CHAPTER 35

Matthew 26:1–30

LISTEN to the Story

¹When Jesus had finished saying all these things, he said to his disciples, ²“As you know, the Passover is two days away—and the Son of Man will be handed over to be crucified.”

³Then the chief priests and the elders of the people assembled in the palace of the high priest, whose name was Caiaphas, ⁴and they schemed to arrest Jesus secretly and kill him. ⁵“But not during the festival,” they said, “or there may be a riot among the people.”

⁶While Jesus was in Bethany in the home of Simon the Leper, ⁷a woman came to him with an alabaster jar of very expensive perfume, which she poured on his head as he was reclining at the table.

⁸When the disciples saw this, they were indignant. “Why this waste?” they asked. ⁹“This perfume could have been sold at a high price and the money given to the poor.”

¹⁰Aware of this, Jesus said to them, “Why are you bothering this woman? She has done a beautiful thing to me. ¹¹The poor you will always have with you, but you will not always have me. ¹²When she poured this perfume on my body, she did it to prepare me for burial. ¹³Truly I tell you, wherever this gospel is preached throughout the world, what she has done will also be told, in memory of her.”

¹⁴Then one of the Twelve—the one called Judas Iscariot—went to the chief priests ¹⁵and asked, “What are you willing to give me if I deliver him over to you?” So they counted out for him thirty pieces of silver. ¹⁶From then on Judas watched for an opportunity to hand him over.

¹⁷On the first day of the Festival of Unleavened Bread, the disciples came to Jesus and asked, “Where do you want us to make preparations for you to eat the Passover?”

¹⁸He replied, “Go into the city to a certain man and tell him, ‘The Teacher says: My appointed time is near. I am going to celebrate the Passover with my disciples at your house.’ ” ¹⁹So the disciples did as Jesus had directed them and prepared the Passover.

²⁰When evening came, Jesus was reclining at the table with the Twelve. ²¹And while they were eating, he said, “Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me.”

²²They were very sad and began to say to him one after the other, “Surely you don’t mean me, Lord?”

²³Jesus replied, “The one who has dipped his hand into the bowl with me will betray me. ²⁴The Son of Man will go just as it is written about him. But woe to that man who betrays the Son of Man! It would be better for him if he had not been born.”

²⁵Then Judas, the one who would betray him, said, “Surely you don’t mean me, Rabbi?”

Jesus answered, “You have said so.”

²⁶While they were eating, Jesus took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to his disciples, saying, “Take and eat; this is my body.”

²⁷Then he took a cup, and when he had given thanks, he gave it to them, saying, “Drink from it, all of you. ²⁸This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins. ²⁹I tell you, I will not drink from this fruit of the vine from now on until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father’s kingdom.”

³⁰When they had sung a hymn, they went out to the Mount of Olives.

Listening to the Text in the Story: Exodus 12:1–28; 21:32; 24:6–8; 29:7; Deuteronomy 15:11; 32:45–47; 1 Samuel 10:1; 2 Kings 9:3; Psalms 2:2; 22:1–24; 41:7–9; 133:2; Isaiah 25:6–9; 52:13–53:12; Jeremiah 31:31–34; Daniel 9:26; Zechariah 9:11; 11:10–13.

Jesus may not have known exactly when he would fulfill Daniel’s prophecy, appearing as the Son of Man reigning in heaven, ready to judge the nations (Matt 24:29–36). But he knew what it would take to get there: a cross before a crown, death before resurrection. He had told his disciples that many times before, warning them he would be killed in Jerusalem (16:21; 17:22–23; 20:18–19). Up to this point, he had never indicated precisely when he would die—only where. He also knew what would happen afterwards: he would be raised from the dead and one day “come in his Father’s glory with his angels” (16:21, 27). So, when the disciples asked, “When will this happen [the destruction of the temple], and what will be the sign of your coming and of the end of the age?” (24:3), Jesus could only give them a vague answer—one without a temporal referent—until now. For the first time, Jesus gave his disciples a timetable, linking his death—the event that would set in motion his parousia¹ as the king of Israel—to the Passover (26:2). Such information probably surprised the Twelve, for Jesus had just finished his lengthy remarks about all these things and never really answered their question “when?” (24:4–26:1). But now, with the holiday fast approaching, Jesus must have inferred that the timing of his death would coincide with Passover, even though his enemies were planning—at that very moment—not to kill him during the festival (26:3–5).

