All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,

Perhaps you like the idea that life has a script.

Sticking to the script means you know where you are, what comes next, what you are supposed to be doing. Sticking to the script keeps everything under control.

Perhaps you don't like the idea that life has a script.

Sticking to the script limits who you are, what you can do, limits what can come next.

Sticking to the script keeps everything under control.

For the faithful and observant child of Abraham, Passover has a script, as much a ceremony as a meal, the ordering, the symbolic gestures, the words, carefully kept and followed to tell a story – the story of a people and the story of their freedom.

For the faithful and observant Christian, the Eucharist has a script, as much a ceremony as a meal, the ordering, the symbolic gestures, the words, carefully kept and followed to tell a story – the story of a people and the story of their freedom.

But it was not always so orderly. It was not always so safe. When Passover and Eucharist met, they did not stick to the script at all. There was no story to tell, for the story was being written in each moment.

At the heart of the order of the passover meal there are four questions, each asking “Why is tonight different from all other nights?” A familiar question. A safe question. We will do it like we did it last year.

Each disciple remembered them from childhood. Maybe remembered the year when as the youngest child present, it had been their turn to stand up and ask the questions of their elders and to receive in return the story of their people.

Why is tonight different from all other nights?

Did they know how that question would be answered this night?

The first question: On all other nights we eat all kinds of breads and crackers. Why do we eat only matzoh tonight?

The answer: Matzoh reminds us that when we left the slavery of Egypt we had no time to bake the bread. We took the raw dough on our journey and baked it in the hot desert sun into hard crackers called matzoh.

But on this night he took the bread, and after he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying this is my body, broken for you, do this in remembrance of me.

Matzoh - A sign of slavery. A sign of suffering. But a sign of haste, of freedom desperately sought. A chance taken, an escape to a new land, to freedom. Food for a journey, sustenance through a desert.

Manna in a wilderness – bread from heaven.

This is my body. Broken. For you.

This was not in the script. The narrative was taking a new direction.

The second question: Why is it that on all other nights we eat all kinds of herbs, but on this night we eat only bitter herbs?

The answer: Maror reminds us of the bitter and cruel way the Pharaoh treated us when they were slaves in Egypt.

But on this night, didn't the yoke of slavery still draw tight around their shoulders? The yoke of Roman rule, the yoke of oppression. The bitter taste a reminder not of bitterness past, but of bitterness present. And bitterness still to come.

“I tell you the truth, one of you will betray me, one of you seated here with me.”

How had bitterness invaded their loving community? How had Jesus, who had driven out so many demons, allowed this meal of all meals to become contaminated? “One of you seated with me.”

Where does bitterness come from? How does it seep in? How long will the taste remain on their lips? Passover is the celebration of faithful God, faithful people. Of bitterness sweetened with charoset. Betrayal was not in the script. But he was leaving the script far behind.

The third question

Why is it that on all other nights we do not dip our bread even once, but on this night we dip it twice?

The answer:The salt water reminds us of the tears of the our ancestors in slavery.

But on this night:

“Very truly, I tell you, one of you will betray me.” “It is the one to whom I give this piece of bread when I have dipped it in the dish.” So when he had dipped the piece of bread, he gave it to Judas son of Simon Iscariot. Jesus said to him, “Do quickly what you are going to do.”

He dipped the bread and gave it to him. in the salt water - into the tears. Whose tears are they – Jesus' tears for Judas – or for himself? They had seen strange uses of water – the woman washing his feet with her tears. Him washing their feet. Now the tears of his people offered to the one who would betray him.

The plot deepens.

The fourth question: On all other nights we eat sitting up straight....Why do we lean on a pillow tonight?

The answer: We lean on a pillow to be comfortable and to remind us that once we were slaves, but now we are free.

And on this night certainly Jesus looked comfortable enough, reclining at the table, with the disciple that he loved lying with his head on his chest. Comfortable in the middle of a play that is unraveling around him. Comfortable, it seems, ad-libbing as a script that only he understands approaches its tragic climax.

How can he simply lie there, reclining as a free man, even as his jailors draw nearer? Reclining as if tonight were just like every other night.

Because tonight is not like every other night. Tonight is different. Tonight the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him – if you can believe that his glory takes this strange form.

The last act of the Passover is always unfinished, always awaiting next year in Jerusalem. The last cup, the cup of Elijah, the cup of the Messiah, remains in their midst, untouched, undrunk.

But on this night, after supper he took the cup, and when he had given thanks he gave it to them and said “This cup is the new covenant in my blood. Do this, as often as you drink it, in remembrance of me.”

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,

But on this night, one man changed the script

And as he took his exit, they found that he had rewritten the play.

Amen.