The Two Tables - A Maundy Thursday Reflection

As we gather this evening around the Lord’s Table to remember the events of Maundy Thursday, our reflections are going to centre on two ancient paintings of two different tables.

This is the first picture – an icon of the Trinity painted by Andrei Rublev in the 15^th century and currently held at the Tretyakov Gallery in Moscow.

In Genesis chapter 18, Abraham is visited by God in the guise of three persons who sit and eat with him, and this is Rublev’s interpretation of that story and it’s full of symbolism.

Look first at their faces, they are all identical, but you’ll notice that the figures in the middle and on the right have their heads inclined towards the figure on the left as though deferring to him. That makes him the Father.

Then look at their clothes. All three wear blue – the colour of the heavens and of divinity. But the father wears a robe of shimmering, ethereal gold. The figure in the middle wears an earthy brown, with a stripe of Kingly Gold on his right sleeve. This is the Son. And the Spirit, on the right hand side, wears green – the colour of growth and new life.

Now look at their hands.

The father holds his sceptre with both hands. All authority is given to him.  The son rests his hand on the table, joining earth and heaven, and the two fingers show his two natures as fully God and fully human. The Spirit too touches the table because he is the go-between God, bringing God’s life and presence to the faithful.

Behind each figure there are other clues to who they are. Behind the Father is a mansion, and in the Fathers house there are many rooms. Behind the Son there’s a tree, which could be the tree of Mamre, or perhaps a symbol of the tree on which he died. And behind the spirit we have a mountain, and we all know the significance of mountains in the Biblical story. Mountains are special places for encountering God – it was on a mountain that Moses received the law, that Elijah heard the still small voice, that Jesus was transfigured and later on, returned to his Father in heaven.

So it’s a picture full of symbolism. But we’re still not quite at the heart of it yet – because as any student of art will quickly tell you, the perspective is all wrong. But that’s a deliberate choice Rublev has made. He’s played with the perspective to give the viewer the feeling of being drawn into the table because that’s exactly what he wants us to experience.

He wants you to know that there is space for you at the table – Father, Son and Spirit are inviting you into fellowship with them. Inviting you to share in their life and companionship.

This picture isn’t meant to be a reflection on an historic event at the trees of Mamre. It’s a meditation on the eternal now of God’s invitation, extended to every man and woman.

It’s beautiful, it’s personal. And each of us must make our response to God’s invitation.

Here’s our second picture – instantly recognisable but actually quite hard to make out in real life, so let me take the liberty of showing you a more colourful replica.

I want you to keep your eye on the picture as we hear Luke’s account of the Last Supper as we find it in Luke chapter 22.....

I have to confess, I was shocked when I read that passage again just a few weeks ago. There was so much in what Luke records that I’d edited out in my mind, or forgotten. And what came home to me with great force was that even at this stage, the disciples still didn’t get it!

Look at them! Look at the movement in the picture. The gestures! This isn’t fabrication on Leonardo’s part, as far as I can see.

“One of you is going to betray me”, says Jesus, which sets them murmuring; and before long we’re into a full blown argument about who’s the greatest disciple. They’ve obviously come a long way in three years, eh? Simon’s singled out for special treatment and informed that Satan has his eye on him, but Peter reassures Jesus that he needn’t worry because, of course, he’s rock solid in his commitment. There’s no chance of him denying Jesus.

And to cap it all, there’s this deeply unsettling ending where Jesus seems to be suggesting they go out and arm themselves for battle – sell your cloak and buy a sword he says! It sounds like a call to arms, though we know from events a few hours later in Gethsemane, that that was never his way. Perhaps he was just trying to wake them up to the dangers of the situation they’d soon find themselves in– we don’t know.

But the point I want you to take is that this was no gathering of mature, reflective, together disciples – gently having their eyes opened to the reality of what was about to happen to their leader. It was as riddled with tensions and misunderstandings and love and good intentions as communal human life ever is.

And as we prepare to eat the Lord’s Supper together, these two tables we’ve thought about this evening help us remember something of great importance.

The invitation of God, Father Son and Spirit, comes to us all in the quiet, inner places of our hearts. It’s there that we make our first response. That’s what Rublev is showing us.

But the outworking of that faith commitment takes place around another table – a table which is far from serene. That’s what Da Vinci is showing us.

The Lord’s table is not, and never has been, a celebration for those who have arrived, who are all of one mind. It’s the place where different and sometimes difficult people gather and discover unity as we begin to realise and live out of the truth that we are all beloved of God.

Look at the picture again. Christ in the centre, drawing us together in our disparity. It’s like the old illustration of the wheel and the spokes. As the spokes get closer to the hub, so they get closer to one another.

This is what the Lord’s Table is about. We may not know each other well. We may not even like one another very much. But if our Lord welcomes us to his table, then there must be depths in each one that that we have not yet seen, worth in each one that we have not yet recognised. We must trust his judgment above our own.

If we, in all our complexity and faith and unfaith, have been welcomed, then who are we to keep others at arm’s length?

I’ve always marvelled that at this table, knowing full well what was about to happen, Jesus makes room even for Judas. Judas too, shares in the fellowship meal. Perhaps Christ was hoping that even at that stage, he might have a change of heart.

We don’t know. But we know this. The Trinitarian call to that peaceful inner table is worked out around this table. It’s here that we learn to forgive as Christ forgave, to hope as Christ hoped, to follow as Christ followed. It’s here, in the reality of bread and wine shared, that we remember the high calling Jesus gives those he calls his disciples and his friends. To love one another, as he has loved us.