How Deep, How Broad, How High is the Lord’s Love at the Table.
His death lay just ahead, and He knew it. Jesus knew that the road before Him led to Jerusalem for the last time. He knew He would be betrayed by one of His own. He knew He would be condemned, beaten and slain. He knew this would be His final Passover. He knew He would not drink the cup with His disciples again until the great feast of the world to come.
You feel a sense of the earnestness. In fact, in Luke’s Gospel, Jesus even says, “I have earnestly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer.” Before all the bitter sufferings and pangs of death begin, Jesus earnestly desires to institute a new meal among them—a life-giving feast of His true body and blood.
There is something so warm and comforting about being the host of a good meal. Maybe that is why so many people dream of opening their own restaurant. Perhaps you have been to a place where the owner greets you at the door, wanders from table to table, chats kindly with guests, and makes sure everything feels just right. Over spring break, on our way to Lake Buchannan, my family and I stopped at a little Chinese restaurant in Lampasas called Mei Yuan. The restaurant was owned and run by a Chinese immigrant who pulled up a chair and told us his story. He had accidentally found his way into cooking. But his restaurant had taken off and it was so obvious he truly loved what he was doing. Serving others good food was his passion. And the more we talked with him, the more dishes he brought out for us to try. He was especially excited about the new recipes he had been experimenting with—a delicious carrot soup, and even some Chinese dishes with a Texas twist, like spring rolls with jalapeño and BBQ brisket. He seemed genuinely happy to see our family enjoying his food.
In a similar way, because Jesus was both true God and true man, you can see His humanity so beautifully in the earnestness, the attention to detail, and the love with which our Lord hosts that last evening with His disciples. He tenderly washes their feet, prepares the Passover meal, and serves them the Lord’s Supper. There is something so deeply moving about the care He shows them. His humanity shines through so clearly in the quiet, loving way He serves those He loves.
But this meal also reminds us of the tender heart of Christ as true God. It shows us what God is like toward His creation, even though all creation is sinful and broken. All through the Bible, God seems to delight in sharing a meal and having fellowship with His people. We can see it right from the beginning, in the Garden of Eden. There, God planted the Tree of Life, and unlike the Tree of the Knowledge of Good and Evil, He wanted Adam and Eve to keep coming back to it and eating from it often. It is such a beautiful and almost surprising gift when you stop to think about it. Adam and Eve lived in a world with no death. They were made in God’s image, and they already enjoyed life in abundance. And yet, God still invited them to eat from the Tree of Life and receive life with Him and from Him often.
Later, in Genesis 18, the Lord appears with two angels at Abraham’s tent and shares a meal with this spiritual forefather of the faith. Again, later in the book of Exodus, God promises to be with His people as they offer up bread and wine in the morning and evening sacrifices. And there is also that wonderful moment at Mount Sinai, when God gives Moses the law and has Moses sprinkle the people with blood. Then Moses and the seventy elders go up the mountain and eat and drink before the Lord. The book of Exodus clearly says they “saw the God of Israel” there on the mountain. It seems that heaven itself literally opened for a moment, and through that window the beheld The Almighty. Yet God did not stretch out His hand against them, but drew near to them, welcoming them into His presence. What an incredible and lovely foreshadowing of the Lord’s Supper.
You know, sometimes I think we forget this when we come to the altar rail: that this is a feast wrapped up in love and welcome. We don’t always give that enough attention. When we talk and teach about Holy Communion, we rightly emphasize what this meal is — Christ’s true body and blood, in, with, and under the bread and wine. We emphasize the blessing it gives — forgiveness for our sins, life, and salvation. We talk about what makes us worthy to receive such gifts — knowing our need for forgiveness and trusting in the promises of our Lord. But one thing we don’t always spend as much time talking about, at least not directly, is how much love is given here in this meal.
And yet, so much of our hymnody does speak that way. Consider the verse we sang earlier:
By faith I call Thy holy Table,
The testament of Thy deep love;
For, lo, thereby I now am able
To see how love Thy heart doth move.
Lord, may Thy body and Thy blood
Be for my soul the highest good!
What love it must be that Jesus would welcome sinners like you and me into His presence to receive such a precious gift—and even Peter, who, just a little later, would renounce Him and say he did not know Him. And yet Jesus not only permits this; our Lord, who bled and died for you and me, meets us here again and again, faithfully and gently, in this holy meal.
Throughout Lent, we’ve been tracing the great, spacious love of God for us in Christ. And on this Maundy Thursday, consider this: because God is so rich in mercy, He gives us what the whole world is aching for. What every heart is quietly longing for. What poets have tried to put into words and singers have sung about for generations. What is it? True love.
And I don’t mean the kind of love you find in fairy tales or sentimental movies. No, I mean the real thing. The deep, steady, perfect love for which we were made and which we will enjoy forever in the world to come. To be truly known. Truly welcomed. Truly belonging. To be cherished, delighted in, and embraced.
And here it is—in Christ. Here at this table, our Lord meets us, fully and freely, out of love. There is no law here. There is no condemnation.
Just a little nibble of bread, just a small sip of wine—and with it, Christ’s body and blood. It may not seem like much of a meal—just a bite and a sip. But how much of Christ do we really need? Whether it’s a little or a lot—when it is Christ Himself, it is more than enough. He is everything our souls have been longing for.
And even in these small, simple tastes, we receive the vast love of God—the kind of love too deep to measure, too wide to take in all at once. Perhaps it is fitting that for now we receive only a taste, really just a foretaste, of what is to come. In fact, consider how lovely it is that both Mark and Matthew tell us that on that night Jesus said, “I will not drink again of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in my Father’s kingdom.”
That is the day we are all longing for—the day when the wine will flow freely, the tables will be full, and the air will be alive with song, reunion, fellowship, and laughter. Sinners like you and me, gathered in the presence of God, welcomed into His joy.
And perhaps on that day we will hear our Lord Jesus say, “Bring the wine—the fruit of the vine—for today I drink with you.” Perhaps we will hear Him say, “I have longed to share this feast with you.” And perhaps, in that holy gladness, our Lord Himself will lift a toast to true love—His love spelled out for us in suffering and sacrifice and blood.
But that will be the focus of our worship tomorrow night.
In Jesus’ name. Amen.
O Lord, open my lips... 