The Weeping Chamber

by Sigmund Brouwer

  “Take this and share it among yourselves,” He said, passing the cup. “For I will not drink wine again until the kingdom of God has come.”

  The disciples exchanged puzzled glances, but Yeshua passed the first cup, and the disciples dipped herbs in the vinegar.

  Yeshua took one of the three flat cakes of unleavened bread and broke it, putting some aside, as custom dictated, for after supper. It was also custom at this moment for the youngest to ask the reason for Passover. Yeshua answered, telling the story of Moses and the first Passover. When He finished, the men joined their voices to sing Hallels from the ancient psalms.

  Yeshua reached for the second ceremonial cup of wine and began the traditional prayers. The meal resumed after the second cup of wine had been passed.

  Yeshua looked around the table as the others ate. “The truth is,” He said, “one of you will betray Me.”

  Some of the disciples froze, hands halfway to their mouths. Others set the unleavened bread down and stared at Yeshua. It took a half minute before anyone recovered enough to break the silence.

  “I’m not the one, am I, Lord?” two asked, their words overlapping.

  “One of you who is eating with Me now will betray Me.” Trouble filled the master’s face. He was unable to speak with much strength as emotion choked Him. “For I, the Son of Man, must die, as the Scriptures declared long ago. But how terrible it will be for My betrayer. Far better for him if he had never been born!”

  The table filled with the babble of each disciple twisting and turning and speaking at once.

  In this noise, Judas leaned over and spoke softly to Yeshua across the short space that separated them. “Teacher, I’m not the one, am I?” he said, deliberately echoing the words of the others to avoid their attention. How could Yeshua have known?

  The light in Yeshua’s eyes fragmented to shards of pain. Although He stared at Judas, it was as if He saw beyond to a night of utmost loneliness, a night with the monstrous depths of hell at His feet, with the fires of torment licking at the edges of the soul.

  Yeshua did not answer Judas immediately. His silence, perhaps, was a final appeal to Judas to turn back from the fires of a soul damned to eternal separation from God.

  Judas waited, barely breathing, not using the long silence to ponder Yeshua’s warning of woe to the betrayer but selfishly hoping for confirmation that Yeshua did not suspect him.

  “You have said it yourself,” Yeshua said.

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  At the meal’s end, the oily smell of roasted lamb clung to our clothing; custom demanded that we burn all parts left over, and with only three of us, much of the lamb had gone uneaten, to sizzle and spit smoky grease as the fire devoured it.

  “I have made arrangements with my friend Caiaphas,” Pascal said abruptly. “Shortly, one of his servants will arrive to escort you back to his palace.”

  Seraphine’s puzzled look reflected my own response.

  “For what purpose?” I asked.

  “Have you forgotten our conversation yesterday evening? The prophet has been betrayed. His arrest will happen tonight. I want you among the priests and soldiers.”

  “I am tired,” I said. “It is not something I wish to do.”

  “It is a chance to redeem yourself,” he persisted.

  I laughed. Neither understood.

  “You must be seen with the priests,” Pascal continued. “My Sadducean friends must know you are for them, not Him. Once they are satisfied of your allegiance, you and I can begin discussing the matter you brought before me at the beginning of the week.”

  I shook my head no. I’d already made my decision on how to dispose of my estate. “I am tired.”

  “Tired? Or afraid to discover that your man of miracles is not a man of miracles? Tonight you will know one way or another. Your own eyes will give witness.”

  There was a reason Pascal was among the wealthiest in Jerusalem. He knew exactly how to manipulate a man’s weakness.

  And he had found mine.

  When the servant arrived within the hour, I made the short journey to the palace of the high priest.

  We waited for the arrival of the one named Judas. He was about to be sent by Yeshua.

  **

  When the noise of conversation died, Yeshua referred again to a betrayer.

  “I am not saying these things to all of you,” He said, trouble and pain thickening His words. “I know so well each one of you I chose.”

