I remember sitting at a dinner party once, happily intoxicated with our finest Heineken Light beer, listening to a variety of accents around the room as people I had never met before shared laughs, advice, and a meal all under one roof.
The gathering was scheduled on the day of and included various people involved in the boat industry. My stepfather owned and ran his own business (and still does to this day), driving, repairing, and finishing million-dollar catamarans along the East Coast. He and his old friend Tommy had been involved in the business since my stepfather arrived in America decades ago.
You see, most of the people sitting at that table, save for myself, my mother, Tommy, and his wife, were not from the United States. They were mostly from South Africa.
Most Americans recognize South Africa for apartheid, Nelson Mandela, and rugby. But to the locals, it's more than just history—it's home. It's peaks reaching into the sky, climbed by the daring, and ocean currents with giant, fierce waves, tamed by the fearless. The southern tip of Africa is where they learned to read, fight, pray, smoke, grow, survive, and live.
And now, here they sat—the congregation of unlikely fools who had no idea what they were in for the next day. For me, it would be a bittersweet hangover from the handful of Heineys, but it’s a memory that stays with me even now. I was by far the youngest in the group, a new grad entering the fourth month of my first real job (a real job being one with a 401(k), which I hadn't understood until then), surrounded by cheerful foreigners who ran their own businesses.
What a curious evening.
I imagine that's how John thought as he sat beside his master at their Passover seder when Jesus took the unleavened bread, broke it, and said something off script:
“Take, eat; this is My body which is broken for you; do this in remembrance of Me.” 1
The mood that evening was already tense, with religious leaders threatening to kill the Rabbi, Romans lurking within the crowded City of David, and political tensions rising despite the Pax Romana being in full effect. The Seder had been celebrated for centuries before this night, but this would be the last time it would be unfulfilled.
The Seder is a meal celebrated on the night of Passover, which begins at Jewish sundown and marks the start of the new day. It commemorates what the Israelites experienced during the Exodus, retelling the story of Moses leading the people out of Egypt and God's spectacular Red Sea-splitting victory.
But tonight was different.
These twelve men sat around a Man they had seen cleanse lepers, multiply bread and fish out of thin air, restore untreatable ailments, walk on water, challenge authority, make bold claims, resurrect the dead, and speak to God Himself. They had seen the impossible and were inclined to believe it too—yet somehow they didn't understand. It was as if Jesus were speaking of a foreign land they had neither crossed nor heard of, with an accent so thick they could hardly parse simple words. They were fuzzed with wine when He said:
“This cup is the new covenant in My blood. This do, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of Me.” 2
Once again, off script.
Why?
Why had He done any of it? Why was He behaving so strangely that night? Why would these events be recorded throughout history about a Man who died?
Because He came to save the world.
This was no ordinary dinner party; it was a sacred meal commemorating the redemption of God's people from slavery. And the Son of God was about to give His life into the hands of the enemy so that people like you and me—two thousand years later—could have life.
"I'm alive right now, aren't I?" you may be asking sarcastically.
The answer is: well, yes, I certainly hope so, otherwise you'd be a zombie, and in that case, we'd like to study you.
But are you alive?
Do you feel alive when you do things you know deep down you shouldn't? Do you feel like your life is meaningless and you don't understand why a cruel god would ever put you on this planet to suffer?
I used to feel that way. And then I met Him.
He became my foundation, my rock, my source of life, and that may sound totally bizarre, and trust me when I say I used to think it was.
But then I lived it.
I attended a dinner party once, some time ago, with a lively group of South Africans cracking jokes around a table. Two years before that, I believed my life would end at my own hands. The world was suffering, and life seemed pointless, but then He came and didn’t just tell—He showed everyone otherwise. That night at that supper, I laughed with joy and drank merrily under a love I did not understand, and I don't think the disciples did either at their own dinner party.
But four days later, they would.