Staying at the Table - A Sermon for Maundy Thursday

I recently celebrated a Lenten Eucharist for some of our younger Christ Churchers. I sat on the floor with them and told the story of the Last Supper. I was eager to hear their responses, because in my experience, the youngest among us have the best Eucharistic theology. I was not disappointed. I paused after Jesus got arrested and asked what they thought about the story so far. Hands shot up. A kindergartener with a speech pattern that belied their intrinsic wisdom through their hands in the air and asked “why did Judas DO that?!”

I turned the question around and asked what the group thought about Judas’ choices and behavior on that fateful night. We talked about why people do hurtful things. A middle schooler, who I assume has begun mandated anti-bullying education, suggested that Judas must have been in a lot of pain himself in order to inflict such pain on someone else. It’s a good theory, and many biblical scholars agree that Judas was, indeed, a villain, trapped in his own cycle of agony.

But then, a soft-spoken child wondered aloud if maybe Judas really thought he was doing the right thing. There is also scholarship to support this idea, that Judas was a misunderstood vigilante whose zeal for social justice clouded his judgment. I find this most compelling. The idea that Judas is not malicious at all, but rather has a different moral code is intriguing, because it forces us to ask the question: is being good the same as being faithful to God?

Assuming this truth about Judas, he was very confident that he had a firm grasp on what is right and what is wrong in the world. When this new rabbi named Jesus started preaching along those same lines, Judas was all too happy to drop everything and follow him. But sometimes Jesus surprised him, challenging his ethical framework, and then things got complicated.

This happens to us too. We all have someone in our lives who uses the Bible to justify truly abhorrent ideas, and so we scramble to discover the parts of the Bible that refute such ideas and instead reveal the truth about God, which just so happens to align precisely with our worldview. We prefer to ignore the places in scripture when God says something we don’t like. Just ask anyone who’s ever had to write a sermon on the Canaanite woman whom Jesus tries to ignore until she challenges him to be more generous. It can be a preacher’s nightmare.

These days, we don’t have option to pay 30 silver coins to have Jesus arrested to stop him from preaching what we don’t want to hear. But for 2,000 years, people have been walking away from Christ when the message is complicated, and I often wonder if Judas and I have much more in common than I’d like to think.

The truth is that the gospel, in fact all of scripture, is not a step by step guide to right living. There is ambiguity and nuance, and even the the most straightforward instructions often leave much to be desired. In our passage from Exodus this evening we meet our ancestors in the faith just before they embark on their journey out of Egypt. In just a few chapters, as they work to establish their new and free society in the wilderness, Moses will bring them the Ten Commandments.

The first five commandments give some structure to our spiritual lives, and the last five are a succinct to-don’t list. For those of us, myself included, with somewhat limited imagination, there may not be enough meat in these Ten Commandments to navigate every ethical dilemma we come across.

Even those of us with the most stringent of moral compasses can be brought up short; by a disagreement with someone we trusted deeply, by a foolproof plan that goes awry, perhaps by Holy Scripture suggesting that we are mistaken in our principles. When this happens, where are we to turn for clarity? Judas to turned inward, trusting solely in his own conscience, and it was to his detriment. But if society and even our own instincts tell us one thing, and God seems to be telling another, how do we listen to God faithfully?

I think this is what the last supper is all about. Jesus’ time is running out and so he gathers his friends together and tells them, if you only remember one instruction I’ve ever given you, remember this: Share meals together in my name. Think about me and my life when you pause to break bread. Participate in this ritual I’m giving you, over and over again, so that it seeps into your very being. The table around which you and your community of faith gather, at which my very body is broken for you, this is where you will find the answers you’re looking for.

Before Judas kissed Jesus to reveal him to the Roman guards, before he met with them to receive his silver coins, his first act of betrayal, to Christ and to himself, was in getting up and leaving the table. We belong at the table with our friends and family. And when there is disagreement or confusion, when right and wrong seem blurry and God’s call seems obscured, that is where we will find clarity, understanding, and peace. The knowledge and ability to be good and righteous in the world starts there.

As we enter these sacred three days, which are heavy and hard to bear, and as we leave the safety of this room to go back out into the world, let us remember this most important instruction, that we should always come back to our common table, where our faith is nourished and transformed into holiness of life. Let us remain when our beloved and misunderstood friend Judas could not, trusting that on the other side of the tomb, we will share with him in the forgiveness and communion that Christ provides as a feast for us all. Amen.