The Night Before the Cross

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be always acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my strength and my redeemer. Lord, give us eyes to see and ears to hear, that we may learn Your Word together as a family. We give You all praise and honor and glory, in Jesus’ holy Name. Amen.

Good evening, Encouragers.

Tonight, the Church places two things before us that can never be pulled apart: the Holy Eucharist and the Passion of our Lord.

The Collect tells us that on the night before He suffered, Jesus instituted the Sacrament of His Body and Blood. And St. Paul says the same thing: “the Lord Jesus the same night in which he was betrayed took bread.”

But the Gospel doesn’t let us stay in the Upper Room for very long. It leads us from the table to Calvary.

In our fallenness, we’re tempted to separate the Upper Room from Golgotha. We may want the comfort of Communion without the cost of the Cross. We may want the blessings of Christ without the Crucifixion.

But Maundy Thursday reminds us that we can’t have one without the other. The Body given in the Sacrament is the Body given on the tree (1 Peter 2:24). The Blood received in the Chalice is the Blood shed for the remission of sins (Matthew 26:28).

The Holy Eucharist isn’t mere ceremony. It is the Church’s participation in the saving self-offering of Jesus Christ.

That is why the Old Testament lesson begins where it does: “Let us search and try our ways, and turn again to the Lord.”

Before the Church comes to the altar, she must tell the truth first. “We have transgressed and have rebelled.” We have not loved God with our whole heart (Deuteronomy 6:5; Matthew 22:37). We have sinned in thought, word, and deed.

Maundy Thursday has a gentle warmth to it, but it also calls us to honest self-examination. The table of the Lord is spread for sinners, which means it’s spread for those who first tell the truth about themselves.

The Psalms press that point even deeper. “I had no place to flee unto, and no man cared for my soul.” “Enter not into judgment with thy servant: for in thy sight shall no man living be justified.”

Those aren’t the words of someone pretending everything’s fine. They’re the words of someone who knows he can’t save himself. And that’s where grace begins.

As long as we think we can justify ourselves, we can’t receive mercy. But when we say, “I am brought very low,” then we’re near the kingdom of God.

Then St. Paul says, “This do in remembrance of me.”

Those words are often heard too thinly, as though Jesus were simply asking us not to forget Him. But in Scripture, remembrance is living and covenantal.

In the Eucharist, the Church doesn’t hold a mere memorial service. She obeys the command of her living Lord, who gives Himself to His people in these holy mysteries as a pledge of life eternal.

He feeds the weak, restores the penitent, and binds His people to His once-for-all sacrifice (Hebrews 10:10, 14).

And notice when He gives this gift. He gave it on the night in which He was betrayed, in the middle of treachery, fear, and approaching violence.

That means something. It means this sacrament, instituted by Christ Himself, is for needy people in a fallen world. It’s for disciples whose love is real, but weak. It’s for those who know the difference between what they ought to be and what they are.

Then the Gospel carries us from the table to the Cross. Pilate says, “I find no fault in this man.” Herod finds no fault in Him either. Even the thief says, “this man hath done nothing amiss.”

Again and again, the innocence of Jesus is set before us. He isn’t dying for His own sins. He has none. He is the spotless Lamb of God (John 1:29; 1 Peter 1:19).

And here the Gospel presses the kingship of Christ before us. Over His head is written, “THIS IS THE KING OF THE JEWS.” It was meant as mockery.

But like so much else in the Passion, it says more than those who wrote it understood. He truly is the King, but He reigns here not from a throne of earthly glory, but from the Cross.

Even the penitent thief begins to see it. “Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom.”

He sees a dying man, bloodied and condemned, and yet he sees a King. That’s faith. He sees that Christ reigns through suffering, and that His kingdom isn’t abolished by the Cross, but revealed in it.

The righteous one is condemned, and the guilty go free. Barabbas is released, and Jesus is delivered to their will. If you want a snapshot of your salvation, there it is: the guilty man walks free because the innocent man takes his place.

And that isn’t just Barabbas’s story. It’s yours and mine.

We aren’t spectators in this Gospel. Our sins aren’t some abstract problem in the background. They are part of the reason for the nails, the mockery, the darkness, and the cry from the Cross.

That is why the Church gives us this long Passion Gospel tonight. She won’t let us keep salvation at a safe distance. We’re meant to understand that the Lord’s Supper and the Lord’s death belong together.

“As often as ye eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye do shew the Lord’s death till he come.” Every faithful Communion proclaims Calvary.

And yet, even here, grace is still the last word. Jesus says, “Father, forgive them; for they know not what they do.”

He receives the penitent thief while hanging in agony. He isn’t defeated, and He isn’t merely trapped by events. This is the obedient Son of God offering Himself for the life of the world (John 6:51).

So how should we come to the altar rail tonight?

First, come honestly. “Let us search and try our ways.” No pretending. No excuses. If there is sin, confess it. If there is hardness, admit it.

Second, come humbly. “In thy sight shall no man living be justified.” We don’t come because we’re worthy. We come because Christ is merciful.

Third, come thankfully. The Collect says that in these holy mysteries, He gives us a pledge of life eternal. Not a vague hope, but a pledge grounded in His own Body and Blood.

And finally, come reverently, because tonight we won’t only feed at the altar, we’ll also strip it bare. The vessels and ornaments are taken away. The sanctuary is laid desolate. It’s a hard thing to watch, and it should be. It teaches us that the Bridegroom is being taken away (Matthew 9:15; Mark 2:20; Luke 5:35).

But even then, not all is lost. The altar may be stripped, but Christ is not defeated. The Cross may be near, but so is redemption.

So tonight, let’s come to this holy table with repentance, faith, and gratitude. Let’s receive what Christ gives. Let’s remember that this feast was born in the very shadow of His Passion.

And let’s hold fast to this comfort: the Body broken for us, and the Blood shed for us, are the pledge that our sins are forgiven, our life is redeemed, and our salvation rests not in ourselves, but in Jesus Christ our Lord.

In the Name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost. Amen.