Even my close friend in whom I trusted, who l ate my bread, has lifted his heel against me. — Psalm 41:9
The Last Supper was an engagement ceremony.
But before the cup of betrothal, a cup of betrayal.
Moments after washing the feet of His nearest friends, Jesus was as troubled as the disciples on raging Galilee waters. A turncoat at the table, with clean feet and stained heart, would be identified. And the sign was as simple as bread baptized into a cup of wine. No one present recognized the moment for what it was. But it was here that Satan injected his venom into Judas, turning his name into a synonym for traitor.
And I will betroth you to me forever. I will betroth you to me in righteousness and in justice, in steadfast love and in mercy. I will betroth you to me in faithfulness. And you shall know the Lord. — Hosea 2:19-20
The Last Supper was an engagement ceremony.
In ancient Jewish tradition, the betrothal was as weighty as the marriage that followed; both required a divorce. And at the betrothal, a soon-to-be groom offered his soon-to-be bride a cup of wine. It was a cup of covenant, one that meant the woman accepted her beloved’s offer of marriage. When Jesus offered the cup to His disciples, they instinctively knew the significance of “the new covenant” He was presenting to them. He was not only instituting the oldest tradition of the church; He was asking His church to marry him.
“Has anyone become pledged to a woman and not married her? Let him go home, or he may die in battle and someone else marry her.” — Deuteronomy 20:7
The Last Supper was an engagement ceremony.
Which made the next 24 hours so much worse.
The Son enfleshed, proposing to His bride, would be killed. He knew it was coming. He knew His betrayer was sitting at the betrothal. He knew His bride would vanish before the night was out, fleeing from the death He would be condemned to. And He knew it would happen before He could marry His bride.
Jewish tradition held two ceremonies for a young couple. First, betrothal. Second, marriage. And both were solemnized by a cup of wine.
Jesus, proposing to His bride, injected a cryptic line into the ceremony. “I will not drink again of this fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father’s kingdom.” (Matt. 26:29) Translation? “I want you to marry me. But it is not time for our marriage. That will happen in the future, when I bring you to My Father’s house.”
Classic divinity. The promise so often is dichotomized by already there/not yet.
The Seed will crush the head of the snake, and all of history bends inexorably toward that moment. But the Seed will not arrive for a few millennia.
Unto us a Son is born. But the Son will not be born for centuries.
You are My bride. But we won’t be married for at least two thousand years.
Already there. Not yet.
Jesus gave one cup, promised another, and ended the ceremony. He told them He wouldn’t drink this wine for an untold amount of time.
But He didn’t say it was the last cup He would drink.
Mere hours later, the Groom was alone in a garden. His bride asleep, He pleaded with His Father. Another cup was rapidly approaching. There was nothing beautiful or romantic about this one. It reeked of death, overflowed with suffering, was stained bloody by our iniquities. The Son asked His Father for one thing: “Remove this cup.” (Luke 22:42)
He had every right to demand it. He was betrothed. Jewish tradition said that He was exempt from war, from the threat of death, lest He die before marrying His bride. He could have demanded the cup of marriage instead of the cup of wrath.
But He made no demands. “Not my will, but yours, be done.” This was the Seed crushing the serpent. This was the Lamb slain before the foundation of the world.
Already there. Not yet.
Let us rejoice and exult and give Him the glory, for the marriage of the Lamb has come, and His Bride has made herself ready. — Revelation 19:7
The Last Supper was an engagement ceremony.
The Groom was killed. But the Groom didn’t stay dead.
That’s not how things work. Physics, metaphysics, the combined experience of the entire planet tells us that dead men don’t spontaneously resuscitate. Except for one Man, one time, rejecting the finality of the grave.
Which means the marriage is still coming.
And one day soon, a multitude will roar, thundering like an ocean, “The marriage of the Lamb has come. His bride has made herself ready.”
And the Groom will fulfill His promise: He will drink the cup with His beloved. The momentum of Easter has not ended. It pulls of all of creation with it, longing, aching, yearning, groaning, into a glorious future. The One who made all things will make all things new.
Already there. Not yet.
So until then, the Spirit and the Bride say, “Come.”