AKA - at least for me - as ‘BLACK’ FRIDAY
LESSON 1
April 8, 2010
Reading for today:
Matthew 26:20
Mark 14:17
Luke 22:14 – 16
I was swamped and my time was diverted away from my passionate pursuit of being able to write about being right smack dab in the center of all Jesus was going through the last couple of days of my very intentional journey to – and beyond – the cross, so this is as good a time as any to step back and look more closely at all that happened that specific day.
Hang on – it’s going to take several days to explore how it all went down according to the fused scriptural accounts.
In Jewish custom, the day began at 6 p m – so we will begin at 6 p m on what we would call Thursday evening – the evening they ate their Passover meal. As you will recall, Peter and John were the two that were sent to prepare the Passover on Thursday – and when it was prepared, all 12 disciples came together to eat the meal that commemorated the time in Jewish history when God delivered their Israelite ancestors from the tyranny of slavery in Egypt.
God sent multiple plagues, but Pharaoh’s heart was hardened each time, until at last, with the final plague, he was broken enough to release them (even though he changed his mind within hours – but by then they were gone.) In the original meal that was prepared prior to their flight from Egypt, the people were instructed to take a perfect one-year-old male lamb (either sheep or goat), take care of the lamb for 4 days, then all of Israel must kill their lamb at twilight.
That gets really personal for me…. They would have literally made the lamb a pet – and then had to kill it. They would have felt its warm breath against their cheek, its fur under their fingers as they petted it. They would have heard it bleat when it needed something – and experienced the trust it placed in them as they became ‘friends.’ They would have seen its complete submission to them in its eyes – and then they would have slaughtered it.
What a violation of trust! The realization of what they did thrusts me back in time to childhood. We grew our own beef. We killed them. We ate them. But then, one year, my Dad bought a young calf to raise instead of an older one that he just had to fatten up a bit. This calf wasn’t just ‘steaks-on-the-hoof.’ This calf was given a name. His name was Blackie. Blackie became a pet. I felt his warm muzzle as he ate grain from my hand, thrilled to his recognition of me whenever I approached, cried when he met the intended fate for which he was purchased. And – I wouldn’t eat meat again until Blackie was gone. He wasn’t just beef. He was my friend. Just remembering makes me tear-up. And I’m a carnivore! I’m sharing that to make a point. They killed a lamb they were fond of – something dear and precious and loved.
They were to take some of the blood of the lamb and put it on the sides and tops of the doorframes of the houses where they were going to eat the lambs. Then they were to stay in those houses – and when the Angel of Death came, he would ‘pass over’ all of the houses that were marked by the blood of the lamb. The only way they would be saved was by the blood of the lamb. The only way we can be saved is by the blood of the Lamb – the lamb of God who gave his life for us.
Exodus 12 and Deuteronomy 16 outline the instructions for observing the Passover. It was to be celebrated ‘for the generations to come.’ Jesus honored that celebration – and then he made it into a celebration about Him – the New Covenant in his blood. That was huge!
On that first Passover night they were to eat the meat roasted over the fire, along with bitter herbs, and bread made without yeast. Jesus and his disciples would have done just as Scripture instructed. They would have killed the lamb at twilight, roasted the meat over the fire, then had their meal together in the upper room that Peter and John had prepared for them earlier in the day.
Through the years since that time, many customs have been added to the evening, but during that evening (which was the beginning of a new day), Jesus washed their feet, instructed them that this bread he was breaking was his body broken for them, and that the wine was his blood poured out for them.
Several years ago I had the opportunity of hearing a man who represented ‘Jews for Jesus’ explain the Passover feast and its significance. Every custom that is being practiced today has significance related to Jesus’ death and resurrection. It was a wonderful event to be part of. On two other occasions I have attended a ‘Passover Feast’ with the readings by a pastor, and the customs performed by all the participants, including the eating of the bitter herbs, and dinner with lamb – though ours wasn’t roasted over the fire as the Old Testament prescribed…. And, I’ve seen it enacted, with a low table and 13 men reclining around the table, dressed in garb reminiscent of what we would perceive men of their day to wear – and reciting the lines preserved for us in the New Testament.
Those opportunities make quite an impact – and make the event they shared that evening more clear. It is something I would love to be part of annually because it makes the parallels between the children of Israel being rescued from bondage under the Egyptians – and us being rescued from the bondage under sin so poignantly clear. We honor the New Covenant in Jesus’ blood every time we take communion. I realize that. We remember his sacrifice for us – remember his death until he comes – just as he bade his followers to do in the early morning hours of their Friday morning – late evening on Thursday in our reckoning of time…we just may not personally experience the full impact of the message quite as dramatically in our sacramental symbols as we would in the full-meal-deal remembrance observed for Passover.
For my 'extra' today I'll share another of my poems:
CHOICES
by Lola Cain
My father came home with two hats and he said,
“Which color, my dear, shall I place on your head?”
I thoughtfully shrugged and replied, “I don’t care.
“Ask brother which one he prefers of the pair.”
And brother responded, as always was true,
“I want the one she wants.” So what could I do?
I promptly decided ‘I really want red,’
but quickly said, “I want the blue one” instead.
Then brother confirmed what I already knew
and cried out, “Oh, Daddy, I too want the blue.”
So sweetly, demurely and kindly I said,
“O K. He can have it. I’ll take red instead.”
When later the choice was for balls red or blue
Same question. Same answer. Same outcome was true.
The difference was – by now father knew
by my wink – I had gotten what I wanted, too.
The poem is based on fact. The hats were cowboy hats, and were brown and blue, instead of red and blue. I don’t remember the colors of the balls – but the principle is intact. My younger brother always responded, “I want the one Lola wants.” Now I recognize that imitation is the sincerest form of flattery and I treasure the warmth of when we were ‘young and very close.’ It is a time captured in memory.
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