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CROSS EXAMINATIONS:
THE COVENANT CUP

MARK 14:12-31

I wish we lived in world where promises were kept. A world where a person's word was a person's word. Where a yes was a yes and a no was a no. Where there was no double-talk. That would be a covenant world.

I wish we lived in a world where the commitments that people made toward each other were so important that to violate those commitments would be unthinkable. That would a covenant world.

I wish we lived in a world where relationships were more important than business deals and where loyalty was stronger than looking out for No. 1. That would be a covenant world.

I wish we lived in a world where the relational bond between two people was more important than getting ahead. That would be a covenant world.

I wish we lived in a world where phrases like "Do you solemnly swear to tell the whole truth?" or "to have and to hold from this day forward" were more than formalities to be worked through. That would be a covenant world.

But we don't live in a world like that. We live in a world where promises are broken as easily as toothpicks. We live in a world where sellouts and disloyalty are as common as June dandelions. We live in a world where relationships seem to only be convenient for getting ahead. In fact, we live in a world where to not second-guess a person's word is to leave yourself vulnerable for a surprise attack.

That is our world of contracts without covenants. I am discovering that there is a big difference between contracts and covenants.

What is a contract? Contracts are legally binding agreements. If you do this, I will do that. If you keep your end of the bargain, I will keep mine. And not only that, if you fail to keep your end of the bargain, I have the complete legal right to bring action against you. That is a contract.

But covenants are different from that. Covenants are also binding agreements between people, with each person agreeing with a solemn vow to take certain actions. But covenants are not legal in nature. Covenants are bound by trust. A covenant's focus is relational. And so one might say, "I promise to keep my end of the bargain whether or not you keep yours."

Covenants are commitments to the good of another person even at the cost of personal sacrifice or suffering to you. They are pledges of love, support, and faithfulness toward another person.

But we don't live in a world of covenants. We live in a world of contracts. We live in a world where many politicians make promises only to get elected. We live in a world where spouses come home to notes on kitchen tables that read, "I'm tired of life. I'm leaving. Don't try to find me." We live in a world where 62-year-olds stand on the steps of bankruptcy court because their younger business partners sold them down the river for a more "profitable" venture.

Dishonesty. Infidelity. Betrayal. Those are the words of our contractual world, because the very need for a contract insinuates that the binding of a relationship is not enough.
Into that contract world we find a baker's dozen sitting around a Passover meal laughing, talking, and reminiscing. Thirteen men who have spent the better part of the last three years together. Thirteen men who had eaten together, learned together, worshiped together, and ministered together--now sitting around a table taking the most intimate and sacred of meals together.

Table fellowship was a sign of solidarity with another person. It was an act of deep friendship and intimacy with another. To eat with another person was to call him friend and brother. That's why Jesus was always in so much trouble with the religious leaders. He was accused of "eating with tax collectors and Samaritans."

When the meal was eaten, a bowl would be passed with a thin gravy for dipping bread. Whenever you held the bowl out to the person next to you it was as if you were saying, "I desire your friendship." It was no contract. It was a covenant.

That's why it was such a shock when right in the middle of the meal, Jesus announced point-blank, "One of you will betray me--one who is eating with me" (v. 18). What a way to ruin a dinner party!

And in that moment of moments each of them is forced to stare wide-eyed into his own soul and admit by his very question that we do live in a contract world of broken promises and easy betrayals. And all that Peter, James, and John can say in return is, "It's not me, is it? I'm not gonna do it! Am I?"

But Jesus has never been one to make it things easier. He responds only with, "It is one of the Twelve . . . one who dips bread into the bowl with me" (v. 20). The bowl. The symbol of deepest friendship and utmost loyalty.

And one of the Twelve. That's what really gets you. Not just one of the hundreds of bystanders that followed Jesus everywhere He went. But one of the Twelve. One of those specifically chosen and handpicked by Jesus; one of those who had shared all of the memories of the past three miraculous years; one of the Twelve, who had entered into a covenant relationship with Jesus. One of the chosen "will betray me."

These are familiar words from a familiar story. So familiar that it's hard to comprehend the stunning conversation that is taking place here. Most of us already know who is going to betray Jesus. It is Judas. Judas is the traitor. Judas is the one who sells Jesus for a bag of quarters. Judas is the guilty one. Nothing particularly shocking about that.

But what is much more startling to me is that none of the other disciples is absolutely sure he is not the guilty one. Every one of them found himself pulling his hand out of the bowl. Every one of them was holding his breath, hoping and praying that the betrayer was not going to be him.

All of them say with quavering voice, "Is it me?" None of them are quite sure what the verdict will be. In fact, a little later on in this passage Jesus will tell them, "You will all fall away" (v. 27). And when Peter confronts Jesus with an undying pledge of faithfulness, saying, "Even if all fall away, I will not" (v. 28). Jesus replied, "I tell you the truth . . . today--yes, tonight--before the rooster crows twice you yourself will disown me three times" (v. 30).

We hear those words and our blood runs cold, because we realize that a covenant has been broken. There had been no contract. There had been no dotted line to sign. The relationship between Jesus and His disciples was a covenant of fellowship, intimacy, and love.

