“I was just about to ask,” said Peter.
“Immediately after the tribulation of those days shall the sun be darkened, and the moon shall not give her light, and the stars shall fall from heaven, and the powers of the heavens shall be shaken.”
Matthew had been listening avidly. “And what then, Master?”
“And then shall appear the sign of the Son of Man in heaven. And all the tribes of the earth shall mourn, and the Son of Man shall come in the clouds of heaven with power and great glory. And he shall send his angels with a great sound of a trumpet, and they shall gather together his elect from the four winds, from one end of heaven to the other. But not until, as said before, the Chosen shall be restored a second time after the Babylonian Captivity.”
“And in what year of Israel’s annals will all this be?”
“No man knows that day and hour, not even the angels of heaven, but my Father only. But as in the days of Noah, so shall the coming of the Son of Man be. For in the days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and carousing, and none knew the day, until the flood came and took them away. So all must keep watch, for they know not what hour he comes, lest coming suddenly, he find them sleeping.”
Originally Jesus had planned to spend the Passover with Lazarus and Martha and Mary. But to avoid being taken, he had decided to have the last supper in Jerusalem, at the home of John Mark, whom we knew as Mark. This friend of Peter’s was the son of Mark David, a rich Pharisee who had contributed generously to the mission.
Not only did he change the feast, but the date as well, advancing it twenty-four hours. For Moses, in commemoration of the liberation of the Jews, had fixed the fourteenth day of the first month of Nisan for the celebration, which fell this year on a Friday, the beginning of the Sabbath as well. And so we were to observe the Passover on a Thursday, while Jerusalem was only making ready for it.
“My enemies move quickly,” said he with an ironic smile, “so they do not violate both the Sabbath and the Passover by having my blood on their hands on these holy days.”
Although arrangements had been completed for the supper, the Master still sent John and James out to show again his own powers of divination, so that we would know that he did not speak idly of the hazard to himself. “Go into the city,” he told the brothers, “and there you shall meet a man bearing a pitcher of water. Follow him, and wherever he enters, say you to the head of the House; ‘The Master asks where is the guest chamber, where he shall eat the Passover with his Apostles.’ He will then show you a large upper room, furnished and prepared, and made ready for us.”
The brothers sighted a gray-haired man with a pitcher not far from the palace of Caiaphas, and he silently guided them to the house. There, the father of Mark took them to the room, and they quickly approved the placements for thirteen.
This circuitous way of confirming the site suited the strong mystical streak in Jesus. At the same time, I suppose, it showed us the thread of inevitability that ran through his affairs. It was his way of saying that the supper and what followed thereafter was linked irrevocably with his own destiny.
Usually I sat in the second post of honor, at Jesus’ right, while Peter was at his left. But, arriving late, I noticed, with a sickening in my stomach, that Peter had usurped my customary place, and John was in Peter’s position, symbolically that next to the Master’s heart.
Jesus quickly noted my uncertainty. “Take this place next to Zelotes,” he said, pointing to a seat at the other end from him.
I felt uncomfortably warm, remarking on the stuffiness of the room.
Andrew looked at me curiously. “I find it cool, but we can open the windows if you like.”
All afternoon I had been closeted with the Sadducees, laying plans for the taking of Jesus in the night, while few were about. They felt that he still had friends enough to cause a commotion, if not to touch off a demonstration.
Gamaliel did not meet with us, as before, but Caiaphas gave me his sealed note reiterating the support of the liberal Pharisee faction, enough, he said, to preclude a conviction. Without this note I would still have done nothing, for the others I knew I could not trust.
In my uneasiness now, I looked around the Passover table to unburden myself, but I had few friends there, except perhaps for Simon Zelotes, and the Master, whom I cherished, despite what any might say.
This was the feast of the unleavened bread, commemorating Moses’ flight with the children of Israel. The flat wafer-like cakes were heaped on the table along with the bitter herbs reminding the descendants of these Israelites of the hard passage from Egypt to the Promised Land. Red wine was in abundance, signifying the blood sacrifice in the quest for freedom.
Jesus said the blessing, and then, in accordance with ritual, briefly described why this night was different from all other nights. “Since we are all Jews,” he said, “it has been my desire to sit down with you for a last time and celebrate this Passover with you. For, as you all know, the angels in Moses’ time passed over the marked houses of the Israelites and smote only the homes of the Pharaoh’s Egyptian subjects, but not so shall it be with the Son of Man. For he shall not be passed over, but neither shall he be found wanting in this hour. For I promise you that I will not eat any more thereof until my own pilgrimage be fulfilled in the Kingdom of God.”
He took a thin wafer, a reminder of the unleavened bread eaten in the desert, and gave thanks, then broke it in fragments with his sinewy hands and passed it around, saying: “This is symbolically my body, which is given for you and mankind. This hold sacred in remembrance of me.”
He then sipped from a cup of wine, and giving thanks to God, passed it to Peter, saying: “Take this and divide it among yourselves. For I can assure you that I will not drink of the fruit of the vine until the Kingdom of God shall come. But likewise, this cup is the testament of my blood which is shed for man.”
