The Last Supper

March 14, 2021

It’s Thursday night. Passover night. Jesus has instructed the disciples on how to prepare for the Passover meal, and they’re all gathered around him at the table. Jesus is the host, naturally. On his right is the beloved disciple, John. Around the table are Jesus’s friends, his companions for the past three years. 

Together they have traveled mile after mile, preaching and teaching about the kingdom of God, calling all who will listen to repent and be reconciled to God and one another. They have healed the sick, given sight to the blind, helped the lame walk, raised the dead, casted out demons. They have a friendship forged in the fires of mission. They’ve been accepted, rejected, adored and reviled. Through it all they’ve been together. 

Now they’ve gathered around a table, and the tension is obvious. Jesus is a bit quieter than normal. More somber. As if he’s savoring every moment. He gives thanks and begins the meal, talking to John on his right and Judas on his left, occasionally chatting with Peter across from him. And then it’s time. 

Jesus gathers their attention, holds up a loaf of bread, and says, “This is my body.” And he shares it around the room. He offers it first to his left, to Judas, and then passes it to the right. He holds up a cup of wine, and says, “This is my blood.” And he shares it around the room. He offers it first to his left, to Judas, and then passes it to the right. 

Here is Jesus, on his final night. He has every right to be bitter and upset. His death is going to be slow and arduous, with every opportunity to short-circuit it and tap out early, to go part way and give up, but his ease would be our demise. The pressure is on. 

It would be natural to seclude himself away from the group, to have some private time alone. Instead, he surrounds himself with these fickle friends— one would betray him, one would deny him, and the rest would flee at the first sign of trouble. 

We, in the church, sin against God, yes, but also one another, in word, in thought, in deed, and in what we have failed to do. We are all too often faithless servants and fickle friends. Even so, every week, Jesus invites us to share his body and blood. He looks us dead in the face, sees our faithlessness, and offers his body and blood anyway. And so we are called to look one another dead in the face, see each other’s faithlessness, and share the body and blood of Christ with one another. We are not reconciled to one another by our mutual interests, common lifestyles, or geographical proximity. We are reconciled by our shared need for a savior, and the love our common savior has for each of us. Jesus died for me, sinner that I am. He died for you, sinner that you are. If he still loves you, how can I refuse love for you? 

—John Coffey