In Lent this year we have been considering this general theme: Behold the hidden glory of the cross. As we have followed Jesus through this holy season, one thing that stands out as striking is this simple truth: The more common and the more lowly the words and works of Jesus, the more glorious and the more powerful they are. That is nowhere more evident than it is on this most holy day, the day on which Jesus instituted the Sacrament of the Altar. You doubtless know the words of institution by heart; for you have heard them hundreds of times since childhood and even memorized them in confirmation class. Listen to those words yet again. Note both the utter simplicity of the words and acts. And note as well their splendor, their glory. St. Matthew tells us in chapter 26, beginning at the 26th verse:

While they were eating, Jesus took bread, gave thanks and broke it, and gave it to his disciples, saying, "Take and eat; this is my body." Then he took the cup, gave thanks and offered it to them, saying, "Drink from it, all of you. This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins. I tell you, I will not drink of this fruit of the vine from now on until that day when I drink it anew with you in my Father’s kingdom." When they had sung a hymn, they went out to the Mount of Olives.

Could anything have been more simple? Jesus is with his disciples in a borrowed room. They have come there to celebrate the Jewish festival of Passover. They have come to the yearly remembrance of Israel’s delivery from Egyptian slavery. They have come to recall how glorious it was when the angel of death passed over the houses of the people of Israel who had their doorposts painted with the blood of the lamb being eaten inside. They remembered how that angel of death brought death to the firstborn of every household in Egypt that did not have its doorposts painted with the blood of the lamb.

Passover was the central festival of the Jewish calendar. Everybody looked forward to it. So too did Jesus’ disciples. But this Passover was different. In the middle of the Passover celebration, quietly, with no fanfare or fuss at all, Jesus did something new, something different. He instituted a whole new feast. But he did it so simply that we have to wonder if the disciples, at the time, got even a fraction of the significance of what was happening. We strongly suspect that they did not.

Jesus creates a new feast. It is so simple, so easy to pass by and treat it as though it were nothing. He took bread, the plainest bread possible. He used wheat bread without yeast – unleavened bread. Tonight for communion we are using homemade matzo or unleavened bread broken into pieces as Jesus did for his disciples.

He broke the bread and gave it to them to eat. He declared as he did so: "This is my body!" He didn’t explain it. He didn’t say that it was a symbol for his body. No, the words are plain and clear: "This is my body." He didn’t tell them either to save it up or put it on parade or worship it. He just said, "Take and eat." And then with equal simplicity, he took a cup of wine, the cup used in the Passover celebration. And he just said, "Drink from it, all of you. This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins." Again he makes no further explanation of what he means. He does not have to. The words are plain and clear. "This is my blood," he declared. He didn’t say that it was a symbol for his blood. Neither did he say that it was something to be worshiped and adored. No, just "Drink from it, all of you."

Yes, it is all so simple that we may miss the glory in it. But there is glory, glory beyond all telling. Here is the Lamb for sinners slain, the Lamb whose blood redeems the world. Yes, here in this new feast is the solution to the sins the disciples were committing that very night – sins of arguing who among them was the greatest, refusing to be a servant and wash feet, falling asleep in Gethsemane, running away from the soldiers and even denial of Christ.

Jesus was giving this special feast for them, to remove their sins. For Jesus comes in this feast to give forgiveness. That’s what he said: "This is my blood . . . for the forgiveness of sins." Here is the Lamb who gives himself as food for life eternal, not merely as paint for the doorpost.

But so many miss the glory. Indeed, the very fact that we see the feast celebrated not just on this most holy day but many times during the course of the year may cause us to think that it is nothing special. The common conversation in many Lutheran homes before a Communion service goes something like this: "Are we going to Communion today? Well, let’s see. Did we go last time? No? Well, then I suppose we should go this time." Perhaps even this evening before you came to church, someone said, "Well, it’s Maundy Thursday; that means we have to go to Communion; everybody goes to Communion on Maundy Thursday." Yes, it’s all so simple that we easily treat it like an empty ceremony whose purpose we have long ago forgotten.

