but they will.
Jesus provides two interpretations of the foot washing. The first, during the act of washing, is about Jesus: Jesus as servant. The message is that despite our objections that we aren't worthy, or that it is embarrassing, we need to let ourselves be served, and cleansed, by Christ. In fact, for us to "share with him," it is a requirement that we be cleansed.
The second interpretation, in verses 12-17, comes afterward. It is a message about the disciples, both the Twelve and, presumably, all others, even two millennia later. "You call me Teacher and Lord," says Jesus. "You're right; that's what I am. So if your Lord and Teacher has washed your feet, then you also ought to wash one another's feet. I have set you an example." This is the Gospel of the moral example, the Gospel that says Jesus offers himself as the model of sacrificial servanthood.
It's a picture of a world and of Christian discipleship that Jesus paints in this. It is a world where people put the needs of others before their own, and it is a discipleship in which the bonds -- within the community and between Jesus and his followers -- are built of mutual service.
Or it can be put another way, as a new commandment, as Jesus gives in verses 34-35. "Love one another. As I have loved you, you also should love one another." In fact, that is the mark of the disciples, love.
Application
They came, according to some authorities, to keep the Passover, much as Jews had kept the Passover for hundreds of years.
The Passover cup was there. And Jesus, like countless Jews before him, from the time the instructions were recorded in Exodus, probably recited the words: "Blessed art thou, O Lord our God, King of the Universe, who created the fruit of the vine." The bread was there, unleavened because there had been no time for it to rise. And Jesus said the blessing and broke the bread, handing some to each person. And then the meal was over.
But Jesus wasn't finished. He had something else to do. Because the bread became his life, his offering of salvation to the world. And the cup became his blood, sealing a new covenant.
Blood to seal a deal was nothing new. As Israel prepared to leave Egypt, blood, the blood of a lamb, became the symbol of a connection, a deep connection that we call a covenant, between God and this group of nomads. And with that mark of blood, the commitment was established, and the parties -- God and Israel -- were bound.
Do you remember the childhood club, which you join by pricking your thumbs and pressing them together, merging the blood. A blood ritual brings people together. It is a way of being a part of things. A way of signing on. It says, "Count me in." So the new covenant with God was sealed in the blood of Jesus.
Or maybe not. According to another source, there was something else that went on in that Upper Room after supper. John describes how Jesus went through careful preparations, getting up from the table, taking off his robe, filling a basin with water. And this rabbi, this Lord, this Messiah, knelt, assuming a posture of submission and supplication, and proceeded to wash the dirty, calloused feet of his followers. Their teacher became their servant.
And then Jesus left the Upper Room: he went out to betrayal and death. But whatever the details of what went on in the room, something was left behind, something was changed. His disciples would never be the same, and neither would their successors. Because in that Upper Room, as they gathered for their last meal together, they were bound: to Jesus and to each other.
And when we gather with other followers and when we celebrate the meal, or when we wash each other's feet, we, too, are bound to Jesus and to each other. What was left behind in that room, and what has since spread to the far corners of the planet, was a binding.
It's an amazing thing. At that table with Jesus were a tax collector, a doubter, a zealot, one who would deny and even one who would betray. What sort of bond could Jesus forge among such disparate types? It certainly was not a bond of consensus or agreement or common intent, because the disciples had none of those things. In fact, they were still going to deny and betray Jesus.
No, Jesus never expected common thought or word or deed. He didn't want his disciples to think alike or feel alike, but to share a commitment. He knew that the tie binding person to person is forged not in the intellect, but in the soul; not in the mind, but in the spirit. A bond like that will conquer distance, outlive change, bear diverse opinion. It can bear doubt and even denial. When Jesus left that Upper Room to go out and die, the disciples were left with a special relationship: with Jesus, with each other, and with God. And that's what Christ has in mind for us.
We look at our world; and we see person against person. Country versus country. East versus West. Jew versus Arab. Even Muslim versus Muslim. First World against Third World. The haves versus the have-nots. And it goes on.
We look at Christianity; and we see fundamentalists arguing with liberals. Liberals arguing with conservatives. Churches who think they have a corner on the truth or on salvation. And it goes on.
We look at our lives; and we see feeble attempts at being close to one another. We see our culture's substitutes for real love: disinterested sex, pornography, using people as playthings, because we can't get really close to people. And it goes on.
What will bring us together? Where are the bonds of person to person, of nation to nation, of the world with its creator?
Most of our closeness and relationships are superficial. We think that if we agree on ideas, then that is enough. The problem is, that when we disagree, that breaks the relationship. Too often we make our relationships depend on ideas. We substitute agreement for unity. Consensus for love. We look for real closeness and intimacy. And we can't find them. The world can't find them. And so we settle for substitutes.
