The Last Will and Testament

Text: Exodus 12:1–14; 1 Corinthians 11:23–32; The Sacrament of the Altar

The Shadow: The Lamb of Egypt

Our Old Testament reading takes us back to a night unlike any other.

A night where judgment was coming—and there was no stopping it.

God doesn’t tell the Israelites, “Clean yourselves up.” He doesn’t say, “Try harder. Be better. Prove yourselves.”

He gives them something far more concrete.

A lamb. A spotless lamb. A lamb that would die in their place.

Its blood would be painted on the doorposts—not as decoration, but as a declaration: “Death has already happened here.”

And where the blood was—judgment passed over.

But don’t miss this—because this is where we tend to rush past too quickly:

They didn’t just kill the lamb. They had to eat it.

They took the sacrifice into themselves. It strengthened them. Sustained them. Prepared them.

Because God wasn’t just saving them from something— He was leading them through something.

Out of slavery. Into freedom. On a long road home.

For generations, Israel kept eating that meal. Year after year. Lamb after lamb.

But it was always pointing forward.

It was a shadow.

A shadow cast by a far greater Lamb— One who wouldn’t just spare them from physical death… but would destroy death itself.

The Substance: “This IS”

Now fast forward to the Upper Room.

Same kind of meal. Same kind of setting. But everything changes.

Jesus takes bread. He takes wine.

And He doesn’t say, “This represents.” “This symbolizes.” “This is a reminder.”

No—He speaks plainly. Firmly. Unmistakably:

“This IS My body.” “This IS My blood.”

Now let’s be honest—this is where people start to get uncomfortable.

Because we want something we can explain. Something we can take apart and analyze.

But Jesus doesn’t give us something to analyze— He gives us something to receive.

In the Catechism we confess it simply:

“It is the true body and blood of our Lord Jesus Christ under the bread and wine.”

No gymnastics. No hedging.

Because this isn’t about our understanding. It’s about His Word.

And His Word does what it says.

The same Word that said, “Let there be light”—and there was— now says, “This is My body.”

So it is.

This isn’t a symbolic snack. This is not a religious illustration.

This is Christ—giving Himself to you. Not just spiritually… but physically.

The Creator stepping into His creation— and then placing Himself into your very hands… and onto your tongue.

The Legal Document: The New Testament

Paul says something striking in 1 Corinthians:

“This cup is the new testament in My blood.”

That word—testament—isn’t just church language.

It’s legal language.

A testament is a will.

And a will does three things:

It names the one who is dying. It lists what is being given. And it declares who receives it.

So look at it clearly:

The Testator: Jesus Christ. The One who is about to die.

The Treasure: Forgiveness. Life. Salvation. Not earned. Not negotiated. Given.

The Heirs: You.

But here’s the catch— a will means nothing until the one who wrote it dies.

That’s why tonight cannot be separated from tomorrow.

Tonight, Jesus speaks the will. He sets it in place. He hands it out in advance.

And tomorrow—He dies.

The cross is not an accident. It is the execution of the will.

So when you come to this rail, don’t think of it as a ritual.

You are receiving what has been legally, irrevocably given to you by the death of Christ Himself.

This is your inheritance.

The Benefit: “For You”

If you had to pick the most important words in this whole meal, Luther gets it right:

“For you.”

Because everything hinges there.

It’s easy to say, “Jesus died for the world.” That stays safely distant.

But the Sacrament won’t let it stay distant.

Because here, Christ looks you in the eye—through His Word—and says:

“For you.”

For your sins. Not the abstract ones—the real ones.

The sharp words you can’t take back. The quiet resentments you carry. The things no one else sees.

“For you.”

And He doesn’t just say it—He puts it into your hands.

So that you don’t have to wonder. You don’t have to guess. You don’t have to measure your feelings.

You have something solid.

Something outside of you.

Bread. Wine. Body. Blood.

Proof.

This is why the Church has long called it the Medicine of Immortality.

Because it doesn’t just remind you of life— it delivers it.

It is strength for the road. Food for the journey.

Because you are still walking out of Egypt. Still passing through a wilderness. Still headed toward a promised land you haven’t fully seen yet.

And God does not leave His people unfed.

Who is Worthy?

Now this is where people hesitate.

You come forward… and you start taking inventory.

“I’ve had a rough week.” “I’ve failed again.” “I’m not where I should be.”

And you’re right.

But take a look at the first table.

Peter—hours away from denying Jesus. Judas—already plotting betrayal. The rest—soon to scatter.

And Jesus still says:

“Take. Eat.” “Take. Drink.”

So what makes someone worthy?

Not a perfect record. Not a cleaned-up life.

The Catechism says it plainly:

“That person is truly worthy and well prepared who has faith in these words: ‘Given and shed for you for the forgiveness of sins.’”

In other words—

Do you need forgiveness? Do you trust that Christ gives it here?

Then you are exactly who this meal is for.

The only requirement is hunger.

Not physical hunger— but the kind that knows:

“I cannot save myself.” “I need what Christ gives.”

That person doesn’t need to stay back.

That person should come running.

The Meal for the Road

Tonight, we don’t just remember.

We receive.

The Lamb is no longer a shadow. The sacrifice is no longer distant. The promise is no longer vague.

It is here.

Given. Shed. For you.

So don’t look inward tonight, trying to measure worthiness.

Look where Christ tells you to look:

To the Bread. To the Cup. To His Word.

The will has been spoken. The death is at hand. The inheritance is yours.

So come.

Eat. Drink. And be strengthened for the road that leads to the cross… and beyond it—to life.

Amen.

Lord Jesus Christ, on this holy night You give us not just words, but Yourself— Your body and Your blood, given and shed for us for the forgiveness of sins.

Strengthen our faith in Your promise. Silence our doubts. Turn our eyes away from ourselves and fix them firmly on Your cross.

As we receive this holy meal, fill us with the certainty that we are forgiven, that we are Yours, and that nothing can separate us from Your love.

Keep us steadfast as we walk with You to the cross, and lead us at last to the feast that has no end; for You live and reign with the Father and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and forever.

Amen.