Their plan wasn’t complicated: “Arrest Jesus secretly and kill him” (v. 4). They knew it would be nearly impossible to seize Jesus by stealth during the Passover. There were a lot of people surrounding him all the time. Moreover, even if they tried to get him at night when there wasn’t a huge crowd around him, they would risk inciting a riot because he was so popular among the Galilean visitors (v. 5). Waiting until the weeklong festival was over was risky too: What if Jesus returned home after the holiday? Would they still be able to nab him before he left town? But then again, if Jesus were to leave Jerusalem, then their problems would be solved—at least until he came back. So, the chief priests and elders must have assumed Jesus was there to stay. After all, a man trying to claim David’s throne would need to stick around. Once his support system (the Galileans) left Jerusalem, the leaders would arrest Jesus and kill him, perhaps inciting fellow Jerusalemites to rise up and stone him (cf. Acts 7:54–58). He was their problem, and they were going to take care of him.

But Jesus knew better. He predicted that he would be “handed over to be crucified” during Passover (Matt 26:2). In other words, Jesus knew the Jewish leaders wouldn’t kill him by stealth.² Rather, they would “hand him over” to the Romans who would crucify him—a very public death, certainly not something that could be done “in secret.”³ Furthermore, Jesus knew the Romans would execute him during Passover. So, the chief priests and elders were wrong on both counts. How did he know that? According to Matthew, Jesus knew that Judas was about to make a deal to betray him (vv. 14–16, 21–25)—something the chief priests and elders hadn’t counted on. All Judas needed was an “opportunity to hand him over” (v. 16), which happened that very evening. Alone in the middle of the night in the garden of Gethsemane, Jesus put himself in a vulnerable position. With his disciples asleep (vv. 40, 43, 45), Jesus would be defenseless, praying by himself (vv. 39, 42, 44). Consequently, Judas would find the perfect opportunity to alert Jesus’s enemies, probably sneaking away while the disciples slept. Once the temple police showed up, everyone would wake up to see Judas innocuously greet Jesus like he probably had done many times before. Nobody would suspect that he was the betrayer—no one except Jesus (v. 46).

By the time it was over, Jesus was “handed over” several times “into the hands of sinners” (v. 45): once by Judas, once by the chief priests and the elders (27:2), and twice by the Roman procurator (vv. 26–27, 58).⁴ This invincible man appears more like a pawn in the hands of powerful men than the king destined to rule the world. Like any other commoner, Jesus will have fallen prey to tactics employed exclusively by elites: secrecy, bribery, betrayal, deceit, arrest, false witnesses, false charges, and execution.⁵ And yet, Matthew tells another story: Jesus knew what was going down. No one caught him by surprise. He wasn’t a victim of power politics. Instead, he was a willing sacrifice, laying down his life for the forgiveness of sins (26:28). He was following a script that had been written long ago, a narrative that would play out as a surprise to everyone but him. “The Son of Man will go just as it is written about him” (v. 24). Passover was the perfect time for God’s deliverer to save his people from their sins (1:21). And nobody saw it coming except Jesus.

EXPLAIN the Story

God had saved his people many times, from the desert, from enemy nations in and around the promised land (Canaanites, Jebusites, Edomites, Moabites, Midianites, and Philistines), and from threatening powers outside the land (Assyrians, Babylonians, Persians, Greeks, and Romans). But the high-water mark of God’s salvation, the ultimate act of deliverance of his people, happened when Israel was miraculously released from Egyptian slavery (Exod 3:1–14:31). Every year, there were several holidays to mark the occasion of God’s deliverance: from surviving the desert (Tabernacles) to entering the land (Pentecost). But the greatest holiday, the festival that commemorated the supreme act of salvation in the history of Israel, was Passover. It was also the most popular. The people might not make the trek to Jerusalem for the other two pilgrimage festivals. But they wouldn’t miss Passover and the Feast of Unleavened Bread—a weeklong celebration of the exodus that began with eating the paschal lamb and continued every night by consuming unleavened bread dipped in herbs. Just as Israel was required to participate in the tenth plague that resulted in their deliverance from the Egyptians—slathering their doorposts with the paschal lamb’s blood so that the death angel would “pass over” their home and not kill their firstborn son—so also later generations were commanded to participate in the Lord’s deliverance by reenacting the scene of the memorial meal (Exod 12:14–27).⁶ For a man whose name meant “The LORD Delivers,” it’s no wonder Jesus inferred that he would die during Passover in an act of God that would bring about an even greater salvation for Israel and the whole world. The death angel may pass over the homes of those who celebrate the feast on that holy night, but all firstborn sons eventually die. Therefore, Jesus knew that the approaching holiday meant one thing: “My appointed time is near” (Matt 26:18). To prepare for Passover was to prepare for his death.⁷

