Sermon: Lord, is it I?

May the words of my lips and the meditations of our hearts, be now and always acceptable in your sight, O Lord my strength and my redeemer.

Lord, is it I?

Towards the end of this evening's liturgy, all of us will ask that question, Lord, is it I, when we participate in the Judas Cup ceremony, based as it is on one of the Maundy Thursday rituals of the Medieval Monastery here in Durham. And it is the question I want us to consider this evening. Lord, is it I?

But first, I want to try, at least in part, to enter into the thoughts and feelings of the Twelve as they gathered in that Upper Room to keep the Passover. The New Testament Passion narratives create a vivid sense of rising tension. So, we have Jesus' words about his decisive journey to Jerusalem and the story of that journey; and the events of this particular week, with his highly symbolic triumphal entry into the city, his prophetic cleansing of the Temple, his strong and uncompromising words about the destruction of that most potent symbol of Israel's religious life, his confrontation with the Scribes and Pharisees, and the chaos and highly charged atmosphere of this most nationalistic of festivals.  All of this raised the tension levels to white hot.  And I sense, in Jesus himself, there was a profound seriousness, perhaps a sadness, a foreboding, even a fear of what his destiny would mean.  And so a Passover meal, not characterised by joy and celebration, but a meal charged with an atmosphere of mounting crisis, of things coming to a head. And so on the part of the disciples, a heaviness, a weariness, a depression, that would later make them seek the escape of sleep. And for them too, an increasing sense of fear. After all, they are his disciples. They can't just walk away.

And while St Luke tells us that Jesus' opening words were ‘I have eagerly desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer', a characteristically Lukan almost-enthusiastic, cheerful embracing of his destiny, nevertheless the words before I suffer remind us that here is someone looking over the precipice.  While in Mark and Matthew, the opening words are devastating: ‘Truly, I tell you, one of you will betray me'. And in this heavy context, those chilling words evoked great distress, and the question, said by one after another, ‘Lord, is it I'. 

And I wonder what was going on in the minds of those disciples as each one, one by one, no doubt provoked by the looks and glances of the others, tentatively, fearfully asked the same question, ‘Lord is it I?'

I wonder if the sense is, ‘Surely not I, but is it him' for Lord, is it I, of all questions expects, demands the answer ‘no', so that freed from accusation we can look hard at our brothers and sisters. And that perhaps is the most obvious reading of the text. But I also wonder whether there was a growing sense, that in such crisis, with the potential for violence, pain and suffering, each of them, if provoked, when the chips were down, might actually be the one to betray him. That all of them, in certain circumstances, certainly were capable of betraying him.

And Jesus refused to answer them directly.  ‘The one who has dipped his hand into the bowl with me will betray me.' The question, Lord, is it I, must stand; there is no quick resolution. The question must work at us, get to us.  But just in case we forget what Jesus' statement was, that provoked this self-examination, he went on, ‘but woe to the one by whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would have been better for that one not to have been born.'

And I'm all the more intrigued, that this fearful exchange is then followed by the institution of the eucharist.  Yes, indeed the bowl is passed around and all take of the bread. The cup is passed around and all drink of it. But this is no mere following of a time-honoured Passover ritual.  For that bread and that cup are given startlingly new significance:

            This - my body,

            This - my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many.

Whatever those extraordinary words mean, This - my body (there was no verb to be in Aramaic) must mean something like - This - my self.  And blood must mean something like ‘This - my life', for the life is in the blood, my life-blood poured out for many so that sins may be forgiven.

And so this dipping in the dish, this drinking from the cup, dipping together, drinking together, one after another, all without exception, is a most mysterious sharing in Christ's self, his life, and so such a pledge of utter union with him that makes the possibility of betrayal so hideously unimaginable, that the question Lord, is it I - is it I after I have eaten this bread - your body and this wine, your blood - becomes even more magnified and more shocking.

And then, returning to Luke, another kind of Is it I question.  An argument broke out among them, as to which of them should be the greatest. Is it I? Well, I'm greater than him and I'm greater than her. No, you're not. Who do you think you are?  Perhaps it was all a diversion from the harder Is it I question. And Jesus puts them straight: it shall not be so among you, but the greatest among you must become like the youngest, and the leader like one who serves. I am among you as one who serves.

Of course, we know that in the end, it was Judas who let the possibility of betrayal find full expression in his motives and actions, and so made him commit the greater sin.  But what of the rest?

I return to Luke.  ‘Simon, Simon, listen! Satan has demanded to sift all of you like wheat, but I have prayed for you Simon, that your faith will not fail.' The strong intercession of the Son of God, and yet in the context of this strange permissive sifting and so the real possibility that faith might fail - which provokes Peter to the bold promise - ‘Lord, I am ready to go with you to prison and to death'.  ‘Peter, before the cock crows you will deny me three times.' Is it I, Lord? Oh yes, it's you Peter.

But the rest, well, they all forsook him and fled. Is it I? Judas? - yes, absolutely, Peter?,  yes, certainly, but John, yes, Andrew, yes, James, yes, Matthew, yes, Philip, yes, and all the rest, yes.   

Is it I, Lord?

It is the one who has dipped his hand into the bowl with me.

Tonight,

            We meet, as in that Upper Room they met,

            Thou at the Table, blessing, yet doth stand;

            ‘This is my body', so thou givest yet.

            Faith still receives the cup as from thy hand.

We participate in the footwashing, as the Dean as our leader washes the feet of the two most junior choristers, the eldest serving the youngest.

We dip our hands into Christ's bowl and drink from his cup - his self, his life, we eat and drink, it is as indivisible from us as that.

We imaginatively re-create the Judas Cup ceremony of the Medieval Monastery.

We watch the desolation of Christ, as the Sanctuary is stripped and the Lamentation is sung.

We go to Gethsemane, and to the place of testing.

There is space, and silence, and symbol.

‘Truly, I tell you, one of you will betray me.'

Lord, is it I?

Lord is it I?