I'll have to be honest with you--all of that makes me a little upset. Upset with Judas, upset with Peter, and angry at all the other disciples who betrayed Jesus and ran from the Garden of Gethsemane like scared rabbits. They treated their relationship with the Son of God as if it were a contract they could back out of when the going got tough. How could they do that? He had offered them so much. He had given them so much. How could they betray Him? How could they break covenant with Him?

Shortly after my son was born, my wife and I began to notice that there was something wrong with his eyes. By the time his first birthday rolled around, we knew for sure that his eyes weren't getting any better. After consulting several doctors and receiving multiple diagnoses and treatments, we finally agreed with a children's eye specialist that he needed to have surgery.

I was disappointed. I was frustrated. Any who are parents understand when I say that we want our children to be healthy and we try to protect them as best we can from any trauma or pain. But we knew that he was losing his sight and if something wasn't done soon to correct his vision, he could potentially lose it all together.

And so the December just after his second birthday my son underwent surgery on both of his eyes. It was traumatic and it was painful, but we really believed that God could work through that surgery to bring healing, and we were glad that it was over.

It took him about a month to fully recover, and everything seemed to be going just fine. The surgeon gave him two thumbs up, and it looked like everything was a success. Until one day we noticed his eyes beginning to do the very same thing they had done in the months before the surgery. The doctor wanted to see him again. They called the day after with the results. The message said, "Eighty percent of patients respond perfectly well to the surgery and never have another problem. But for whatever reason, 20 percent don't respond as they should, and your son is going to need another surgery."

I was stunned. I walked into the living room and sat down in our rocking chair. I stared at the wall, becoming more and more upset. I couldn't help thinking, "Why does my son have to be in the 20 percentile? Why can't he be well? Is this what I get for being a Christian? Is this what I deserve, trying to serve God as a pastor?"

And then I began to pray, "Didn't I pray hard enough the first time? You owe me, God. I've given You my life. Don't I have anything to show for my faithfulness?"

And in that moment I was suddenly struck by my motivations. I realized that there was a part of me that expected God to come through for me, and if He didn't I was going to back out of my end of the agreement.

I knew God loved my son. That wasn't the issue. I also knew God was all-powerful. I knew He could handle it. The problem was there was a part of me that was serving God for what I could get out of Him. There was a part of me that was treating God like the electric company. If I paid the bill, I expected electricity. He was a utility for me, meaning that I was willing to give God my whole heart as long as He was met my expectations--as long as He kept His end of the bargain. In a moment of grace I came to see my relationship with God was contractual.

As I listened closely to God's voice during that prayer time, it was as if I could hear Jesus saying, "One of you will betray me." I realized a covenant had been broken.

And so it goes for us. So often we serve God in contractual ways. But a contract will never do when a covenant is required.

And so very time we stretch the truth and dance around our words to protect ourselves we will hear the words, "One of you will betray me." Every time we refuse to come to the aid of the innocent and powerless, because of fear of our own social standing, we will hear the words, "One of you will betray me." Every time we are confronted with a person with AIDS and without compassion say, "He got what's coming to him," we will hear the words, "One of you will betray me." Whenever we see starving children on television and switch the channel, mumbling something about birth control, we'll hear a soft voice saying, "One of you will betray me." And we will realize that a covenant has been broken.

We are called to be a covenantal people, bound together by mercy's cords. But if we are honest with ourselves, as we look carefully at the hand in the dish, it looks all too familiar--the hand belongs to us. All of us have betrayed Christ, and all of us have been guilty of breaking the covenant of fellowship. What are we to do?

Did you notice how Jesus responds to His betrayer? "Get out of here. Arrest him. I want nothing to do with him. He's broken covenant with Me, and he's going to pay." Is that what He says? No!

Jesus continues the meal. He includes Judas, and all the rest at the table, and He offers the bowl to all of them. Knowing full well that He will be betrayed, Jesus offers friendship and unity and love anyway. He does not turn them away.

But He does much more than that. In the midst of their treachery and unfaithfulness, on the very night of their betrayal, Jesus offers them again a covenant. At the very moment of their breaking of covenant, Jesus offers them a new one.

And the gift He offers them is the gift of himself. "This is my body . . . this is my blood" (vv. 22, 24). Jesus offers bread and shares the cup with double-crossing, betraying disciples.

My friends, God knows very well our failures. He is very aware of the messes we create for ourselves and for other people. He knows that we have betrayed Him again and again. But God offers us covenant anyway. He is committed to us in Jesus Christ.

He stays with us. He does not desert us. And there is a new covenant made possible through His blood that provides a way for us. It's a covenant that isn't established through our goodness or through our faithfulness. It's a covenant made possible by His grace. The bleeding man on the middle cross reminds us again and again that there is a place for us at His table.

We have all betrayed Him. All of us. But there is mercy and forgiveness through Jesus Christ. And because of that He invites us to come to His table. He invites us to live as transformed people of grace. And He gives the power to live as redeemed people, because the very ones who betrayed Him that night in Gethsemane and fled in terror would later become martyrs for His name.

Our world is a place of broken promises and betrayal and contracts. But the kingdom of God is not about contracts; the kingdom of God is about covenants. Covenants made possible through a covenant cup. The invitation is still, "All of you drink of it!"