  Yeshua stared at the bloodred wine of the third cup. He absently lifted a piece of bread, then dropped it, the actions of a man so deep in thought he had little conscious realization of what his hands did.

  “The Scriptures declare, ‘The one who shares My food has turned against Me,’ ” Yeshua said, lifting His eyes to those around the table again. “And this will soon come true.”

  Peter lost himself to his impulsiveness and strong nature. The very thought that a man might share a meal with a host then behave in any traitorous manner was so vile to the honor code of society that Peter opened his mouth to protest. And to think Yeshua believed this so strongly He referred to it a second time.

  Yeshua cut Peter’s protest short with a quick shake of the head. “I tell you this now, so that when it happens you will believe I am the Messiah.”

  He paused. Although Yeshua’s next statement made little sense to Peter when he first heard it, he later understood it was meant to contrast with the actions of the betrayer. “Truly, anyone who welcomes My messenger is welcoming Me, and anyone who welcomes Me is welcoming the Father who sent Me.”

  Yeshua’s shoulders slumped. His face softened in sad defeat. He knew the future. He already felt the pain of betrayal. “The truth is, one of you will betray Me!”

  The repeated emphasis of this predicted betrayal threw the table conversation into excited disarray.

  Peter, directly across from John, motioned for his friend to lean forward. “Ask Him which one He means,” Peter said.

  John nodded and leaned back against Yeshua.

  “Lord, who is it?” John asked in a low voice.

  Yeshua had begun to assemble a sop of unleavened bread wrapped around bitter herbs and meat from the Passover lamb. “It is the one to whom I give the bread dipped in the sauce.” Yeshua dipped the sop into a sauce of stewed fruit and handed it to Judas.

  **

  Obvious as the message was, John did not understand it. Judas was in the place of honor, and so would be expected to receive the first sop.

  Before John could ask Yeshua to clarify His answer, Yeshua dipped another piece of bread into the dish of sauce and handed it to the disciple beside Judas.

  John gave Peter a silent shrug to indicate that the master had not really answered.

  Yeshua began to dip more bread, and, although He did not speak loudly, John overheard Him.

  “Hurry,” Yeshua said to Judas, “do it now.”

  John misunderstood for the second time, so inconceivable was it that Judas—the one who worked hardest, the one trusted with the money—might be the betrayer. Yeshua, it seemed, was now sending Judas on an errand to buy something for the Passover feast or to give something to the poor.

  Judas Iscariot, bread from his master still in hand, rose and departed into the night.

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  I spent most of my wait at the palace in a shadowed corner of an opulent hall. Other men arrived. As they talked among themselves, I had the opportunity to find solitude with short strolls into the courtyard beyond.

  Naturally, my thoughts turned to the man of miracles. I wondered whether a meeting with Him would have changed the course of my plans. What if I had found Him the day before? What if He had promised to heal my daughter? Would I now be frantically running through the city, trying to find and warn Him? Would I have used my wealth to offer Him safe escape? And would I now feel this utterly lonely, counting down the dark hours to my final day?

  But I had not found Him. He had not promised to
heal my daughter. And somewhere in the city, a man was slipping through the dark streets to arrive at the palace and earn thirty pieces of silver.

  **

  When Judas left the upper chamber, the slight wrinkles of worry around Yeshua’s eyes disappeared. Surfacing to replace that tension was His love for the men who had stayed with Him through all the troubles of the previous months.

  The disciples slowly ate the sop Yeshua had given them. In the lamplight, the juice of the roasted lamb shone off their lips and the edges of their beards.

  “The time has come for Me, the Son of Man, to enter into My glory, and God will receive glory because of all that happens to Me,” Yeshua told them. He alone was not eating. His arms rested lightly on the table. His hands were relaxed and open. “And God will bring Me into My glory very soon.”

