We moved the time of this service back to 7:30 p.m. For years, 7:30 was the time. A few years ago, we moved the starting time to 7:00 p.m. Families with young children requested this. They desired an early service in order to get their kids to bed. This seemed reasonable so we moved the service to 7:00.  All was well until daylight savings time was instituted in Indiana. Last year, the universal feeling was, “It wasn’t dark enough.” “Maundy Thursday should be dark” one of our elders said to me. “I like the darkness.”

            I questioned his theology. Darkness after all is a biblical metaphor for being lost, for ignorance, for evil and sin. “We aren’t people of darkness. We are people of the light. Don’t you remember? Just a few months ago we read, ‘The people walking in darkness have seen a great light….For unto us a child is born, to us a son is given…..” He came back at me, “Don’t give me that Christmas stuff on Holy Week. Holy Week is about darkness.”  I didn’t let up. Au contraire, I offered, trying to do my best imitation of Baptist sword drill. Colossians 1:12-13. Give “thanks to the Father, who has qualified you to share in the inheritance of the saints in the kingdom of light. For he has rescued us from the dominion of darkness….” Before he could respond I pressed on, “1 John 1: 5-6:  “God is light; in him there is no darkness at all.  If we claim to have fellowship with him yet walk in the darkness, we lie and do not live by the truth.”

            I stood before him smug, proud that I’d made my point. He just shook his head and said, “Everybody knows that when it comes to Maundy Thursday, there is power in the darkness.”     I suppose one could argue that he won the argument. We moved the service to 7:30 in hopes that we’ll find the darkness at the end of this service. But the conversations haunted me so, in addition to pushing the service back an hour, I decided to preach on the power that darkness. I admit that I do so with a degree of trepidation. Many years ago, I preached a sermon which overused the metaphor of darkness as evil. In the congregation at that time was a dear friend who is African American. In a very gentle way, she shared with me the history of using the biblical imagery of darkness to support prejudiced opinions and slavery. I have been careful in using it since and encourage us tonight to keep this in the back of our minds. Recognizing this limitation of the image, it is helpful to note that metaphor of light and darkness is found in all religions. We see it as a biblical metaphor found throughout the Old Testament as well as the New Testament. It is a particularly important metaphor for John, both in his gospel and in his letters. John is the one that reports that Jesus is “The Light of the World” and he says, this “Light shines in the darkness and the darkness did not overcome it.” (John 1: 5)

            While darkness is important tonight, the Last Supper begins in the light of day. Jesus instructs his disciples, specifically Peter and John, to prepare the Passover meal. This isn’t the first meal that his disciples shared. Luke’s Gospel delights in portraying Jesus at meals. There are numerous meals with sinners that provoked the ire of his opponents (Luke 15:1-2). There is the feeding of the five thousand on five loaves of bread and two fish. (Luke 9:10-17). There is the supper at the house of Simon the Pharisee where the woman anoints Jesus and washes his feet with her tears and dries them with her hair. (Luke 7:36-50). Having a meal with Jesus wasn’t unusual and preparing the Passover meal wouldn’t have seemed out of the ordinary. They had traveled to Jerusalem for the Passover. Not to prepare the feast celebrating the liberation of Israel would have seemed strange. We know that this is more than just another holiday banquet, the disciples do not. For them, it is just the Passover, one of at least three they have shared together. They are in the dark, so to speak, about what is going to happen.

            As the meal begins, Jesus tries to explain this to them. To use the metaphor, Jesus tries to shed some light on what is going to happen.  "I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer. For I tell you, I will not eat it again until it finds fulfillment in the kingdom of God." (Luke 22:15-16)  This is his last supper with them and even though he alerts them to this fact, they don’t believe him. In fact, they are so clueless that they begin having an argument about who is the greatest. From our vantage point, it is shocking behavior. Can’t they see what is about to happen? No, they are clearly in the dark and there is power in the darkness.

            Another way of saying this is, “ignorance is bliss.” One of the biblical images of darkness is ignorance. The Psalmist writes, “They know nothing, they understand nothing. They walk about in darkness.”(Psalm 82:5) In the gospel of John, Jesus spends much of the last supper, teaching the disciples. He says, ‘The man who walks in darkness doesn’t know where he is going.” (John 12:35b) Of course, they don’t know where they are going. They don’t know that this evening leads to his betrayal. They don’t know that he will be mocked, tried, convicted and nailed to a cross in less than 24 hours.

            I’ve had the experience of a Last Supper many times. Actually, I’ve had the experience of last breakfasts and last lunches and last suppers. Without knowing it, I have shared a last meal with someone and then, lost that friend or church member a few days later or even once, in a matter of hours.  On each occasion, I’ve thought: “I wish I’d known when we were having lunch, that it was our last supper. I would have acted differently or said something else.” But I know this isn’t true. I know there is power in not knowing. Being in the dark, you can act as if everything is all right. You can act as if life will continue on forever, as if there will always be another meal together. There is power is walking in the darkness of ignorance because you don’t have to face the truth. The disciples“…know nothing, they understand nothing. They walk about in darkness” arguing about who is greatest.

            As the sun begins to set on the Last Supper, darkness begins to creep out of the corners and into the center of the room. Because the Light is still in the room, we can see even if they can’t.  The one who is going to betray Jesus is at this table and they began to question among themselves which of them it might be. In our minds eye, when we think of the art of the Last Supper, we recall Leonardo daVinci’s Last Supper. It is the famous but maybe not the most interesting. I like the depictions of the Last Supper, and there are many, where you see the play of the light and darkness. William Blake’s The Last Supper, for instance, which hangs in our National Gallery, shows Judas hiding in the shadows while the darkness begins to envelope the disciples as they question one another, “Is it I?” In the shadowy world of self-delusion, they can’t imagine betrayal.  

