Luke 22:1-23
April 13
David A. Davis
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You. “I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer; for I tell you I will not eat it until it is fulfilled in the kingdom of God.” You. “Take this and divide it among yourselves; for I tell you that from now on I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the kingdom of God comes.” You. “This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me.” You. “This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood. But see, the one who betrays me is with me…” You.
The “you” at that Passover table that night included the Betrayer. The one who went away and “conferred with the chief priests and officers” to make a plan. To make a plan with the chief priests who were looking to kill Jesus. “You” that night included Judas. The “you” at this first supper of bread and wine included Peter. Not long after the bread and cup, while still at the table, Jesus said to Peter, “I tell you, Peter, the cock will not crow this day until you have denied three times that you know me.” “You” that night included Peter. But it was not just the Betrayer and the Denier in the ‘You”. As Mark tells of this night, Mark concludes “They all forsook him and fled.” A night of betraying, denying, deserting, and forsaking by those he called, taught, and loved. Immediately after the bread and cup, the disciples who are the “you” get into an argument about which one of them was the greatest for goodness sake! And still, “You”. “This is my body, which is given for you.” “This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood.” You.
In the liturgy of the sacrament of communion, his body broken and his blood shed are labeled “the Words of Institution.” The liturgy quotes the Apostle Paul from I Corinthians. “The Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took a loaf of bread.” I am not sure I have thought about it much before, but “the night when he was betrayed” seems like a massive understatement. Betrayed. Denied. Deserted. Forsaken. Slept on. Kissed. Seized. Arrested. Mocked. Beaten. Blindfolded. Insulted. That’s all just here in the rest of Luke 22. Yes, “the night when he was betrayed” doesn’t begin to describe it. The night when he was betrayed and the night before he was tried, tortured, and murdered by the ruthless, evil, dark powers of Herod’s empire. The night when Jesus looked into the bottomless, timeless pit of human sin, disobedience, lust for power, arrogance, and obsession with self. And still….you. “This is my body, which is given for you.” “This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood.” You. A great big, universal you for every time and every place. You as in all. Humankind. Creation. ALL. “God so loved the world…. God saw everything God had made, and indeed, it was very good.” Given for You. Poured out for you.
This Palm Sunday our service began with the Triumphal Entry here in Luke. As Luke puts it, “Jesus went on ahead, going up to Jerusalem.” Matthew’s Palm Sunday is more triumphal than Luke’s. Matthew tells of a very large crowd, and people running ahead and coming up behind shouting. Matthew writes of the whole city of Jerusalem in turmoil. Matthew’s Palm Sunday seems more stirred up, a sort of flash mob, a bit more “oomph” when compared to Luke. In Luke, people kept tossing their garments on the road, maybe even the same people. No branches, no hosannas. The “whole multitude of disciples”? That could have been just twelve. Maybe the irony of shouts to a king and folks trying to make a bit of pomp while the king rides on a colt was pretty evident. The royal treatment of a meandering, winding procession from one hill to another with no army, no galloping horses, no chariots, just one innocent animal to ride, maybe the absurdity of it all was just as plain as day. At the very least for Luke, the whole thing seems more intimate. Jesus going up to Jerusalem.
Jesus tells the Pharisees that the stones would shout if the disciples were silent. Creation’s shout coming from those stones. Echoing creation’s praise described by the prophet Isaiah, “For you shall go out in joy and be led back in peace; the mountains and the hills before shall burst into song, and the trees of the field shall clap their hands.” (Is 55:12) After Jesus’ nod to creation’s praise, the procession continues. Luke tells of one more stop before Jesus enters the city gates. “As Jesus came near and saw the city, he wept over it, saying, ‘If you, even you, had only recognized on this day the things that make for peace.” You, even you. There’s that “you” again. Luke is the only gospel that tells of Jesus weeping over the city. There is lament elsewhere but only in Luke does Jesus weep while looking up at the city ahead of him. If you, even you. You.
Luke goes on to describe the destruction of Jerusalem; enemies, ramparts, crushed to the ground, not one stone left upon another. Gospel scholarship informs the reader of the unique sense of timing here. Jesus predicted what was to come. Luke writing about what has already happened; the fall of the city in the year 70. Chronology and timeline take the back seat to the symbolism of the city, of this city, being ravaged by war and the Savior’s tears. Tears that are not about the march of time. The tears are more about HIS march. THEE march to Jerusalem. This last stop along the way, it’s only in Luke. Here between the Mt. of Olives and the city that looms just up there. Jesus, his last stop on the way to the cross, and he looks and sees the holy city once and forever devastated by violence, humanity’s violence. If you, only you. And still….he goes up.
When we draw near to Jesus and his last stop along the way, usually what strikes, what lingers, what moves the heart is his tears. But this morning, paired with his words at the Table, his words at the bread and cup, it’s the imagined tone in the voice of Jesus that hangs in the heart as he refers to the city and to humanity all at once. If you, even you, you, and you, and even you. If you only knew. A timelessness to both his tears and his exasperation in the face of humanity’s inability to grasp peace. A great big, universal you for every time and every place. You as in all. Humankind. Creation. ALL! “God so loved the world…. God saw everything God had made, and indeed, it was very good.” If you, even you.
In our Lenten small group on Thursday we were sharing our earliest experiences of communion and whether or not our experience of the Lord’s Supper has changed over the years. Whether the more meaningful, moving parts of communion that nurture our faith might have shifted over the years? Interestingly, there was a bit of consensus in our group. Several people talked about how over the years communion became more of an experience of the faith community together. Less about an individual’s relationship with God and more about something we do together. Less a prayer between God and more a prayer about God and us. A sacrament that nourishes our life as the Body of Christ. A turn away from the self and God and a turn toward community and God. Our relationships in the community and the community of God as in God and Jesus and the Holy Spirit. And every time we gather at the table: “You proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes again.” You as in us. You as in all. A great big, universal you for every time and every place. You as in all. Humankind. Creation. ALL. “God so loved the world…. God saw everything God had made, and indeed, it was very good.” You proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes again.
The Last Supper. Palm Sunday and Jesus’ last stop on the way to Jerusalem. When you remember his body given for you and his blood shed for you on that night when Jesus looked into the bottomless, timeless pit of human sin, disobedience, lust for power, arrogance, and obsession with self. And still….you. When you, even you, stop with Jesus for that tear-filled view of Jerusalem, when humanity’s inability to grasp the things that make for peace never, ever seems to get any better, when you stop to ponder how he still goes up, somewhere deep down the magnitude of God’s plan of salvation kind takes the breath away. I claim, lean on, bathe, and bask, tell myself again and again of God’s love for me, a love that will not let me go. But then there are those days, those seasons, when I find myself claiming, leaning on, bathing, and basking, telling myself again and again that God’s love is so much greater than just for me.
Because when Jesus kept going, when he went up, he took all of us, all of this, he took ALL of it to the cross with him.
“God so loved the world…. God saw everything God had made, and indeed, it was very good.”