For Many

Matthew 26:17-29

Lent 2

March 8, 2020

William G. Carter

On the first day of Unleavened Bread the disciples came to Jesus, saying, “Where do you want us to make the preparations for you to eat the Passover?” He said, “Go into the city to a certain man, and say to him, ‘The Teacher says, My time is near; I will keep the Passover at your house with my disciples.’” So the disciples did as Jesus had directed them, and they prepared the Passover meal. When it was evening, he took his place with the twelve; and while they were eating, he said, “Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me.” And they became greatly distressed and began to say to him one after another, “Surely not I, Lord?” He answered, “The one who has dipped his hand into the bowl with me will betray me. The Son of Man goes as it is written of him, but woe to that one by whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would have been better for that one not to have been born.” Judas, who betrayed him, said, “Surely not I, Rabbi?” He replied, “You have said so.”

While they were eating, Jesus took a loaf of bread, and after blessing it he broke it, gave it to the disciples, and said, “Take, eat; this is my body.” Then he took a cup, and after 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 the forgiveness of sins. I tell you, I will never again drink of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father’s kingdom.”

She paused when the bread was handed to her. The elder expected her to take the silver tray and pass it down the pew. Her hesitation caught him by surprise. But he stood patiently and then caught her eye. She took the tray and then handed it to the next person beside her.

“Is something wrong?” he asked quietly. She responded by putting her hand out flat, as if to say, “Not now, this is not the time.” And when he returned a few minutes later with a tray full of communion cups, she had slipped out the door.

Have you ever seen such a thing? Perhaps you have. The elders here keep track of how many people receive the Lord’s Supper. They pencil in the number on a chart inside a cabinet in the church kitchen. Sometimes, instead of counting, one of the elders may say, “Let’s just use the attendance number and write that in.”

“No,” comes the reply. “Not all the people who came for worship actually take communion.”

For some of us, this may seem a curious thing. If you think about it, there may be children whose parents haven’t yet allowed them to partake. Or we may be hosting people whose membership is in another church, and they are not sure if they are welcome; perhaps their own congregation is more selective than this one. Or it could be that there are people here whose faith is wavering or whose convictions have changed.

But it could be that it’s somebody who is taking our Bible text very seriously.

Today, we hear the account of the Last Supper. Jesus gathers his friends for the Passover feast. These are good Jews who have kept the Passover all their lives. They are in Jerusalem and Jesus has arranged the location. It would normally be an evening of quiet dignity, a solemn tradition that celebrates God’s redemption of the people of Israel.

But this night is different from all other nights. After Jesus rode into the city in triumph, he proceeded to chase the merchants and moneychangers out of the Temple. The religious leaders pushed back, coming at him with challenges which Jesus counters masterfully. He responded offering a prophetic denunciation of their hypocrisy and arrogance. He calls them fools. He curses them as whitewashed tombstones. Then he declares the whole Temple will come smashing down because of their spiritual incompetence.

And while he arranges to celebrate the Passover with his friends, these so-called spiritual leaders are plotting his death. “Just don’t do it during the Passover,” they murmur, “or else the crowds might turn against us.”

So it’s Passover. The storm clouds are swirling when Jesus interrupts the feast. “One of you is going to turn me in,” he says. “One of you is going to betray me.” And the most striking detail is that every last one of his friends thinks he may be talking about them. To a person, each one says, “It isn’t me, is it? Is it me?”

Now before we rush ahead and point to Judas Iscariot, and say, “No, Lord, it’s him,” let’s pause and give this a little bit of time. Peter, James, John – the inner circle – they want to know what evil he sees in them. “You’re not talking to me, are you?” They wonder, “Is he talking about me?”

How about Matthew the tax-collector? He knew how to cut a deal with the Romans, so he could surely conspire with the rulers of the Temple. Or what about Simon the Cananaean? He was murky enough from spending time in the shadows and kept a dagger beneath his cloak. The other disciples themselves do not single out Judas, for each one of them knows he has the capacity to turn his back on Jesus. “It isn’t me, is it?”

Years ago, a good friend told me about a Maundy Thursday service in his church. They had communion in the beginning of the service. Then the ushers dimmed the lights and the preacher stood in the pulpit. He had large tin bowl and a sack of silver coins. He began to slowly name one way after another that we fail to speak up for Christ, or how we fail to love the people he loves, or how we mistreat others contrary to how he teaches us to treat them.