The chief priests and elders wanted him dead. To the disciple who betrayed him, Jesus was as good as dead. The disciples couldn’t imagine him dead. To the woman who anointed him, Jesus was already dead. The death of Jesus hangs like a pall over the entire story. From now on, the death of Jesus will be the focal point of Matthew’s Gospel. Jesus has been hinting at it for quite some time, even outright predicting it now and then. But now the time has come for Jesus to die. Everyone in Matthew’s narrative world will react differently to the death of Jesus. Some will weep, others will mock. Some will mourn, others will be shocked. Some will turn their heads, others will wash their hands. Some will help bury him, others will help kill him. All through the passion of the Christ, the reader can’t help but wonder: Does anyone see it? Does anyone get it? Is this just another senseless death, coming at the hands of despotic rulers? Did Jesus die in vain? Or will his death mean more than our predestined mortality—the fact that we’re all going to die? Since Jesus knew he was supposed to die, will anyone have eyes to see and ears to hear what it means—that his death will be the only one that really matters? Did he die alone, no one understanding why? Was there someone—anyone—who knew why Jesus would see it through?

The Woman Who Prepared Jesus for Burial

We don’t know her name. She came to Jesus while he was staying at Simon the Leper’s house in Bethany (Matt 26:6–7),⁸ a little village just outside of Jerusalem. We don’t even know why she did it. Even though it was customary to anoint the heads of guests before a meal,⁹ it must have been somewhat unusual (and perhaps a little difficult) to dump an entire vial of myrrh on someone’s head while they were eating. For special meals, guests would normally recline on pillows around a u-shaped table (called a triclinium), leaning on one arm as they ate and drank with the other. To get to Jesus’s head, the anonymous woman would have to intrude upon the group, squeezing between Jesus and one of his disciples, then kneel down on the pillow and pour the perfume on his head. A powerful aroma must have filled the room, perhaps even spoiling the taste of their meal. Who knows if the woman had interrupted conversation between Jesus and his disciples? They certainly had a lot to discuss, what with all of Jesus’s talk about his upcoming death by crucifixion. So, I wonder if Jesus was a little surprised along with the others. There he is with oil streaming down his face, the perfume perhaps dripping on the table and pillows, the woman still kneeling beside him, the room silent and filled with fragrance. The disciples eventually break the silence, indignant over the foolish behavior of this woman: “Why this waste?” (v. 8).

It could be inferred that the disciples were upset over the woman’s lavish gesture because she used too much myrrh for one guest.¹⁰ This is certainly implied by the first part of their criticism: “This perfume could have been sold at a high price and the money given to the poor” (v. 9, emphasis added). Other scholars think the disciples were upset over the wastefulness of such a luxurious act. Given Jesus’s concern for the poor, surely he would rather have used the proceeds as alms for the destitute—a common sentiment during Passover.¹¹ Yet I’m wondering if there’s more to it than that—especially in light of the way Jesus interpreted the ritual. He didn’t take it as the typical act of hospitality extended to a dinner guest. If that were her purpose, her foolishness would be evident in the volume of the perfume or the timing of the gesture: she poured too much on his head at the wrong time. Yet nowhere does Matthew say that the woman’s wastefulness had to do with an excessive amount of perfume (we import that detail from Mark’s account; see Mark 14:5). It was the act itself, pouring myrrh on Jesus’s head, that got the disciples riled up. In light of the way Jesus interpreted the woman’s gesture—she was preparing him for burial (Matt 26:12)—the “anointed one” knew why his disciples objected. Yes, she had anointed Jesus at the wrong time, but it had little to do with table customs. Yes, her luxurious act seemed to be wasted on Jesus, but it had little to do with the poor (“The poor you will always have with you,” v. 11; cf. Deut 15:11). Rather, by pouring myrrh (a perfume used on corpses before interment) on him, she was acting as if Jesus was already dead. That would certainly be wasteful, using burial spices on a man who was still very much alive—not to mention the fact that such an improper gesture would be incredibly offensive, especially to the disciples who had a hard time accepting the idea that Jesus was going to die. (It would be like a stranger asking your loved one who just found out they had cancer, “Have you picked out your casket?”) Perhaps it would seem to them like she had given up, resigned to the fact that Jesus’s enemies would win and that his disciples would just let it happen, unwilling to lay down their lives and fight for him (Matt 26:35, 51). Or perhaps they took it as her questioning their loyalty to Jesus, that even if he died they wouldn’t be around to bury him properly,¹² which is exactly what happened (27:57–61). Usually, victims of crucifixion didn’t receive proper burial, either because they were abandoned by the family or it was denied by Roman officials. Therefore, it would seem to the Twelve that the woman was following the advice, “Better to do what you can when you can. Besides, you can never count on a man to do a woman’s job.”¹³

