Given For You

Luke 22:14-23

March 28, 2024 (Maundy Thursday) • Mount Pleasant UMC

They had just put the finishing touches on the room set-up when the others began to arrive. Earlier in the day, Jesus had sent the two of them, Peter and John, to prepare the borrowed space where they were going to have their Passover meal (22:8). Yes, it was a day early, but they had learned over the last three years not to question Jesus when he was giving instructions. So Jesus had said do this, and they had gone and done as they were told. There was no lamb (cf. McKnight, Luke, pg. 328) because the lambs wouldn’t be prepared until tomorrow, but they could still have a nice, quiet somewhat-Passover meal tonight.

It was the first evening they had been in Jerusalem. They had spent the days here, but every evening they had gone back out to Bethany to stay the night. So there was anticipation but also anxiety. The usually rambunctious crowd of disciples and followers was somewhat subdued as they entered the room. Where conversation usually flowed freely, thinking of things to talk about tonight seemed to be a struggle around the table. And it didn’t help anyone’s mood when Jesus, the host, used the word “suffer.” He told them how much he ached to share this meal with them, and that he wanted to do it before he suffered (22:15-16). Suffered what? How? What in the world was he talking about? And it didn’t get any clearer when he said he wouldn’t eat this meal again “until it finds fulfillment in the kingdom of God” (22:18). And then Jesus led the traditional toast that took place at this point in the meal: “This year in Jerusalem; next year the kingdom!” (cf. Card, Luke: The Gospel of Amazement, pg. 239). Maybe Jesus was telling them that next year’s Passover would see the full arrival of God’s kingdom. Either way, Peter hoped that, like other times, Jesus would explain this all to them later.

What the disciples didn’t know is that there would be no “later,” at least not in the way they would have thought of it. Life for all of them was about to change drastically. This Passover meal was, in many ways, the calm before the storm, a last moment of sanity before the powers of this world had their way with Jesus. But none of them knew that when they were sitting at the table. None of them suspected how awful the next few hours would be. As far as any of them knew, this was just another, albeit unusual, Passover meal, something they had shared together several times before.

But then, Jesus changed the script. Even though, in the first century, there was no set order and liturgy for the Passover meal like there is today (cf. McKnight 328), there were things that you included and thing you said during the meal. There was bread you ate and there was wine you drank and everything on the table, including the lamb that was absent from this meal, was symbolic. It all had a meaning. So when Jesus changed the script, it was a big deal. He was taking something they knew, something they had celebrated all their lives, and infusing new meaning into it all. He wanted this meal to point them to something different than it ever had.

Passover had always been a meal of remembrance. It pointed back to the night when, really, these people had become the nation called Israel, the night when God remembered them and rescued them from slavery in Egypt. You can read about it in Exodus. It was a night that called them not only to recall what had happened way back then, but to live in a different way because of what had happened. When a Hebrew took part in a Passover meal, they were participating. They weren’t just rehearsing a past event; they became part of the people who had been rescued, who had been saved. When they ate the bread and drank the wine, they remembered, and that meal called them to live as rescued and saved people.

You’ll (hopefully) remember what we talked about a couple of weeks ago, that to “remember” in the Scriptures is not just to call something to mind. It’s not relying on something you have memorized. To ask God, in particular, to “remember” you was to ask God to deliver you, to rescue you, to come to your aid. All throughout the Bible, people ask God to “remember” them when they are in a situation they can’t get themselves out of. And when God “remembers” someone, he is about to send help to someone in desperate need (cf. Hamilton, Final Words, 43-44). When it comes to Passover, it might even be better to compare what happens there to muscle memory. Muscle memory is the way your body learns to do something that, over time, you know so well you don’t even have to think about it. Like, for instance, typing. When I sit down at the keyboard, I don’t have to think every time, “Where is the A key?” My body knows. My hands go right there. Muscle memory is the same reason you can go right to where certain apps are on your phone; your body remembers where they are. Those things get deep down inside of you. That’s what Passover was meant to be, a meal meant to help the people experience the way God remembered them, and to be able to live as “remembered” people—redeemed, rescued and ransomed people. It was a meal meant to get the story deep down inside them, to define them and make them into remembered sort of people.

So then Jesus takes the bread that is on the table—unleavened bread, no doubt—and he prays over it (“Blessed are you, O Lord, our God, king of the universe, who brings forth bread from the earth”). He breaks it and then gives it to all of those around the table. “This is my body given for you; do this is remembrance of me” (22:19). Remembrance. What is he saying? Why is he talking about remembering when he’s standing right there in front of him? Of course, what he has told them but they still don’t realize is that by tomorrow he won’t be standing in front of him. They will have to remember him, so on one level he’s asking them to “remember” something that hasn’t happened yet. He’s preparing them for what is to come.

But I think there is another level here, one that will be acted out again when Jesus talks with the rebel on the cross beside him tomorrow. If remembering is connected in Jewish thought with salvation and rescue and redemption, then Jesus is also telling them what he’s about to do. He is telling them ahead of time what will happen next, that what will happen on the cross is about redemption and rescue. It’s about hope and salvation, and it’s our only hope of salvation from sin and death and despair. Even though it hasn’t happened to them yet on this night, they are still to take the bread and remember. When you see the horror of the cross, believe that God is doing something in Jesus to rescue you.

And there’s something else he says when he hands them the bread which stands in for his body. He tells them who it is for. It is “given for you” (22:19). In other words, it’s a gift. The culmination of Jesus’ life was a gift he came to give. When you are given a gift, whether that’s for Christmas or your birthday or even for Easter, it’s usually something someone has thought about with you in mind. It’s something they have selected just for you and they’ve taken care and time to get it, to wrap it, to bring it to you, maybe even to write a note or a card explaining how the gift connects the two of you. Just for a moment, think about the best gift you’ve ever been given, about a time someone cared enough about you to give you something important or precious, something uniquely you, and in light of that, hear Jesus’ words again: “This is my body…given for you.” Jesus came to give that kind of gift. And he still gives it, every time we come to the table.

I’m not sure how you approach this night. When I was younger, the three churches in my hometown would come together and have joint Holy Week services…every night of the week. So by the time we got to Thursday night, I think I was just tired of going to church every night! But when I got out on my own, and when I began to take responsibility for my own faith, this night began to take on more significance. It’s a patchwork of memories for me: bread and juice and family and friends and light and shadows and joy and heartache. But most of all, gift. This bread, this cup, his body, his blood—it’s all a gift.

We sometimes use fancy words to describe what we do at this table. We most often call it Holy Communion, which emphasizes being with Jesus, in communion, in his presence. Other groups call it eucharist, which is a Greek word that means “giving thanks.” And others call it the Lord’s Supper or the Last Supper; it was both and is both. But tonight I want to think of it as Gift—the gift of hope, of new life, of salvation and rescue from the only one who could do that. And it is given…for you…for me…for every single person, from the giver of all good gifts (cf. Matthew 7:11).

All throughout Lent, we have been looking at what we’ve called “words to the cross” (and there’s one more word tomorrow night), words that various people spoke back to Jesus on the cross. But tonight, I have a different sort of word for you, a word that we can speak to Jesus before the cross. There are a lot of ways we can respond as we receive the bread and the juice, but tonight I want to encourage you, in response to his gift, to come to this table tonight and say, “We remember, and we are grateful.” Because it’s a gift, given for you.

Will you join me in prayer as we prepare to come, gladly and gratefully, to the table of the Lord?