Every time he named another human failure, he tossed one more coin into the tin bowl. Clink…clink… clink… My friend said, “About twenty silver coins in, I was about ready to confess: it’s me, I’m the one, I’m so sorry, please forgive me, Lord.”  

Now, this can be overdone. I’ve seen that, and maybe you have, too. One memorable Good Friday service in another town, a preacher that I would readily describe as unstable screamed at the congregation and handed out roofing nails from a bag she carried down the aisle. I thought, “Who needs to prepare a sermon? Just scream at the people and bring some props.”

She came to the lady next to me and thrust a nail toward her. The lady shook her head, clenched her arms, and said no. “Take it,” yelled the preacher, “it’s your nail.” The lady stared in return and quietly said, “Where’s yours?” Wow, I never saw a gas bag deflate so fast.

Notice: Jesus isn’t wagging his finger at anybody. He’s not rubbing anybody’s noses in anything. He simply states the truth: “one of you.” And every honest person is invited to ask, “Is it me?”

When he comments on the Bible passage, teacher Dale Bruner reminds us that communion is a sacrament ripe for self-examination. Baptism claims us as the children of God; the Lord’s Supper is when each participant asks, “Am I living as one who is faithful to the Lord Jesus Christ?” Bruner says Jesus was willing to ruin a perfectly good Passover meal, in order that all future meals with him would be observed with an honest heart and a recognition of our own vulnerability and spiritual need.[1]

It is a Passover, after all, a recognition that all of us are potentially enslaved to something that makes us less than human, and only the grace and power of God can set us free. The freedom is a gift. It comes at great cost. And it must never be taken lightly. This is not a scrap of bread and a sip of wine. It is Christ offering his body and blood to free us and renew us. It costs him everything. Shouldn’t it cost us something, as well?

So I think of the lady whose story we heard at the outset. She wasn’t quite ready to receive the bread and the cup. Nobody can force this on her. She must ready. She must be receptive.

But ready and receptive for what? Forgiveness. That’s the gift, the liberating gift. And if we haven’t spent any time or energy naming the broken shards of our lives that we wish could be mended, it’s a gift that we are not ready to receive.

“Communion is not ceremony for the self-satisfied,” writes Dale Bruner. “And if I’m honest, my most frequent feeling on Sunday mornings is spiritual numbness – feeling neither good nor bad about myself. Should I take Communion? If I ask for forgiveness for this numbness, this spiritual void, yes indeed. In such a state I need all of Christ I can get.”[2]

Then he quotes John Calvin, “Let us remember that his sacred feast is medicine for the sick, solace for the sinner, alms to the poor.” This is what Christ is saying, “Do this, remembering me.” Remembering everything that he provides, everything he has carried us through, everything he points us toward, we remember him. We keep him firmly in view.

So Matthew’s story of the Last Supper is a call to self-examination. We join each of those closest to Jesus in asking, “Is it I? Could it be me?” We return again and again to the Table, acknowledging our deepest need.

And the amazing gift is that Christ meets us there and invites us to take what he hands to us. He is the one who offers. He is the one who gives. His generosity does not depend on how good we are; rather it flows from how good he is. Even as his enemies are plotting to take his life, it is God’s intention for Jesus to give his life. Even as Judas and his conspirators are caught in a web of destructive evil, Jesus will destroy the power of that evil through his death, his resurrection, and ultimately, his forgiveness. 

So there is plenty for everybody. “Take, eat,” he says. “Drink of it, all of you!” There’s enough mercy for all. Even Judas. He hasn’t left yet. The bread and the cup are offered to him, too. We cannot deny what Jesus provides for him.

The tragedy is that, for Judas, his self-examination won’t happen until later. He will wake up from the nightmare and discover what he has done. It’s then that he comes to his senses. It is then, says Matthew, that he repents. And the astonishing truth of the Gospel is that the very worst thing that Judas ever did – handing Jesus over to be crucified - is the very thing that God used to redeem the world.

This is the great mystery of grace. “Drink from this cup,” Jesus declares, “for my blood is poured out for many, for the forgiveness for sins.” His forgiveness is here, right here, freely offered, and ready to be received … whenever you are ready.

(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.

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[1] F. Dale Bruner, The Churchbook: Matthew 13-28 (Waco: Word, 1991) p. 951.

[2] Ibid, 959.