Whether the woman had any of these intentions or not, her gesture makes perfect sense in Matthew’s narrative world.¹⁴ Jesus had just told the parable of the sheep and the goats where he describes how the royal Son of Man would become “the least of these” (25:37–40). Jesus also included this little wrinkle in the story: no one saw it coming, not the righteous or the wicked. Everyone was incredulous to the notion that the prince would become a pauper. Nevertheless, the parable came true. Jesus became the “least of these,” and no one could see how he would still be the king of Israel—not his disciples or his enemies. The Twelve ran like cowards; the rulers dismissed him as a fraud. The placard affixed above his head on the cross sarcastically proved the point (27:37): this is Jesus, the King of the Jews. Who would believe that? Well, there was one person who believed it, one woman who had ears to hear the parable and eyes to see Jesus coming into his kingdom. By preparing him for burial, she anointed him “king.”¹⁵ And, our Lord loved her for it (26:10–13). She was the first person to get it: messianic suffering must precede messianic glory.¹⁶ What she did revealed the heart of the gospel, and it was beautiful. For that reason alone, Jesus said everyone would remember her.¹⁷ Wherever we preach the gospel, we’ll thank God for her memorial. And yet, we don’t even know her name.

Thank you, lady, for being there for him. What you did was beautiful. We will never forget you, for you were the first to see his kingdom. “The King is dead. Long live the King.”

The Man Who Betrayed Jesus for Money

It comes as no surprise that Judas betrayed Jesus; Matthew already let us in on that secret a long time ago (Matt 10:4). As a reader, however, we’ve been waiting to see when it would happen. To this point, Judas hasn’t stood out at all; he’s been lurking in the background of Matthew’s Gospel. But here, all of the sudden, Judas appears front and center, having made a deal with Jesus’s enemies to betray him (26:14–16). We really don’t know why he did it other than the fact that he made a small profit from his betrayal. Thirty pieces of silver is a paltry sum¹⁸ compared to the value of the perfume poured on Jesus (echoes of Zech 11:10–13?).¹⁹ This makes us wonder. If all Judas wanted out of life was a little cash, why would he follow Jesus at all? Sure, Jesus excited the crowds with his power. But he was also the kind of Messiah who talked about giving up everything for the kingdom, especially money. In fact, Jesus was fairly hard on wealthy people; they didn’t have much of a chance of entering the kingdom (Matt 19:21–24). If Judas was money hungry, why would he stick around this long? Shouldn’t he have left Jesus long before they got to Jerusalem?

Perhaps Judas hoped following Jesus would pay off in the end. He counted on Jesus’s words coming true, that he and the other disciples would eventually sit on twelve thrones, receiving hundred times more in the kingdom come (19:28–29). Yet once they arrived to Jerusalem, everything changed. Jesus started acting like he had a death wish. A dead Messiah would hardly be able to deliver on the promise of the kingdom coming to earth. So perhaps that’s why Judas bailed. After Jesus made it clear that he was resigned to his own fate—that he would die in Jerusalem—Judas gave up on the dream of the poor realizing kingdom riches on earth.²⁰ Indeed, Jesus seemed to confirm the same: “The poor you will always have with you, but you will not always have me” (26:11). Affirming the woman’s wasteful gesture was the last straw. That surprised the disciples. But what must have been even more astonishing to them was when Jesus chided them for their lack of vision. Jesus didn’t think it was a good idea to sell the perfume to help the poor? “Really?” I imagine Judas (and the rest of the disciples) thinking, “Who’s lost perspective now? If the poor will always be around, then what’s the point of the kingdom come—especially when the one man powerful enough to make it happen is resigned to die?”