But Jesus makes the purpose clear. And Jesus shows us the glory that is here. Listen, listen to what he said. Let the words be inscribed on your heart in the blood that is here in the Sacrament. Let it be the Bread of Life he intended for you. Write its holy truth in your memory and never let it go. Jesus said, on the night of his betrayal. Jesus said, on the way to the cross. Jesus said as his last will and testament. Jesus said, "THIS IS MY BODY. THIS IS MY BLOOD, GIVEN FOR YOU, GIVEN FOR THE FORGIVENESS OF SINS.

Way back when the disciples were squabbling with one another, way back when Jesus got not a shred of sympathy or understanding from them, way back when Jesus saw with perfect clarity what was coming to him in the next 20 or so hours, way back on that night in which he was betrayed, Jesus spoke his last will and testament. He gave no stocks or bonds. There is no family silver to bequeath, no family china, no homestead. There is nothing in Jesus’ estate at all that is worth talking about—except, that is, Jesus himself! And so in his last will and testament, having nothing else to give, he gives himself! "This is my body; this is my blood given for you," he declares. Yes, and who is the "for you"? Why, it is you; it is me. On this most holy night of nights when there was so much on Jesus’ mind; on this most holy night of nights when the scourge and the crown of thorns, when the nails and the spear were already clearly before his eyes; he thought about—you. He spoke his last will and testament, and he made you his beneficiary. Having nothing else to give you, he gave himself to you and for you.

Two young people in love live one hundred miles apart. But they stay in touch regularly. During the week they’re on the phone several times. But on weekends and holidays they get to spend time together. Which is preferable? Seeing each other is preferable to just hearing each other. To hear one’s voice is good; to feel the touch is better by far.

It is the same with the Savior we love. He speaks to us in his Word. He touches us in the Sacrament. He can do that because he is really present in a unique way in the supper to which he invites us.

Life magazine once featured an article by George Colt entitled "The Healing Power of Touch." Let me share with you a couple of things he said in that article. He began with an example of a baby born eight weeks prematurely. The baby was cared for at the Touch Research Institute in Miami. Massage was an essential part of the baby’s care. Colt wrote: "Far from injuring the infant, the massage may be essential to his development, for newborns are meant to be touched. . . . For a baby, tactile stimulation can be a matter of life and death. Michelangelo understood this. When he painted God extending a hand toward Adam on the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel, he chose to depict the gift of life."

"Newborns are meant to be touched." In a real sense, that also applies to Christians who have been born again of water and the Spirit. We are children of God, and we have a Father who understands our need to be touched. So he sent his Son to do just that for us, not just once and for all two thousand years ago, but again tonight when we come to his Table to dine with him. He is really present at his Table. He doesn’t just speak to us here. He touches us in a way that brings us as close to him as his disciples were in that upper room on Maundy Thursday. When we want to communicate with him, he doesn’t just say, "I’ll e-mail you." He says, "I’ll commune with you." That’s why Martin Luther was so unwilling to compromise this truth with those who were willing to settle for mere symbols instead of the real presence.

Jesus directs us to take two very ordinary elements, bread and wine. We simply combine his Word with them, and he makes them his body and blood—the same body he gave for us, the same blood he shed for us on the cross. And as we partake of them, he unites himself with us and us with him. Our sins no longer separate us from him. That’s why this is a feast for our salvation.

The world passes the Lord’s Supper by with disdain. Many a Christian dismisses it as unimportant, not really worth bothering with. But we are looking for the glory hidden in the cross. And here it is! Glory worth more than all the wealth of the world. For Jesus, our God and Savior, is here. Glory that lasts for all eternity. For Jesus, the risen ruler of the universe and of time and of eternity itself, is here. Glory that is more precious than all the medicines ever invented. For Jesus is here with himself as the medicine that bestows eternal life; for where there is forgiveness of sins, there is life and salvation.

Therefore, come with hearts that are broken because of sin and guilt and shame. Therefore, come with souls that are starving for food that will strengthen for the ongoing battle with the devil, the world, and the sinful nature. Therefore, come with a heart parched with a thirst for salvation. Come and eat and drink the price of your salvation in this feast of feasts. Then go. Go to hold him fast who had nothing else to give this most holy night than himself. Go and hold him fast who, on the night in which he was betrayed, had no one he would rather think about than you. Go and forget him never, who in his last will and testament made you for all eternity his heir of the heaven he would purchase with his body and his blood, the very same that he gives you this night. Go with the gift of his body and blood that strengthens and preserves you for life and for life eternal. Amen.