WE heard them coming long before they arrived at the house. Our group never arrived anywhere quietly. The sound of voices and laughter always preceded us. When you had a dozen guys together, there was always a joke being told, an argument being continued, or a story being started or finished. The one thing there never seemed to be was silence.
John and I hustled out to meet them downstairs, anxious to be part of the group and hear what was happening.
I introduced everyone to Abigail and Mark, and even though it was the first time either had met Jesus, he treated them like old friends.
“I hope everything is all right.”
“I’m sure it will be perfect, Abigail. Thank you so much for doing this on such short notice.”
“It’s my pleasure. Ever since Mark first heard about you, all I’ve heard is ‘Jesus this’ and ‘Jesus that .’I don’t know where he hears all the stories he repeats, but you have become the center of his life.
So, when Matthias said you were looking for a place to celebrate the Passover meal, there was no doubt in his mind that you would end up here.”
“Thank you so much. Judas will make sure you’re reimbursed for everything you’ve spent.”
“Jesus?” Mark hadn’t said a word up until now. The kid who had talked nonstop since John and I arrived now seemed lost for what to say.
Everyone stopped and waited for the teen to continue. Finally, he got up his nerve, “Jesus, can I help with the meal? I won’t say anything. You won’t even know I’m here, but I can help with the serving, and I’ll clean up when you are finished. Mom has been invited to celebrate with my uncle and aunt, but I’d rather be here.”
“If it’s all right with your mother, we’d appreciate the help.”
Mark looked at this mother, “Please if we go to Uncle Phillip’s, I’ll be expected to hang out with the younger kids, and I really want to be here with Jesus.”
“Fine, just make sure you are a help and not a nuisance.” Little did we know the impact her decision would have.
I expected that the meal should have followed the same pattern as the last Passover we celebrated with Jesus. After all, that was the way it had been done since Moses led our people out of Egypt. But from the beginning, it was different.
Before we began, Jesus asked Mark to bring a basin and a pitcher of water. I assumed that he was going to have Mark wash our feet. After all, the boy wanted to help. But I was wrong, again. Jesus knelt with the basin and a towel and nodded to me, “Peter, let’s start with you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Your feet Peter, sit down and put your feet in the basin. How hard can that be?”
“Oh no, you shouldn’t be washing my feet. That’s not your job.”
“You don’t understand now, but someday you will. Let me wash your feet to show that you belong to me. But again, it is your choice. I won’t force you.”
And one by one, he washed our feet. It seemed weird at first, but as he washed our feet, he reminded us of things we had heard him say and seen him do.
After Jesus had finished, we argued over who would wash his feet. What would have been seen as a chore an hour before now seemed to be an honor. Jesus smiled at our quarreling and said that it was Mark’s responsibility as our host. You should have seen the kid’s smile.
With clean feet, we sat down at the table and enjoyed the food that Abigail had laid out for us. And what a meal it was. Mark did a great job with the serving, and he seemed to soak up everything Jesus said, almost as if he was committing it to memory.
When the meal came to an end, Jesus lifted a piece of the flatbread and blessed it with the usual words, but then he said, “You know what the bread represents. It tells the story of how our people were mistreated while they were slaves in Egypt.”
We all knew the story. We heard it every year in our homes during the Passover meal.
“But now, whenever you eat the Passover meal, I want you to remember me. Remember how my body will be broken for you, just like I’m breaking this bread for you.”
After the bread had been passed around, Jesus lifted his cup of wine, “You’ve all heard the story of the great escape from Egypt, and how the blood of the Passover lamb marked the homes of God’s people, for salvation. That’s what this cup of wine is to remind us of. But, now, whenever you drink it, remember me, and remember how my blood will be shed for you. How my blood will mark you for salvation.”
The mood of the meal suddenly shifted. No longer a celebration, Jesus was telling us that this was the end. That he was going to die. Soon. And not one of us knew what to say.
“Tonight, we are all together, but before daybreak comes, one of you will betray me and turn me over to my enemies.”
We all began to talk at once, “Betray you, never.” “Who would do that?” “We’re all in this together. One for all and all for one.”
Then Jesus turned to Iscariot and said, “Go and do what you have to do. I have an appointment I need to keep.”
I thought that Jesus was asking Judas to go and pay Abigail for the meal. Little did I know. With that, we left Mark to tidy up and followed Jesus out into the night.