We’ll never know whether Judas was disillusioned with Jesus in light of recent events. But the way Matthew tells the story, moving quickly from the woman’s “wasteful” gesture to Judas’s bargain with the chief priests, readers can’t help but connect the dots. One thing led to the other. It looks like Judas was fed up and took matters into his own hands. But that’s not the whole story according to Matthew. Evidently, we’re supposed to learn a lesson by comparing the two, contrasting the woman’s generosity with Judas’s opportunistic move to score a little money. Judas sold out, and the woman poured out, both apparently motivated by the imminent death of Jesus. Jesus’s plan to follow the divine script—to make a covenant with his own blood for the forgiveness of sins—provoked different reactions. One wanted to help out, the other was determined to cash out. Caught in between these polar opposites were the eleven disciples, confused by both the woman’s strange behavior and Jesus’s troubling announcement: “Truly I tell you, one of you will betray me” (26:21). The disciples were not only convinced the woman was wrong (vv. 8–9), but they even questioned whether Jesus was right: “Surely you don’t mean me, Lord?” (v. 22). Rather than point out the betrayer (“It’s Judas, isn’t it?”), the disciples couldn’t believe that a member of their group would do such a dastardly deed. The chief priests? Yes. The elders of the people? Probably. Perhaps even one of the crowd who followed along with Jesus and the Twelve. But surely not one of them—somebody who walked with them, ate with them, bedded down at night with them. But Jesus stated the matter plainly: “The one who has dipped his hand into the bowl with me will betray me” (v. 23).²¹ Of all people, one of the twelve men whom Jesus chose to follow him would betray him, having given up on the dream of the kingdom of heaven coming to earth.

Their Last Meal Together (For a While)

There is nothing in Matthew’s version of the Last Supper that indicates Jesus intended for his followers to continue to observe the meal as a memorial. That idea shows up in Luke’s Gospel, where Jesus counted on his disciples to “do this in remembrance of me” (Luke 22:19)—an expectation promoted by Paul as well (1 Cor 11:24). In fact, Paul interpreted our observance of the memorial as a proclamation of the gospel (v. 26). Every time we eat the bread and drink the cup we not only preach what Christ has done (his death) but also what he will do (come again). In that light, the Last Supper becomes the Lord’s Supper, a meal hosted by the absent-but-still-present-and-coming Christ. Yet, here, that doesn’t seem to be Matthew’s intent. Instead, the purpose of the meal was for Jesus to reveal the betrayer (Matt 26:20–25), to reinterpret parts of the Passover meal (vv. 26–28), and to help his disciples realize that this would be their last meal together (v. 29)—but it wouldn’t be the end. Jesus promised his disciples that the kingdom of God would come to earth one day, and then they would celebrate together once again. In the meantime, a lot would happen, and Jesus used the occasion of the Passover to help his disciples make sense of the inexplicable: how a disciple’s betrayal and the death of the Son of Man would accomplish the will of God. Up to this point, Jesus had relied exclusively upon words to prepare his disciples for his upcoming death. But this night Jesus used food to make his point. The disciples would not only need ears to hear and eyes to see the reign of God; they would use hands to hold and mouths to eat and drink their way into the kingdom.

It is a stunning fact that Jesus would share his last meal on earth with a traitor. Why would he do it? Wouldn’t it have made better sense to get rid of the bum before Jesus reclined at table with his disciples? Since he already knew Judas was the one who would betray him, why didn’t Jesus expose the rat earlier that evening? Take care of the matter before it spoiled the holiday meal—that would have been my approach. The last thing I would want to do is eat with him. Indeed, when I think about it now, I can’t stand the idea of sharing a meal with an enemy pretending to be my friend. Just looking at the scoundrel would make me so angry I’d lose my appetite. “Look at him! This man acts like we’re friends, all cozied up to the table and chomping on bread—like he doesn’t have a care in the world. The hypocrite! Sure, guzzle down the wine, you parasitic leech. Go ahead! Stuff your face like it’s your last meal, you heartless animal. You make me sick. How could you eat at a time like this?” At that point, nauseated by the whole thing, I would have exposed the traitor, humiliating him in front of everyone. “Do you see this guy? He’s already made a deal with the devil, prepared to hand me over to my enemies like a coward.” Or, if I were as clever as Jesus, I would tell a parable about a wolf in sheep’s clothing. Then, like Nathan did to king David, I would expose the fraud, pointing my finger at him with righteous indignation while exclaiming, “You’re the man!” But Jesus did none of those things. Instead, rather discreetly he let everyone know there was a traitor among them.²² Each disciple persisted in protesting his innocence, but Jesus didn’t identify the guilty party. Even when Judas joined the chorus of “surely you don’t mean me,” Jesus enigmatically replied, “You have said so” (v. 25).²³ That’s it. No dramatic confrontation. No climactic revelation. Jesus left it to them to figure out who would make his words come true:²⁴ “Woe to that man who betrays the Son of Man! It would be better for him if he had not been born” (v. 24)—words that must have echoed in Judas’s ears when he hung himself (27:5), a prophecy coming true. For a cursed death was interpreted as God’s final indictment of a wasted life.