But in the Lord's Supper there is another kind of binding: the binding of our spirits to Jesus of Nazareth, who on that evening something under 2,000 years ago, gave his followers a bit of bread and a sip of wine, and washed their feet. And when we do those things again, following the pattern he set, we too are bound: to each other and to him and to his life and even to his death.
Alternative Applications
1) John: Sacrificial Service. Peter objected to being served. It is often thus, that the one being served is more uncomfortable than the servant. What is that all about? Why do we resist having someone serve us? Perhaps it's because we simply don't like the idea of service, that it doesn't fit our notions of equal treatment and fair play. Or perhaps it is because we realize that if someone serves us, then we, in turn, might need to serve others. Well, as a matter of fact, that was precisely the point that Jesus was making as he washed the disciples' feet, a point about how we should serve others.
2) Exodus: A Visible Commitment. On the eve of their departure from Egypt, the Israelites made their commitment public, by wiping lamb's blood around the front doors of their houses. It was a sign visible to all of the other Israelites in Egypt, and to the Egyptians, and to God. Is there an equivalent for us? It's pretty easy to be committed to a cause or to a person when there doesn't need to be an outward sign of it. It becomes harder when we have to proclaim it by some visible token. What is the modern day equivalent of the blood of the lamb on the doorposts and lintel? Do we have things that proclaim our allegiance as forcefully as the Israelites proclaimed theirs? Maybe we should.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
Exodus 12:1-4 (5-10) 11-14
Once again the preacher is confronted with a text that will be used in all three cycles of the Revised Common Lectionary. In fact, all of the four texts for Holy Week remain the same through the three years -- Isaiah 50 for Passion Sunday, Exodus 12 for Maundy Thursday, Isaiah 52:13--53:12 for Good Friday, Acts 10 for Easter. The lectionary committee wants these texts used!
To place our text in its historical setting in Exodus, the time is about 1290 B.C. The Semites who will form the people of Israel are still slaves under Pharaoh Ramesses II in Egypt. But the Lord has seen their affliction, he has heard their cry under their taskmasters, he knows their sufferings, and so he is coming down to deliver them out of the hand of Egypt and to set them on their journey toward the Promised Land (Exodus 3:7-8). Our text therefore forms the story of their preparation for that deliverance.
God commands Moses and Aaron to instruct the people in the first celebration of the Passover. Each Israelite family is to roast the lamb of a goat or sheep on the evening of the 14th day of the month of Abib (March-April). Appropriately that month is to mark the beginning of the Israelite New Year, for they will be given a new life.
Passover is to be a family affair or shared in the home with a neighbor. The lamb is to be a year old, without blemish (cf. John 19:36), and eaten with bitter herbs, signifying the bitterness of Israel's slavery, and with unleavened bread, symbolizing her hurry in escaping. Some of the blood of the lamb is to be daubed on the doorposts and lintels of the house. If any of the meat is left, it is to be burned in the morning. And the whole meal is to be eaten hastily, with the Israelites prepared for flight. For on the next day, the Lord will "pass over" the houses marked with blood to execute his wrath on the enslaving Egyptians and to set Israel free from her bondage. God further commands the people through Moses and Aaron to observe such a Passover feast every year in the future, that they may remember that the Lord has delivered them from slavery. It was therefore a Passover meal that our Lord Jesus celebrated with his disciples in Jerusalem on the night that he was betrayed and given over to trial and crucifixion.
Passover remembers Israel's deliverance from bondage. Indeed, that deliverance in the Exodus from Egypt is the central redemptive event remembered throughout the Old Testament. God "redeems" his people, which means that he buys them back out of slavery. According to the law of the Old Testament, a "redeemer" is a family member who buys back one of his relatives (Leviticus 25:47-49). And so in the redemption of Israel from Egypt, God acknowledges that the Israelite forbears are his people, his family members. Indeed, Hosea 11:1 even says that God regards the Israelites as his adopted son. From the very first, he sets his love upon them and reclaims them for himself.
I wonder if we realize that it is the central redemptive event that we remember also on this Maundy Thursday. For the New Testament parallel to the Exodus deliverance is the crucifixion of our Lord. It is by the cross of Christ that we too are redeemed from our slavery, not this time to some Egyptian taskmasters, but to sin and death. By his death on the cross, Jesus Christ buys us back from all of our captivity to our sins -- those sins that have so marred our society and our world, that guilt which has so burdened us in the past, those dark memories of our foolish acts that lie just below the surface of our consciousness. By his cross, God in Christ forgives us and releases us from them all, just as he also releases us from the finality of death, promising us eternal life in company with himself. Christ becomes our Passover lamb, whose shed blood and broken body redeem us from the slavery of our sinful past, and it is at this table tonight that we acknowledge that. We "remember the Lord's death until he comes" again.