  Every man around the table had been raised in the Jewish tradition, taught in Jewish synagogues. Every fiber of their conscious beings, all their collective understanding of religion, should have recoiled at the blasphemy coming from Yeshua. Yet a great power was descending upon them, opening their hearts to understand the mystery in Yeshua’s words.

  They heard, too, the affection as He continued to speak. “Dear children, how brief are these moments before I must go away and leave you! Then, though you search for Me, you cannot come to Me—just as I told the Jewish leaders.”

  Peter set down his food, ready to disagree with Yeshua.

  Yeshua smiled, reading his mind. “So now I am giving you a new commandment,” He said, slipping into the role of teacher. “Love each other. Just as I have loved you, you should love each other.”

  He paused to give emphasis. “Your love for one another will prove to the world that you are My disciples.”

  Peter broke into Yeshua’s discourse. “Lord, where are You going?”

  Yeshua smiled again. Indeed, He had known where Peter’s impetuousness would lead. “You can’t go with Me now.”

  Peter brought his arms up, his usual preliminary to the hand waving that accompanied his passionate speeches.

  Yeshua forestalled Peter’s obvious reply by adding, “But you will follow Me later.”

  “But why can’t I come now, Lord?” Peter asked. “I am ready to die for You.”

  Yeshua lost His gentle smile as His lips tightened in a grimace of pain. He shook His head. “Die for Me?” Yeshua said, “No, before the rooster crows tomorrow morning, you will deny three times that you even know Me.”

  The silence hung.

  Yeshua took the remaining unleavened cakes of bread. He began to break them as part of the ritual to end the Passover meal. He gave a prayer of thanks and raised the bread to all the disciples. “Take it and eat it, for this is My body.”

  This unexpected break from the usual words of the Passover ceremony and the strangeness of the command deflected all attention from Yeshua’s somber prediction for Peter.

  Yeshua continued, filling the fourth cup of wine, the traditional close to the Passover supper. He spoke as if confident that now or later these followers would understand the symbolism; the outward elements of bread and wine were to a man’s body what the act of accepting each in Yeshua’s memory was to his soul. Physical nourishment. Spiritual nourishment.

  “Each of you drink from it, for this is My blood, which seals the covenant between God and His people. It is poured out to forgive the sins of many,” He said to them. “Mark My words—I will not drink wine again until the day I drink it new with you in My Father’s kingdom.”

  Because the disciples were quiet in their efforts to grasp His words as they passed and shared the wine, Yeshua tried to reach out to them. “Don’t be troubled,” He said, first looking at John. “You trust in God, now trust in Me.”

  Yeshua waited until John gave Him a tentative smile. Then He turned to another disciple. “There are many rooms in My Father’s home, and I am going to prepare a place for you.” Again Yeshua looked into the eyes of His disciple. He waited until the man’s heart heard the call of God before moving on to search the eyes of the next. “If this were not so, I would tell you plainly,” He said.

  One by one, Yeshua soothed them, comforting them with new promises. With each new declaration, He turned to another disciple, so that those promises were not simply a long discourse. “When everything is ready, I will come and get you, so that you will always be with Me where I am.”

  To Thomas, He said. “And you know where I am going and how to get there.”

  Thomas, conscious of Peter’s earlier unanswered question, refused to accept the comfort of Yeshua’s gaze. “No, we don’t know, Lord. We haven’t any idea where You are going, so how can we know the way?”

  By then, the cup had been passed all around the table. Yeshua took it from John, set it down, and turned back to Thomas to answer him directly. “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one can come to the Father except through Me.”

  Yeshua spoke to the others, almost as an appeal. “If you had known who I am, then you would have known who My Father is.”

  The knowledge of the night’s future clouded Yeshua’s face, and He spoke more softly. “From now on you know Him and have seen Him.”

  Philip broke the mood. “Lord, show us the Father and we will be satisfied.”