 

            The Bible uses darkness as a metaphor for sin. Paul says, “Take no part in the worthless deeds of evil and darkness; instead, rebuke and expose them.” (Ephesians 5:11) But is there any need to expose something that is hidden from others? I don’t know about you, but I like my sin hidden. I don’t have any need for you to see it. In fact, we all like our sin covered up.

            Dallas Willard writes about a 2-and-a-half-year-old girl in her backyard who one day discovered the secret to making mud (which she called "warm chocolate"). Her grandmother had been reading and was facing away from the action, but after cleaning up what was to her a mess, she told little Larissa not to make any more chocolate and turned her chair around so as to be facing her granddaughter.

            The little girl soon resumed her "warm chocolate" routine, with one request posed as sweetly as a 2-and-a-half-year-old can make it: "Don't look at me, Nana. Okay?" Nana (being a little co-dependent) of course agreed. Larissa continued to manufacture warm chocolate. Three times she said, as she continued her work, "Don't look at me, Nana. Okay?"  Willard writes: "Thus the tender soul of a little child shows us how necessary it is to us that we be unobserved in our wrong."

            Any time we choose to do wrong or to withhold doing right, we choose hiddenness, we choose darkness and we sin.  It may be that out of all the prayers that are ever spoken, the most common one—the quietest one; the one that we least acknowledge making—is simply this: Don't look at me, God. It was the very first prayer spoken after the Fall. God came to walk in the garden, to be with the man and the woman, and called, "Where are you?" "I heard you in the garden, and I was afraid," Adam answered, "so I hid." Don't look at me, God.[i]

            Don’t look at me Jesus, says Peter. I’ll never betray you. I’m hiding in the darkness with my brothers around this table. We know Peter will betray Jesus, deny knowing him. We know that Judas will betray him. Sell him for 30 pieces of silver. We know the disciples will betray him. They will all run and hide in the darkness.

            They leave the upper room and head into the Kidron Valley. Darkness surrounds Jesus. He needs to strengthen himself. He asks them to pray for him even as he goes and prays with such fervor that his sweat turns to blood. Again, in visual art and film, the darkness engulfs Jesus save for the nimbus of light around his head.

 But this darkness isn’t dark enough because the disciples have sought to find even greater darkness, the darkness of sleep. “Why are you sleeping?" he asked them. "Get up and pray so that you will not fall into temptation.” But darkness is tempting. It has power. Paul says, “The night is almost gone; the day of salvation will soon be here. So don't live in darkness. Get rid of your evil deeds” (Romans 13: 12) Easy for Paul to write. He is on the other side of Easter. But on this side of Easter, when the night is still young, we know that darkness has power.

            Even Jesus know this because as he was still speaking, the crowd arrives, led by Judas. With a kiss he is betrayed, he is arrested and Jesus names the night…this is your hour—the power of darkness!  

            The power of darkness! “Maundy Thursday should be dark. I like the darkness.”  Of course you do. We all do. Darkness hides our actions, sometimes so sufficiently that we can’t even recognize them ourselves.

            One of my professors, James Sanders, in writing about this night, pointed out that Judas’ worst fault was that he took the advice of the church leaders of his day and for services rendered received an honorarium.

            The church leaders’ worst fault was an effort to save the church and state of their day from political... disaster at the hands of the Roman legions.

            Peter’s worst fault in his denying his Lord was that he followed him to his trial, whereas the others had not.

            Pilate’s worst fault was in abstaining from making a decision he rightly felt incompetent to make.             The Roman soldiers’ worst fault was in their obedience to the orders to which they were assigned.

            Sanders point is that none of us would knowingly betray Jesus any more than would the twelve. But, he says, every hand at the table tonight is the hand of a betrayer. [ii]  

            Not I, you say. Before your protest your betrayal consider the lies we tell to one another in order not to hurt or destroy the trust or relationship even if the lies hurt not nonetheless.

            Consider how we hold fragile marriages together for the sake of the children, at some loss to both the children and ourselves.

            Consider how we abuse our health - smoke and drink too much and run our bodies into the ground working countless hours, as we exploit the idea that God will take care of us even if we don’t.

            Or consider how we ignore the feelings of others, leave friendships untended, and take our relationships for granted because of our own needs.

            Maybe the most dangerous of all betrayal is this. We work on our relationship with God, in prayer, in coming to church and reading the Bible, even attending this Maundy Thursday communion service but when it comes to being inclusive in our ministry to those who are different than us, the hungry, the poor, the disenfranchised, we turn a blind eye.[iii]

            We can see that around the table of our Lord, as he is gathered with his twelve disciples, that every hand at the table is a betrayer. But can we see that our hand is there too?. Can we see it here tonight? Every hand at the table tonight is the hand of a betrayer. No wonder we like the darkness.

            How did Simon and Garfunkel sing it? “Hello darkness, my old friend, I’ve come to talk with you again.” It is no wonder that we seek the darkness. It’s our friend. There is power in the darkness because, on this night, the blackest of all nights, we see ourselves for who we really are and we hide in our shame. We are Judas with our coins and Peter with our three-denials; we are the well-meaning religious leaders and the scattering disciples. We seek the Light but the power of the darkness is too great.

            Before you go into the darkness of the night to weep bitterly with Peter, look once again. Look once again at the table, at the Last Supper. This is after all, why you came tonight. Look once again at the scene set before us.  Despite the power of darkness, despite being in the company of betrayers, he takes bread and wine and offers it to his betrayers, offers it to you and me. John is right. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it. (John 1:5.) There is hope for the dawn, for the light of the new day. Some call it morning. We call it Easter.               

---