When Israel is given these instructions for Passover in our text, she is at the same time given the promise of a new life. She is going to be delivered into "the glorious liberty of the children of God." She is going to start on a journey toward a new existence in a new land. God has made her his own. He will redeem her, and she will become a new people, released from her slavery to the past, who will be given a new role in the purpose of God.
The same things can be said of us, can't they? We are so much like the Israel of old. When we eat this bread and drink this cup at the Lord's Table, we will once again hear the glad news that we are redeemed -- forgiven, reunited with our loving God once more, adopted as his sons and daughters, and set into an entirely new life. So this supper is not just a remembrance, you see, any more than the Passover is just remembrance for Israel every time she celebrates it. This supper marks a fresh start. "The old has passed away. Behold, the new has come" (2 Corinthians 5:17). We are made a new people. And so this Lord's Supper is for us, you see, the beginning that is to mark a new way of living. No more are you and I slaves to sin and death. Now we are participants in the freedom given us by Jesus Christ. And we are called to live as women and men delivered from bondage to our old unfaithful ways (cf. Galatians 5:1).
Moreover, like Israel, by this supper, you and I too are set on a journey. We are freed to begin a pilgrimage toward a Promised Land, which in our faith is called the kingdom of God. Ahead of us lies a destination that is marked by goodness, by love, by joy, by abundant life, by resurrection to eternal fellowship with the Father. We are asked to live lives suitable to such a kingdom, starting now this day. We are bidden to act and think as those sons and daughters of God who belong in a binding fellowship with their Lord.
So perhaps, like Israel, as we celebrate this meal, we too are to be prepared in our hearts and minds to set out on that journey, our loins girded, our sandals on our feet and our staff in hand. Are you ready for that departure, good Christians? Are you ready for the journey? Then come, eat this bread and drink this cup, and begin the new life of the redeemed of God.
PREACHING THE PSALM
Psalm 23
Editor's note: The lectionary Psalm for today is Psalm 116:1-2, 12-19, but that is also the reading for April 14, and is treated there in this issue. We have chosen to use Psalm 23 here instead.
For many, this most familiar of all psalms brings to mind the well-know painting of Jesus with a lamb in his arms, but of course, in the Old Testament context, the shepherd is the God of Israel. Many Christians, in using "Lord" to refer to Jesus as well as to God, easily, and in view of John 10, legitimately, have come to view Jesus as the Good Shepherd of Psalm 23.
This psalm fits for Maundy Thursday, for that was the night Jesus began to tread his valley of the shadow of death. It also fits for us, who often feel as if we are in the valley too. Certainly the terrible events of September 11, 2001, and its aftermath plunged many of us into the land of shadow.
But perhaps a better verse for us is the fifth one: "You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies." As our sense of security in our homeland has diminished, we are invited to appreciate more than ever that the goodness of the Lord is a table prepared for us "in the presence of enemies." This psalm comes out of the Middle Eastern world, where in biblical times, there were strong traditions about hospitality. A man who was being pursued by enemies could run to someone's tent and, even if that were the residence of a foe, he could ask for refuge. The tent owner not only took that person it, but also prepared a generous meal for him. His enemies could stand and glare outside the tent, but could do no more as long as the pursued person remained inside.
During the German bombing of London during World War II, this verse was a favorite one for Communion services -- even in one instance while part of the church was hit as the service continued. The Lord's Supper was God's table spread for worshipers, and it continued to nourish them spiritually even while their city was under attack. The Last Supper was such a meal for Jesus.
There are parallels in the natural world. In Africa, especially during times of drought, animals that are normally predator and prey, such as the lion and gazelle, can sometimes be seen drinking at the same time from scarce water holes. The common problem they face, needing water, seems to impose a sort of truce, and the available water becomes the table spread in the presence of enemies. There have also been numerous coyotes in the American West who lived several contented years right under the noses of the trappers who were trying to get them.
Even in the midst of risks, it's quite possible to enjoy and benefit from the blessings God gives, and not be overcome by fear.
What we do need to do, of course, is to share the bounty of our table as freely as possible with those around the world who have less. We cannot hog the table. Maundy Thursday may not be the day to talk of all that, but we are foolish not to eventually look at root causes of the despair that makes one grow up willing to be a terrorist. For Christians, our reaction needs to be larger than our fear.
Even if we do that, however, we will never be without a few spoilers waiting in the garden, because those who are truly evil can never be content with God's peace, but we cannot let our fears cause us to deny the goodness of God's table.