His eyes roved boldly about the table. “Drink every one of you of this blood, including he who betrays me. For he sits at this table and eats bread with me.”
He shook his head at their bewilderment.
“I tell you again that one of you that eats with me shall betray me.”
“Is it I?” they chorused one after another, even Peter and John putting the question.
He put the bread into the common serving dish and said again: “It is one of the twelve that dips into this dish with me.”
I dared not look at him, for who knew what he had divined with his uncanny powers?
“The Son of Man must go as it is written of him,” he said solemnly, “but woe to that man by whom that Son of Man is betrayed. It would be better for that man if he were never born.”
The others kept looking at one another but could not see who it could be, as all were close to him.
“I know who it is,” he said, “and why he does it. I chose him well, for I saw even then the seeds of betrayal in him. But with faith, it need not have been his way. Still, it had to be done so that man will know till the end of time to what purpose I was sent. For in my death, they will remember my life.”
I thought all eyes were surely on me, but as I looked up I could see they were all staring at the Master. Soon some began protesting their loyalty, and then began arguing in their childishness who he preferred among them.
Jesus listened for a while, and then chided: “Darken not my final hours with such ridiculous squabbling, so like the petty satraps who surround the Gentile kings and lick their boots like dogs currying favor. Let the greatest among you be as the least, and serve those junior to him. For by your works you justify a seat in the Kingdom of Heaven.”
Peter looked at him with an aggrieved expression.
“I have never wavered in my loyalty to you.”
“Not to me, Peter, but to the Father in me. Satan would have had you long ago had I not prayed that your faith not fail. For I know that after my death you will be like a rock to your brethren.”
Tears came to Peter’s
eyes. “But, Master, I am ready to go with you, into prison, or to the death.”
A sorrowful smile came over Jesus’ face. “My death shall be the crucible by which you find the strength demanded of you in the dark days ahead.”
As I squirmed uneasily, with all this talk of death, Peter fell to his knees before the Master. “I swear by all that is holy that I shall never forsake you.”
“You forget that we do not take oaths. Nevertheless, you shall deny me thrice before the cock crows.”
“Never,” cried Peter. “I would surrender my life first.”
“Make no rash promises,” said Christ, “for these are easier said.”
Solemnly, he pictured the Passover, speaking of God’s angels bringing death to the firstborn of Egypt, but passing over the Jewish homes, before the cowering Pharaoh let the hosts of Israel go out of the land. But not once did he see the parallel between an embattled Moses and a Jesus indifferent to the tyranny of the new Pharaoh.
“And it came to pass, that at midnight the Lord smote all the firstborn in the land of Egypt, from the firstborn of Pharaoh that sat on his throne unto the firstborn of the captive that was in the dungeon, and all the firstborn of cattle.
“And Pharaoh rose up in the night, he, and all his servants, and all the Egyptians, and there was a great cry in Egypt, for there was not a house where there was not one dead.
“And Pharaoh called for Moses and Aaron by night, and said. Rise up, and get you forth from among my people, both you and the children of Israel, and go serve the Lord, as you have said. Also take your flocks and your herds, and be gone. And bless me also. And the Egyptians were urgent upon the people, that they might send them out of the land in haste, for they said, We be all dead men.”
Even in their wanderings the Lord of Moses was with his beleaguered people. “And the Lord went before them by day in a pillar of a cloud, to lead them the way, and by night in a pillar of fire, to give them light, to go by day and night.”
As Jesus read from the book of Moses, I marveled that he, so much greater than Moses, would not do as much for his enslaved people. But then he had never been confronted as Moses had.
He looked up to surprise me staring at him. “Have you a question, Judah?”
I was conscious that all eyes were on me.
“Who would you say was the greater, the prophet who defied the Pharaoh and led his people out of bondage, or the prophet who saw his people slaves and moved not a finger?”
“He is greater, Judah, who better does the work for which God sent him.”
His eyes now moved around the table.
“I would speak to you from the Psalms, for what troubles one man troubles all, and what mystifies one mystifies all. So listen closely, that in after years you may better understand.
“‘O Lord God of my salvation, I have cried day and night before you. For my soul is full of troubles, and my life draws nigh unto the grave. I am counted with them that go down into the pit, I am as a man that has no strength. Free among the dead, like the slain that lie in the grave, whom you remember no more. Lord, I have called daily upon you. I have stretched my hands unto you. Will you show wonders to the dead? Shall the dead arise and praise you? Shall your loving kindness be declared in the grave, or your faithfulness in destruction?
“‘They that seek after my life lay snares for me, so forsake me not, O Lord, O my God, be not far from me. Make haste to help me, O Lord my salvation.’”
As we pondered these words, he now stood up, called for a basin of water, and tied a towel about his waist. “Now I would show you what I mean by the highest being the lowest, and the Master subordinating to the servant, for in my kingdom there is no ruler or ruled, but all are equally companions of the Lord.”
Without ceremony, he kneeled before Peter and said: “Remove your sandals.”
