Mark 14:22-42 - March 28, 2024 - Maundy Thursday

When I teach about communion in first communion classes or during confirmation, the opening conversation is almost always around special meals. What notable meals do you have? Are there festive foods? Who’s there? It’s a way of connecting the kids’ experiences - something familiar and personal - to what we do in worship. 

And it’s a great way to frame the communion meal for adults, too. We all remember a meal/dinner, that was shared with family or close friends and time seemed to stop - at least for a little while. The food, the wine, the conversation, the company… they all seemed to add up to a whole greater than the sum of the parts. 

Tonight we remember that Jesus celebrates such a meal. Jesus gathers with his disciples, those who left home and family to follow him. They gather for a Passover meal. It is a meal that means more than eating; it is remembering. 

And while we often look at communion through that lens of remembering, of community, of all the pieces adding up to something greater than the sum of the parts… tonight we frame this meal a little bit differently. We frame it in betrayal, denial, and human failure - and not just theoretically. That betrayal, denial, and failure actually happen.

Immediately before our lesson starts, Jesus tells the disciples the heavy truth that one of them will betray him. This is more than just hurting someone for personal gain or wishing ill upon an enemy. Betrayal is a breach of trust. It is intentional, conscious, deliberate harm despite the care, trust, and even love between people. Betrayal is painful. 

Even to this day, whenever we share the meal, we begin in the shadow of this betrayal: “In the night in which he was betrayed…” That is how we enter into this evening and this meal.

Then, on the tail end of this Passover feast, we have denial. Desertion. Abandonment. 

Shortly after they all get to the Mount of Olives, Jesus says, “You will all become deserters; you will deny me three times.” Peter and the disciples deny it. 

“Even though I must die with you, I will not deny you... And all of them said the same.” Of course, they said that. None of them can imagine themselves being capable of such cowardice. How could they possibly desert their teacher, the one they left so much in order to follow, the one who has taught them, and given them so much? It is unthinkable. “I will not deny you.” 

And still, it happens. 

If we want but a subtle foretaste of the denial and deserting to come, we need not look any further than sleeping disciples with the directive to “keep awake.” It’s a poignant reminder of the human tendency to falter.

There are human failings all around. Beginning, middle, and end, surrounding and woven through this entire passage. 

And yet… and yet, smack in the middle of it all, Jesus promises. Jesus unwaveringly declares, “This is my body… This is my blood of the covenant.” 

There is promise in the face of betrayal.
Even knowing that he would be betrayed, Jesus demonstrates his commitment to his disciples and us. Despite the very real betrayal that is already at hand, Jesus offers the promise of his body and blood as a covenant of love and redemption. 

There is promise in the face of denial.
Even predicting Peter’s denial and the disciples’ abandonment, Jesus demonstrates full faithfulness to them and us. Despite Peter’s imminent failure, Jesus is faithful to him, to the disciples, to his mission, and to his promise. 

All these terrible, horrible, no-good things are swirling around, and Jesus gives himself - not words, not symbols, not gestures. Jesus promises himself in bread and wine, for them, for us. 

In the chaos of this story, Jesus is a stark contrast to the surrounding human imperfections. And, it’s also in stark contrast to humans these days, too. Over the past 2,000 years, we haven’t exactly outgrown our own denials, betrayals, and deserting. Human frailty is deep. The reality of Sin is profound. And it has a deathly hold on us. 

But this story doesn’t only put our frail and fickle hearts on display. It’s really about - the whole thing is about - Jesus’ faithfulness. Jesus’ faithfulness even when humans cannot maintain the relationship.
When humans betray, Christ offers us himself;
when humans deny, he refuses to accept our “no”;
when humans fall asleep, he promises to keep the relationship whole.  

And even more than that, among all the predicted and actual failures of his friends, Jesus also makes an even more grand promise: “After I am raised up, I will go before you to Galilee.” Jesus knows they will fail and desert him, and Jesus intends to go forward with his mission nonetheless to redeem these faithless friends. 

In a sense, tonight and this weekend is the essential plotline of the Bible in a nutshell. God is faithful; we are not. In our moments of failure, God’s love remains relentless, ever willing to embrace us, ever ready to give everything for us. It’s not merely a refusal to abandon us; it’s an active choice to give us the greatest gift of all - Jesus. Then and now and forever.

Because while we know that Jesus gathered with his disciples for a final meal, it was never final. In the story, Jesus shares of himself - all that he was, all that he is, all that we ever hoped for. Jesus gave those disciples himself in the fullest sense of the word. 

And he still does. Jesus still offers us the same presence in bread and wine, as the Last Supper of the Bible is turned into the Lord’s Supper of worship. This sacred meal transcends time and space and goes beyond betrayals and denials. It is a meal of life, of presence, of welcome. It is grace and life given for you; it is love and forgiveness poured out for you. 

In this meal, we are reminded that our imperfections, our denials, our betrayals do not define God’s love for us. Instead, we taste and see the goodness of the crucified Christ; we eat and drink the faithfulness of a resurrected Jesus; we hold in our hands the unwavering commitment of our living God for us. For you. 

So, let us taste and see that the Lord is good. Thanks be to God.