Fr.
Jim Liggett
P.O. Box 2949; Big Spring, TX 79721
(432) 267-8201 (phone)
One way to look at Holy Week is as an extended conversation, a sort of point/counterpoint that reveals and epitomized the ages-long conversation between God and humanity that is basic to our story as Christian people.
We had a sort of Readers’ Digest Condensed Version of that conversation Sunday, when, with the triumphal entry into Jerusalem, we see God’s offering of himself, and, with the story of the Passion, we see humanity’s answer to that offer. Point, counterpoint.
Throughout Holy Week that movement is made more clear, and is painted in richer and deeper colors. Today, Maundy Thursday, we hear another part of that same conversation; different in its content, but still revealing the same movement.
It begins at the table, where Jesus—as he had done so often with the disciples—presides at a common meal, most likely a Passover meal. This meal, like all meals, but definitively so, was holy; it was sacred.
It was tied inextricably to Israel’s story—the story of God’s great saving acts in history. The story of the deliverance from slavery in Egypt was told, and remembered, and made real and present. In this way Jesus and the disciples, like all of Israel, joined themselves, through time and space, to Moses and to all of the mixed multitude that had left bondage behind and begun a new journey, in hope, to the home that God had promised them. This was the decisive act of God’s covenant with Israel, a covenant that, from this night onward, Christians would call the Old Covenant.
This is because Jesus does something different on this night. When it came time for the familiar blessing over the bread, (when the matzah was broken) Jesus added something—just a few words:
He said, "this is my body which is given for you, do this in remembrance of me." In the same way, to the blessing over the common cup at the end of the meal, Jesus added, "this cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood". Momentous additions to a prayer older than memory. Words that changed everything.
After the resurrection and Ascension, as the early Church began its life, these words persisted and guided that life. Even though they didn’t understand what was going on at first, the disciples remembered what Jesus had said and done; and, much more importantly, they obeyed, they did it.
They remembered—and they followed his command. Gradually, they learned.
To their wonder, they discovered that their was Lord present with them in a special, intense, and unique way when they gathered to break the bread and share the cup.
They discovered that Jesus had not left them isolated, he had not left them alone. In this great gift given on the eve of darkness, in the bread and the wine, he had provided a means by which they could indeed be with him, and share—among themselves and among any who would come—his presence, his power, and his love.
This is what Jesus did on his final night with his friends—all of his friends, remember, Judas was still there—he gave them a gift, the gift of himself, the gift of his presence, of his love. This is what God does during Holy Week, this is God’s constant word to us throughout this sacred time. He is with us, and he offers nothing less, and nothing other, than his presence.
This is what he offered the crowd as he entered Jerusalem. This is what he offered to the Chief Priests, Herod, and Pilate. This is what Jesus is continually offering to us—himself. Himself in the sacrament of the Altar, himself in the hearts of his faithful people, himself in the face of friend and stranger, himself in the most exalted places in creation, himself in the small, quiet depths of our souls.
This gift of God’s own self is God’s word to us throughout Holy Week. We hear it over and over. It is constant, it is unchanging—then, and now.
But the human word back to God during these sacred days is hardly constant, and it is always jarring. The ‘hosannas’ of Palm Sunday quickly turn to demands to "Crucify him". And the gift of Maundy Thursday, the gift of the his presence in the breaking of the bread, this too is answered with rejection. We will close this service by quietly stripping the Altar, and leaving everything bare for Good Friday. That’s because, immediately after the meal, one of those who had shared the table with Jesus slips out and deals quietly in blood and silver. Within a few hours Jesus is arrested, and the passion begins. God offers himself, and we respond—sometimes with excitement and jubilation—this time with betrayal and even death. Point, counterpoint.
I think it is fascinating that the exact reasons for the rejection are never given. We are not told in any detail why the crowd turned on Jesus so quickly in Jerusalem, and Judas’ motives, a matter of endless speculation, are never completely stated. There is probably great wisdom here.
If we knew why, we could take that reason and distance ourselves from it. ‘Not me; I wouldn’t do that’. But we don’t know why they did it.
If we can assume anything, it is that they all wanted something different from Jesus than what he gave—they wanted other gifts, gifts they had decided they wanted more than they wanted something as vague and insubstantial as "this is my body". Perhaps they wanted what the world wants; perhaps they wanted a life that was easier and more ‘successful’ than the life they saw in Jesus. Who knows what they wanted?
I suspect we do. I suspect we know. I suspect that we each have our own personal counterpoints to both Jesus, and the Father’s, constant offering of themselves, and to their persistent call to follow.
If the glory, the irony, and the tragedy of Maundy Thursday—of Jesus’ gift and his betrayal, if these tell us anything, they tell us that this conversation between God and us continues, in less dramatic but no less important ways, even today.
In a moment, we will go forward to receive the gift Jesus gave on the night he was betrayed, and then we will remember that betrayal. Point/counterpoint. Then it will be our turn.
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Fr.
Jim Liggett
P.O. Box 2949; Big Spring, TX
79721
(432) 267-8201 (phone)
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This page last updated on April 06, 2007