The Last Supper

I’ve been thinking all evening about the last supper – the night that Jesus spent eating the Passover feast – as Jewish custom dictated – with his disciples in the upper room.  There are only sketchy details about the preparation – how Jesus sent his disciples into the city to secure a room and prepare the meal.  I wonder if these faithful men had help preparing the meal.  It was a very exacting event, filled with tradition and symbolism. Did they ‘stress out’ over the preparations?  Did they perhaps complain, like Martha had done, about their lack of help?  Did they think that Jesus Himself should have been there to help them?  Were they confident that they would meet His expectations, and that everything would turn out just right?  I always stress over making a big meal; did those twelve men worry about the meal?  To them, it was the Passover Feast.  To those of us who came after, it was to become much more.

Yet Jesus’s friends apparently had everything ready, as Matthew says in Chapter 26 that they were reclining at the table. Everything was exactly right, according to the law.  But then Jesus surprised them, saying one of them would betray Him.  How could that be?  They all loved Him and were followers of Him for three years, not leaving His side. Judas knew Jesus referred to him, and he was saddened by that.  But not too sad to change his mind.  Is that not just like us?  We make decisions, or plans, and know we have chosen wrong.  We are saddened and even regretful – but we keep right on doing what we know is not right.  Every day, in one small way or another, we choose.  

But before the end of this meal, Jesus had instituted a remembrance, a way for us to focus on Him and to remember the great sacrifice He would make.  As we take communion each week, or month, or quarter (whatever is offered to you), we are commanded to take the bread, and think of His body that was broken for us.  Then we take the juice/wine, and think of His blood, shed for the forgiveness of our sins.  This, again, is a commandment – to remember Him as we partake, and realize what he has given so that we could live eternally:  His very life.  This Holy week – the last supper, the unjust and frightening trials, the crucifixion – that horrible death on a rough wooden cross between two common thieves – would be the end of life for those twelve beloved friends of Jesus as they knew it.  We focus on these things, on these hard, unjust, and overwhelming events, and try to absorb what they mean.  Because, if we don’t, Sunday holds no meaning whatsoever.  When in reality. Sunday … IS. 

Last Sunday morning we taught our 4’s and 5’s about this last supper, and explained just a tiny bit about what happened there.  They were so respectful, and accepting, and soaked up our words and the lesson like little sponges.  I love teaching that class, as I always go away having a deeper appreciation and understanding than I had when I started.  Somehow I know that these little ones took Jesus with them when they left the class that day, and will remember at least some of the meaning of what happened so long ago, but still means the world to us today.  Teachable moments:  for them, or for me?  Hmmmmm