  What could have gone through Yeshua’s mind? So close to the end of His earthly time with them, and at this moment so close to heaven that surely the awareness of God was reaching their souls, illuminating the prisons of their frail mortal bodies. Yet Philip still insisted on clinging only to the pitiful limitations of his external senses, as if Yeshua were offering them the actual sight of God to quell their doubts and fears, when faith came from—and gave—spiritual vision. Yet had not the miracles of Yeshua—and indeed the miracle of creation itself of the world around them—given enough of a foundation for any faith?

  “Philip, don’t you even yet know who I am, even after all the time I have been with you?” Yeshua asked.

  Then He addressed all the others. “Anyone who has seen Me has seen the Father! So why are you asking to see Him? Don’t you believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in Me?”

  They appeared frightened. At His exasperation? At the force of His words? At the almost inconceivable notion of the God of the universe sitting among them? At the overwhelming shift of perception a man must make if he acknowledges with heart and soul and mind that God had become man?

  Yeshua softened, unable to avoid His compassion for them. “The words I say are not My own, but My Father who lives in Me does His work through Me. Just believe that I am in the Father and the Father is in Me.”

  He paused to think, as if searching for a way to set these fledglings free from the pull of gravity and linear time—a way to help them understand there was One who superseded nature in the very act of creating it, One intent on opening their wings for flight through the eternity they could not see beyond their short lives.

  When Yeshua was ready, He spoke so softly they had to lean forward to hear. “Or at least believe,” He finally said, “because of what you have seen Me do.”

  There it was.

  As plainly said as possible. If they were only able to view the world from the bodies of men—not with the eyes of their eternal souls someday destined to be free—then it should be enough that they had seen Yeshua shape events in the natural world with a power from beyond it. As it should be enough for anyone who later heard witness of His miracles.

  There it was.

  He was a lunatic. Or He was God.

  And too soon, they—like every generation to follow—would have to make that choice based only on the memory of His short time on earth.

  Chapter Forty

  Hindsight can provide piercing, and sometimes regretful, clarity.  But regarding Judas, a backward look offers only his actions; his mind is curtained by his silent grave. My own guess—and it is merely a guess, no better or worse than any other I have heard since that night—was that Judas fell prey to the ta
lent given him at birth.

  Our greatest temptations generally arise from the areas closest to our hearts. A man with no weakness for food cannot become a glutton; neither can a lazy, unambitious man be tempted by power. As Judas was the keeper of the purse, we can guess at his administrative skills and a sharpness with money, two ingredients for ambition. That he was trusted during Yeshua’s entire ministry shows that the others thought highly of him; engaged in what suited him, he was likely content for most of his time with the prophet.

  Yet behind this aptitude he probably had—as we all do—a darker side. Once his ambition was thwarted, honesty too easily soured to dishonesty; ideals decayed to disillusionment; service became frustration, resentment, and thoughts of betrayal.

  Until finally, these thoughts became action.

  When Judas arrived at the temple, I happened to be near a decorative, imitation-marble panel at the rear of the hall. It was the fashion these days, and I had made considerable profit shipping and selling the deep, rich pigments to mix into plaster.

  My pretended intense admiration of the workmanship allowed me to avoid conversation with those around me, and only their sudden collective silence alerted me to Judas’s presence. I simply turned and saw him, a slim man with an even-featured, handsome face bearing a well-trimmed beard, eyes distorted with the shine of desperation.

  His voice broke as he promised to lead us to the chamber where the prophet celebrated Passover with the remaining disciples.

  My first impression of him—and the others’ reaction to him—brought to my mind a picture of a dog slinking sideways as it approached its master, uncertain of reward or punishment.

  Judas received only grunts of acknowledgment for his information along with disdain, obvious in the curl of lips and the shaded looks down noses.

  I think I understood why everyone disliked him. The obvious reason was that his presence served as a reminder of the shamefulness of hating a man who rightfully reminded them all of their failings.

  I believe, however, there was more.