Rather than celebrate Passover with his family according to custom, Jesus had arranged with a “certain man” to eat the memorial meal with his disciples, his new family (26:17–19).²⁵ It is unclear whether the meal included the paschal lamb; Matthew never mentions it.²⁶ Other elements of the meal, unleavened bread and wine, were consumed every night throughout the weeklong festival. Evidently, the bread and the cup were the only things Jesus needed to reinterpret the significance of this holiday. (Paul could imagine a better correlation had Jesus wanted to compare himself to the paschal lamb! See 1 Cor 5:7). Treating his disciples like family, Jesus played the role of the host and explained the meaning of the meal. But no one had ever interpreted the bread and the wine like he did that night. The unleavened bread—also known as the “bread of affliction”—was supposed to remind Israel of their hasty exit from Egypt (Exod 12:39; Deut 16:3). Jesus claimed the bread, broken into pieces for them to eat as their last meal together, was his body (Matt 26:26). A usually joyful celebration of God’s deliverance of his people suddenly turned into a morbidly strange ritual. Why would Jesus make his disciples eat “his body”—an odd and surely offensive analogy?²⁷ To be sure, bread was often associated with death; the bread of consolation was usually given to grieving families after the funeral, to encourage them to carry on with their lives (Jer 16:7; Ezek 24:17). But Jesus took the “bread of affliction” and turned it into the bread of consolation, making his disciples eat it before his death. He also gave new meaning to a cup of wine used during Passover and offered it along with the bread of consolation, saying, “This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins” (Matt 26:28)—a bizarre idea to the Jewish mind given all the legal prohibitions of drinking blood (Lev 17:10–14). Eating his body, drinking his blood—the only thing more offensive would be for the Messiah, the king of Israel, to die a cursed death. How could anyone find consolation in that?

It is one of the great ironies of the gospel story: both Jesus and his betrayer would die a cursed death: “Anyone who is hung on a pole is under God’s curse” (Deut 21:23). Moreover, Jesus predicted both: he would be crucified and Judas’s destiny would be filled with such woe that it would have been better if he had never lived (a sad inference often made by those who intend to commit suicide). The difference, of course, is that Jesus’s death was according to God’s will, a sacrifice that would effect a new covenant for the forgiveness of sins (Matt 26:28).²⁸ Judas, on the other hand, experienced such remorse he couldn’t imagine finding forgiveness for his sin (27:3–4) even though his betrayal was revealed at the table of forgiveness (26:20–28). But Judas wasn’t the only sinner at the table. In fact, Jesus predicted that all of his disciples would “fall away on account of me” (v. 31) and that Peter would deny him three times that very night (v. 34). When Jesus passed around the cup of forgiveness and said, “Drink from it, all of you” (even Judas?), he knew they needed it. They all needed to drink. They all needed God’s forgiveness. They all needed Jesus’s blood to be “poured out for many.” Indeed, their last supper together would be the one meal they would always need until the last day: the bread of consolation, the wine of forgiveness. Eat, drink, and be forgiven, for tomorrow he dies.

LIVE the Story

Death always ruins the holidays. Families reunite, but no one is celebrating. A feast is prepared, but no one is hungry. Laughter usually associated with the holidays is tempered with unspeakable grief. When the family gathers around the table for the holiday meal, the empty chair reminds everyone things will never be the same again. People pick at their plates. Everyone has their head down, trying to push through the ritual. The conversation wanders aimlessly until someone says what everyone is thinking: “I sure miss. . . .” Tears, memories, heartache, loss. It looks like Thanksgiving, but gratitude is hard to come by. Carolers come to the door to sing about Christmas joy, but the grieving family would rather hide away in sorrow. The whole world may be feasting, but who can eat at a time like this? No one should have to bury their loved one during the holidays. But death is irrepressibly intrusive, even during the most sacred times.