Peter looked at him in astonishment. “Master, you will never wash my feet.”
“You still do not understand, but one day those that come after you shall make a tradition of this. Still, if I do not wash your feet, then you are no part of what I represent, and so have no place with me.
Peter’s jaw dropped and he looked around helplessly.
“Master, that being the case, wash not my feet only, but also my hands and my head.”
“It will suffice to wash only your feet to make you clean. But there is one here, as I said, who will not be clean, if I should wash him from head to foot.”
The Apostles were sorely troubled.
“Who is it?” they cried again, not noticing that I alone said nothing.
“I will give you a hint from Scripture,” he said, indulging his passion for mysticism. “‘Thus saith the Lord. I will send a fire upon Moab, and it shall devour the palaces of Kerioth, and Moab shall die with tumult, with shouting, and with the sound of the trumpet.’”
They still did not understand, and they looked from one to the other, shaking their heads, and I did likewise.
And so, in his sardonic way, he gave them still another clue from Scripture.
“‘And I said unto them. If you think good, give me my price, and if not, forbear. So they weighed for my price thirty pieces of silver. And the Lord said unto me. Cast it unto the potter. And I took the thirty pieces of silver, and cast them to the potter in the house of the Lord.’”
From the puzzled faces, it was plain they were no more enlightened than I was. How did one understand him? Even thinking death close, he could still toy with words.
He moved around the room, commencing with John and working at random until he came to me. He looked me straight in the eye, and I quaked, for with all his reference to death I was beginning to have a presentiment of evil.
“I love you,” I cried in a fierce undertone. “I only ask, like every patriot, that you stand up to our enemies and deliver us from them. That is all I have ever asked.”
He sighed. “You still don’t understand. Would for your sake it was some other person, but failing this, act with dispatch, so that the prophecy of old will be fulfilled.”
I refused to consider his death.
“You can will what you like.”
“You, too, had that choice, and what have you done with it?”
He wiped my feet diligently and replaced my sandals.
I repeated Peter’s cry. “I have been loyal in my way.”
“Had it been God’s way, Judah, then it might have been different. But, still, the prophecy of the thirty pieces of silver must be fulfilled.”
The disciples had begun to regard us curiously, baffled by the secret conversation.
“And what is this to me?” I asked.
“You will learn, as you learn many things.”
He stood up now, made his towel like a sash, and returned to his seat. “What I have done for you,” he said, “I now charge you to do for each other. For this reason I have given you an example. I am your Master, and the servant is not greater than his Master, nor the Master greater than he who sent him, so be happy in this thought, even as you wash the feet of the lowliest”
Peter still wore a puzzled frown.
“You speak of being betrayed, and in so speaking cast a doubt on this entire company. Name this traitor so that we can drive him out and purge ourselves of this contamination.”
“You shall know soon enough.”
But Peter was not satisfied, for with all his dullness he had a curious temper.
Behind the Master’s back, he beckoned to John, leaning against Christ’s bosom, that he put the question to him again.
John looked into Christ’s eyes.
“Who is it. Master? Who is this traitor?”
Christ could deny him nothing. But he answered in his own way. “Let me tell you, my brethren, that it could have been any of you. But none of you, with all your frailties, was captivated by your own desires, save one. I knew him immediately by his burning obsession. He wanted not fame, nor money, but to live in a dead tradition, and conquer another people. Even now
, he does not realize that a Roman life is as dear to God as a Judean’s.”
I listened in horror, for he completely ignored my feelings, not understanding what I intended, in my love not only for my country but for him as well.
Now the others set up a clamor, demanding that he name the traitor. He reached for a sop of bread, which he dipped into the wine.
“He it is to whom I shall give this sop.”
My heart stood still, then thumped frantically against my chest. Again, I felt an impulse to stand up and declare myself, but his eyes stopped me.
With a flip of the wrist, he tossed the sop onto the table. It fell in front of me, but also next to Philip and Thomas, who were on either side, and one could not tell whose it was.
“Let him take it whose it is,” Jesus said quietly.
In the stillness, nobody moved, and then Jesus beckoned me to his side. “Do what you have to do, and do it quickly,” he whispered.
I stood as if paralyzed. Then he gave me a searching glance. “After we finish here we shall take ourselves to the Garden of Gethsemane, and there in the shadow of the olive presses, I shall prepare myself for my Father.”
The others were still confused, thinking from his manner that Jesus directed me to buy the necessities for the second night of the feast.
Instead of leaving right then I resumed my seat, not wanting to appear conspicuous.
“Let this be my valedictory to you all,” he said. “Grieve not for me, for if you believe in God, believe also in me. We will not be separated for long, for in my Father’s house are many mansions. If it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. Still, I will come again and receive you unto myself, that where I am you may be also. And by now assuredly you know where I go.”
Poor doubting Thomas raised his hand. “Master, we know not for sure where you go, and how can we know the way?”
The fire came into Jesus’ eyes. “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No man comes to the Father, but through me.”
Philip, too, appeared to be troubled.
I, Judas Page 33