{Holy Thursday, Maundy Thursday, the night before…Since Lent began, I have been writing about “room(s).” Today, that one upstairs, where Jesus broke bread with his true family for the last time.}
Tonight I will lead a service of Holy Communion at a local Presbyterian Church. We will gather in small groups around a table in the front of the sanctuary, and I will say what we call “The Words of Institution,” words from scripture in which the Apostle Paul “instituted” or initiated the way we remember that night when Jesus headed from table to betrayal.
Though we think of this night as a kind of reenactment of the Last Supper, it is nowhere near that. We cannot pretend we know the hearts of Jesus and disciples as they reclined at table for the meal. Some churches do try to make this night into quite the production number, perhaps serving a copy of the Passover Meal to worshippers gathered at tables, with explanations of the various traditional elements of the meal, and then engaging in the ritual of footwashing, followed by the sharing of the Sacrament. Maybe they will then sing a hymn as the disciples did as the meal ends and people go home to TV. But liturgy is not “play acting.” Please, I intend no judgment here. My point is that there is no way to capture the true drama of that evening in the upper room, then in the garden, and then into the darkest of nights.
The church we where we usually worship has gathered folk in the fellowship hall on Maundy Thursday evening, around the tables normally used for church luncheons and dinners. In the context of a worship service there, the people serve one another bread and cups of “the fruit of the vine” (our nomenclature for the grape juice we use in place of wine), and with the reading of scripture passages, candles are eventually extinguished until the room is darkened. And the direction is that we leave the hall in silence. Of course, some folks can’t help themselves, and chat on the way home…to TV.
I do like that model. Even more meaningful, though not practical for such a large group, would be to have the meal in the church’s “upper room.” A couple of weeks ago in this series, I wrote of “tower rooms” and our church has one. It would be cramped, but certainly a special place, set apart, and carefully prepared for this special night. I can only imagine it, however: candle light, a table set with dinnerware, hunks of bread (no, not unleavened…no need to be that fundamental), and vessels of wine, real rich, red wine…with Welches for those for whom wine would be a serious problem. But here I am, making it into a period drama. No, it’s to be a simple act of remembrance.
And what is it that we are remembering? An upper room? Last meal? Disciples wholly and holy converted into family? The special and very careful arrangements Jesus made for the use of this upstairs room? Feet being washed and servant love being taught by example? Judas’ early exit? No. Indeed the question is put wrong. It should be “Who is it we are remembering? Jesus. “Whenever you do this, remember me.” Or, as Eugene Peterson’s paraphrase has it: “This bread…eat it in my memory.”
So, this Sacrament, whether called “Holy Communion” or “Eucharist” or “The Lord’s Supper,” is a meal (simple as it is with mere bits and sips!) of remembrance, and yes, like the Jewish Passover. (By the way, John’s Gospel has this farewell meal on the eve of Passover, not on Passover night itself. But that Jesus was betrayed and arrested and killed during the Jewish feast of liberation is of great significance theologically. So significant that I never should have placed that sentence within parentheses. Sorry.)
I quote my dear friend and colleague the late Lamar Williamson here, a summary paragraph from his Interpretation commentary on Mark’s Gospel.
Nothing is haphazard about Jesus’ death nor about the meal he shares with his disciples in preparation for it. All occurs by divine appointment, coupled with careful and conscious preparation by the participants. The principle still holds true: Time and place must be prepared if this established ritual is to serve effectively as a point of intersection with ultimate reality.
Lamar Williamson, “Interpretation,” John Knox Press
Tonight then, the sanctuary where I am guest worship leader is arranged for tables up front (Presbyterians do not have altars), liturgy carefully chosen, choir and organ music rehearsed, bread and grape juice ready for serving– and we shall remember Jesus. We will not think casually about that night so long ago. We will retell the story of that supper, partake of the “elements” (such a strange word for bread and cup), and pause ever so briefly in silence to meditate on our own place at his Table. Our own place in his story, and his life in us.
And for the rest of our stories in this life, we shall commit ourselves to follow his commandment to love one another, so that people will know we are his disciples, his family still. Dirty feet and all.
Peace, Grace, and Jazz! 