And he sendeth forth two of his disciples, and saith unto them, Go ye into the city, and there shall meet you a man bearing a pitcher of water: follow him. And wheresoever he shall go in, say ye to the goodman of the house, The Master saith, Where is the guestchamber, where I shall eat the passover with my disciples? And he will shew you a large upper room furnished and prepared: there make ready for us. And his disciples went forth, and came into the city, and found as he had said unto them: and they made ready the passover. And in the evening he cometh with the twelve. (Mark 14:13-17)
Passover. A night of joy; a night of tradition; a night of celebration with family and friends; a night of remembrance; a night of definition. Passover is the night of knowing who we are because of what God has done in our past, which shapes how we see ourselves in the present and how we set our aspirations for the future. It’s a night that helps us to understand our destiny; a night of remembering our story as it fits into the much bigger picture of God’s story. It’s a night of locating ourselves in time and space by remembering the move of the hand of God in the history of His people and by using that as a reference point. There is no better place to celebrate the Passover than here in Jerusalem. Passover is ritual and a remembrance but it is also a meal. When we eat together we remember who we are and to whom we belong. We renew our bonds with our family, with our friends, and with our God. Surely it is good to break bread and to share the cup with those we love. Something sacred happens when we gather for a common meal. It is good to eat together. But tonight is not an ordinary Passover. It’s the last meal that Jesus will have with his friends. They would celebrate the Passover in abbreviated form. After raising the last cup they would sing a song, and then they would head out to the Mount of Olives, where the night of wrestling would begin. His disciples must have been struggling to know how to celebrate that particular Passover on that particular evening in Jerusalem. How does one say good-bye to a friend? What can you say at your last meal together? Do you choke back the tears, or do you let them flow freely? What does it mean to “be strong” when your closest friend is about to die? Why should you even have to be strong? Is it strength to hold back the tears, or is it strength to vulnerable enough to weep, to embrace, to grieve? These are the thoughts that may have been racing through the minds of the disciples as they prepare this final meal. “They are going to kill him. Let us go with him that we might die with him”. The table is set. Jesus reclines with His friends. The meal begins: One final meal before the execution, the offering, the strange self-sacrifice where One is both Priest and Lamb. One last time to eat, to drink, to laugh, to embrace, to be close to His friends. Last words spoken. Last memories. The hands are open, offering bread and wine, offering Himself. Then comes the crisis of the Garden, strangely counterpoint to another crisis in another Garden long ago, and now the hands are clenched into fists, not of defiance, but of resolve: “I’m going to go through with this. Nothing will stop me”. Decision made.
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