This day in Holy Week is rich with spiritual significance—it is Maundy Thursday, and also the first night of Passover to our Jewish sisters and brothers. This is the day when Jesus and his disciples celebrated the Passover together, the meal of lamb and unleavened bread symbolizing the night in which God “passed over” the Israelites in his judgment upon Egypt. For Christians, there is a parallel between the Exodus Passover, in which the Israelites put the blood of an unblemished lamb on their doorframes so that the Angel of Death would pass over them, and the death of Christ on the cross as the Son of God.

In this vein, Maundy Thursday marks the institution of the Lord’s Supper, aka Communion or the Eucharist. And it is from these passages that the lectionary today is drawn:

Exodus 12:1-4, 11-14
Psalm 116:1-2, 12-19
1 Corinthians 11:23-26
John 13:1-17, 31b-35

For those of you who are in Presbyterian churches, you may recognize the 1 Corinthians passage—it is what most Presbyterian ministers say when they administer Communion. This is probably also the earliest written record of the institution of Communion, since this letter predates even the Gospels themselves.

I vaguely remember my first Communion. We hardly ever served it at my Pentecostal church, and I’m really not sure why we didn’t—maybe it was too Catholic or something (since Mass is celebrated every single Sunday). But one day the pastor decided to have Communion, and told me I had to come out from children’s church (where I took refuge from the doom and gloom of the Apocalypse issuing forth from the pulpit) to take it.

My overriding memory of the experience was being told that I’d better make sure my heart was right with God before I took Communion, because if I hadn’t been forgiven of my sins I would profane the sacrament and God would surely be angry. I took that pretty seriously as a ten-year-old with religious anxiety. So for years after, I tried to evoke Mel Gibson-esque mental images of Jesus on the cross so that I would feel appropriately somber and appreciative of Jesus’ sacrifice.

Yet perhaps my old pastor’s cumbersome attempts to instill sacramental reverence in a ten-year-old had some positive effects. Because now, Communion is one of the most meaningful and enriching elements of my faith journey. I live fully into its sacredness, soaking in the symbolism of the bread broken high and the cup poured out as the minister utters the words of institution. In the time of silence and reflection before taking the elements, that time once devoted to conjuring up images of a blood-soaked, pain-filled Jesus, I connect with God wherever I’m at. Sometimes, I come to the table with a less-than-right frame of mind, too—despairing in my Louisville loneliness, angry at a loved one, grasping for control when I can’t have it.

But contrary to what I believed, I don’t find condemnation waiting for me when I partake of the elements on those days. Instead, I find some sort of healing, forgiveness, the power to forgive. I find Christ in the sacrament—the Holy One, in whom the Eucharist is only one symbol of God’s overriding love for each of us. In Communion, I get a taste of that peace that passes all understanding. I remember what Jesus is all about.

After washing the disciples’ feet on Maundy Thursday and then eating the Passover, Jesus tells his disciples, “I give you a new commandment, that you love one another. Just as I have loved you, you also should love one another” (John 13:34). The Communion Feast attunes me to Christ’s abiding love, and helps me to pass it on to others.

“The Lord Jesus on the night when he was betrayed took a loaf of bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and said, ‘This is my body that is for you. Do this in remembrance of me.’ In the same way he took the cup also, after supper, saying, ‘This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.’ For as often as you eat this bread and drink the cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes.” --1 Corinthians 11:23-26

Kelsey