But then there’s Easter. It’s the one holiday where celebrating life in the face of death doesn’t seem cold or hard-hearted. It’s the only time when talk about death around the holiday meal doesn’t sound morbid. It’s because Jesus died during Passover. His disciples were obliged to eat unleavened bread because his body would be broken for them. They all drank from the same cup of wine because they needed his sacrifice for the forgiveness of sins. They couldn’t see it at the time, but this somber occasion would become a festival of joy because Jesus, the Messiah, would die for the sins of the whole world—even betrayers. Yet more than that, Jesus told them that this wouldn’t be the end. Even with a traitor at the table and talk of his imminent death dominating the conversation, Jesus tried to lighten their heavy hearts: “I tell you, I will not drink from this fruit of the vine from now on until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father’s kingdom” (Matt 26:29). Death would not have the last word. Jesus would drink with them again, in the kingdom, when sin and death are no more. That should be reason enough not only to keep eating and drinking but also to keep singing. Having heard once again that death would not win, that his crucifixion wouldn’t be the end of the story, they all sang hymns (probably Psalms 113–118)²⁹ before they walked out together into the darkness of that fateful night (Matt 26:30). Yes, Jesus would be betrayed. Yes, Jesus would be handed over to his enemies. Yes, the Romans would humiliate him and kill him mercilessly. His body would be broken, his blood poured out for many. The shepherd would be struck down, and the sheep would be scattered. But Jesus promised them he would see them again in Galilee, a shepherd gathering his sheep (vv. 31–32). Death may try to ruin the holidays, but this would be the holiday that marks the ruin of death once and for all.

When the disciples gathered to celebrate Passover the next year, did they notice the empty place at the table and remember the night Jesus was betrayed, took bread, broke it, and gave it to them to eat? When they gathered for Passover in Jerusalem every year, did memories of that fateful night flood their minds, inspiring them to recall Jesus’s reinterpretation of the Passover meal? When a child came up to them during the meal and asked, “What does this ceremony mean to you?” (Exod 12:26), did the disciples add to the story of the exodus of Israel from Egyptian slavery the good news of the deliverance of God’s people from sin and death through Jesus Christ? When they preached the good news during Passover, did they also remember her—the woman who prepared Jesus for burial before he died? Evidently so, because here we are, two-thousand years later, gathering around a table of bread and wine, celebrating the new covenant, preaching the good news of Jesus Christ, remembering him and her—all because we have eyes to read the Gospel of Matthew, ears to hear the stories of the faithful who have gone before us, hands to hold one another in communion, and mouths to eat and drink our way into the kingdom.

When we celebrated communion in my childhood Baptist church, it felt like someone had died. Even though we observed the Lord’s Supper every three months—I knew the routine well—in my mind it seemed like we were conducting a funeral. The organ played somber music, the kind we often hear looping through the sound system of funeral homes. The elements on the communion table, covered with a crisply ironed white sheet, looked like a draped coffin situated front and center. Everyone sitting quietly in the pews whispering to each other, waiting for the minister to appear and start the service, reading the same passages of Scripture associated with the occasion—all of these things reminded me of our sacred rituals dealing with death. Then I would think about him—the deceased. My mind would rush to the crowded streets of Jerusalem, reliving what it must have felt like to carry his cross through the mob gathered to watch the spectacle. I would see him, exhausted from the beating, stumbling toward his destiny. I would see the people, some gasping in horror, others cursing at him in disgust. Then I would look at my hands, holding the little, pill-shaped piece of unleavened bread, hearing the preacher quote Jesus, “Take and eat; this is my body,” wincing at the thought of nail-pierced hands. I was only a child, but I couldn’t help but feel sorry for my sin, having heard many times in church that Jesus died because of us. Having lost my appetite, I didn’t feel like eating at all.

Then, all of the sudden, the mood would change dramatically. Once we finished eating and drinking, the minister would invite us to stand and sing a congregational hymn, usually a peppy number, always reminding us that Jesus ended the first Lord’s Supper by having the disciples sing a hymn. The organist would hit the keys with staccato-like rhythm—sounding like the rousing music heard during professional baseball games. Soft tones and hushed songs would give way to hearty voices gladly belting out the melodic notes of the cheery hymn: “I will sing the wondrous story, of the Christ who died for me. . . .” Then, it was over. Kids would run through the pews during the unofficial contest to see who could collect the most cups. Adults would gather in little groups to make plans for their “after-church fellowship.” And I would stand there a little dazed, suffering from slight emotional whiplash, wondering how we could move so quickly from grief to celebration. Of course, I knew the resurrection of Jesus made it all better. Yet I never felt like I had enough time to deal with the grief of my sin and his death—especially when I became a teenager. Now, as an adult, our time of lamentation flies by far too fast for a man who knows too well the heartache of his sin and the necessity of a covenant sealed by blood.

Since those days, I’ve celebrated communion with several different denominations of Christians, being introduced to new traditions and meaningful rituals. We never “passed the peace” in my Baptist church, but I’ve come to appreciate the significance of that moment even more. And whenever I’m with brothers and sisters who offer the bread with the words, “This is his body broken for you,” then they pass the cup and say, “The blood of the new covenant shed for you,” I drink it up like fresh hope. For some reason, those words pierce my heart with joy as the taste of bread and wine lingers in my mouth. Yet, despite all these new experiences around the Lord’s table, regardless of how the congregation is led to observe communion—whether joyful or reflective—I repeat the childhood habit of reimagining the sacrifice of Jesus. Joy mingles with sorrow, and I can barely sing the hymn.

He was broken for us. His blood was poured out for the forgiveness of sins. Until the day we drink the cup with him in our Father’s kingdom, we shall sing of the wondrous story of the Christ who died and was raised for every single one of us—even as we go together into the darkness of the night.

1. Luz writes that “Jesus’s suffering is the beginning of his victory” (Matthew, 3:332–33).

2. Luz notes that murder committed by deceit (the word Matthew used was dolos, 26:4) was unpardonable according to rabbinical law (Exod 21:14); see Matthew, 3:332.

3. Keener, Matthew, 617.

4. Bruner, Matthew, 2:594.

5. Malina and Rohrbaugh, Synoptic Gospels, 152.

6. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:470.

7. For parallels between the Last Supper and the exodus narrative, see Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:477–78.

8. Turner infers that Jesus’s willingness to eat at Simon’s home reveals that he had already healed the leper (Matthew, 619; so also France, Matthew, 974). Yet in light of the fact that he’s still known as “Simon the Leper,” could Matthew be pointing out another example of Jesus’s revolutionary ideas about purity and mercy, i.e., that Jesus would eat with a leper? See Bruner, Matthew, 2:599–600.

9. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:445.

10. See Bruner, Matthew, 2:602; by combining John’s version (12:1–8) with Matthew’s account, Blomberg pictures the woman pouring a large amount of perfume—anointing his entire body—from his head to his feet (Matthew, 384).

11. Keener, Matthew, 618–20.

12. According to Jewish piety, burial was the greatest act of benevolence; see Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:446.

13. Most of the preparations associated with burial and funerals were performed by women; therefore, “the unknown woman in Bethany does precisely what the women at the tomb no longer need to do: she anoints the body of Jesus” (Luz, Matthew, 3:329).

14. So also Bruner, Matthew, 2:386; contra Luz, who sees the story of the woman anointing Jesus as having “no connection to its context” (Matthew, 3:329). Therefore, he dismisses those who interpret the story as an insightful gesture—preparing Jesus for burial—as “superficial” (ibid., 342).

15. “Jesus is the messianic King whose throne is a cross” (Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:448).

16. According to Stagg (referenced by Blomberg, Matthew, 385), both the woman and Judas were the first two persons to believe Jesus was going to die.

17. “Her act will be viewed as meritorious because she is involved in the burial of a king” (Talbert, Matthew, 286–87).

18. Depending upon the denomination, worth perhaps four months’ wages; see Davies and Allison, Matthew 3:452–53.

19. Turner, Matthew, 621.

20. So also Keener, Matthew, 621; France, Matthew, 978.

21. The phrase “the one who has dipped his hand into the bowl with me” (an aorist participle) can be interpreted in at least three ways: 1) the one who is currently dipping his hand in the bowl with me (Luz, Matthew, 3:359); 2) the one who dipped his hand in the bowl at the same time as I—a past event recalled by Jesus that only he and Judas noticed but was lost on the Twelve (Nolland, Matthew, 1067); or 3) a general remark implicating all the disciples (Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:461–62).

22. Chrysostom thinks that Jesus concealed the matter to give Judas a chance to repent (Homilies, 486).

23. The phrase can be taken a couple of ways, either as a qualified “yes” or a coy “that’s what you say”; see Bruner, Matthew, 2:618–19. “Jesus had to find a reply that was not a yes, a no, or a no comment. . . . The reply manages at once to tell Judas ‘yes’ and to tell the disciples, if they should overhear it, nothing clear at all” (ibid., 2:619).

24. Some scholars suggest Judas tipped his hand by calling Jesus “Rabbi” (a title that is only used by Jesus’s enemies in Matthew), or because he dipped his hand in the bowl at the same time as Jesus, or because Jesus responded to no one but him—the last disciple to protest his innocence; for a summary of the discussion, see Luz, Matthew, 3:360–63.

25. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 3:458; Malina and Rohrbaugh, Synoptic Gospels, 155.

26. See the discussion in Keener, Matthew, 622–23.

27. So also Keener, Matthew, 632.

28. “Why can it have been that He ordained this sacrament then, at the time of the passover? . . . The evening is a sure sign of the fullness of times, and that the things were now come to the very end. . . . And thus the very chief of the feasts He brings to an end” (Chrysostom, Homilies, 491).

29. Evans, Matthew, 432.