Dismay turned to stunned disbelief.
Jesus nodded. He looked around, his eyes dark and sorrowful. “Behold, the hand of him that betrays me is with me at this table.”
That did it. The room erupted. “Betrayal?” Thomas blurted out. “But who?”
Then Matthew, he who had once been a publican and hated by most of the population of Capernaum, asked a question that touched all their hearts. He, too, had been completely taken aback by the prophecy of betrayal. His first impulse was disbelief, but he had learned long ago to trust in whatever Jesus said. So his next reaction was to turn inward. “Lord?”
Jesus turned to look at him.
“Is it I?”
Shamed by the simple honesty of the question, the others responded in kind. Were there seeds of treachery and weakness and disloyalty within them? How could one be sure of what lay inside the heart? “Could it be me?” asked Andrew in barely a whisper.
“Or I?” asked a very subdued James.
Jesus let them question for a moment, then looked around. “The Son of Man goes as it is written of him,” he said slowly, “but wo unto him by whom the Son of Man is betrayed. It would be better for him if he had never been born.”
Directly across the table from Jesus sat Judas Iscariot. His face was flushed, and he had suddenly gone very still. When Jesus’ eyes fell upon him, Judas started; then, quickly, he added his voice to the others. “Is it I, Lord?”
“Thou sayest,” Jesus said quietly. The others were still in a turmoil, and no one but Judas seemed to have heard it. But there was no mistaking the answer.
Judas flushed even deeper and looked away.
Two seats down from Jesus, Peter jabbed at John, who was talking across the table to Philip and Thomas. When John turned, Peter leaned closer. “You are closest to Jesus, John,” he whispered. “Ask him who he is talking about. Who is going to betray him?”
John thought for a moment and decided he would ask. He was close to Jesus not only in the seating arrangements, but he also felt emotionally close to him. On one or two occasions Jesus had even called John his beloved disciple. So John turned back to face the Lord. “Master?”
“Yes, John.”
He kept his voice low, barely loud enough for Jesus to hear, but no one else. “Who is it of whom you speak? Who is it that shall betray you?”
Jesus thought for a moment, then nodded. “He it is to whom I shall give a sop after I have dipped it.”
John sat back, watching. With the table being large enough to seat thirteen men, not everyone could reach the center of the table, and it therefore was not sufficient to have only one bowl of the sauce in which they dipped their bread. So their host had placed several small bowls of the sauce up and down the length of the table. After a moment, Jesus reached for the loaf of matzah, broke off a piece and leaned forward. He scooped up some of the sauce on the end of the bread; then, to John’s surprise, he leaned even further across the table and offered it to Judas.
To dip bread into a soup or stew from a common pot was the customary way of eating. To dip the bread and offer it to someone at the table was a mark of honor and respect. When it came from the host or the leader of a banquet, it was an especially valued compliment. Judas, completely caught off guard by the offer, hesitated for a moment, then smiled, obviously relieved. He took the bread and put it into his mouth.
“That which thou do,” Jesus said softly, “do quickly.”
Any comfort that had come to the man instantly disappeared. He stared at Jesus. Could Jesus know what Judas had done? He felt a bead of sweat break out on his upper lip.
Across the table, John turned back to Peter. “It’s Judas,” he said in astonishment.
“But . . .” Peter stared across the table at his fellow apostle. The man looked very uncomfortable, almost feverish. Then, suddenly, Judas abruptly rose to his feet. Mumbling something about having to make some purchases, he walked to where he had left his bag, picked it up, slipped his feet into his sandals, and hurried out the door.
Jesus watched him go, sadness deepening in his eyes, but said nothing more. The others were a little surprised at the departure but then shrugged it off. Judas was keeper of the bag. They had seen Jesus speak quietly to him. Perhaps Jesus had instructed him to procure something more for the supper. Only Peter and John noted the departure with a deep sense of foreboding.
Jesus sat quietly after the door shut. The apostles visited quietly with one another. Finally, realizing that Jesus was waiting for them, the disciples grew quiet again, turned their faces to him, and prepared to listen.
“Now is the Son of man glorified, and God is glorified in him.” He looked on them like a father looking upon his family. “Little children,” he said tenderly, “yet a little while I am with you. You shall seek me, but as I said unto the Jews, whither I go, you cannot come. So now I say to you, a new commandment I give unto you, that ye love one another, as I have loved you, that ye also love one another.”
He paused momentarily, and he seemed pleased with their attentiveness. “By this shall all men know that ye are my disciples, if ye have love one to another.”
This had been a troubling night in many ways for Peter. At these words he could no longer hold back. “Lord, where are you going?”
Jesus turned. “Where I go, you cannot follow me now. But you shall follow me afterwards.”
Peter was shaking his head before Jesus even finished. “Why can’t I follow you now? I will lay down my life for your sake.”
The Master drew in a deep breath as he looked over at the fisherman who had left his nets to follow him. His eyes held an infinite sadness. “Simon, Simon,” he said with obvious pain, “behold, Satan has desired to have you and to sift you as wheat. But I have prayed for you, that your faith will fail not.”
Simon Peter rocked back, his face twisting with pain. “Lord, I—”
“When you are converted,” Jesus went on before he could finish, “then strengthen your brethren.”
Peter came up on his knees on the low bench, his mouth twisting in his beard. “Lord, I am ready to go with you, whether it be in prison or in death.”
There was a heavy silence as the eyes of the others in the room flitted back and forth between Jesus and their senior brother.
Jesus finally just shook his head, the sorrow only deepening. “Will you lay down your life for me?” he asked softly. “Truly I tell you, Peter, the cock shall not crow before you shall have thrice denied that you know me.”
Chapter Notes
The Passover ritual was treated in great detail in volume two (see pp. 424–34, 441–42). The psalms that are part of the service are Psalm 113, which is sung in connection with the telling of the story of the Exodus, and Psalms 114–118, sung as the concluding portion of the service. It is in Psalm 118:22, 25–26 that the words Jesus used of himself and which foreshadowed the triumphal entry into Jerusalem are found.
In all three of the accounts of this first sharing of the sacrament, the Gospel writers have Jesus saying, “This is my body,” and “This is my blood.” The author took the liberty of adding, “This is a representation of my body,” and “This is a representation of my blood,” because this more accurately conveys the idea of the original Greek. Clarke notes that Hebrew and Aramaic evidently did not have a way of saying “This signifies, or represents” something else. So the common way of expressing that concept was to say, “This is” or “These are.” For example, when Joseph interpreted Pharaoh’s dream of the seven kine, or cattle, he said, “The seven good kine are [i.e., signify or represent] seven years” (Genesis 41:26) (Clarke, 3:252).
Chapter 28
In my Father’s house are many mansions. . . . I go to prepare a place for you.
—John 14:2
I
Jerusalem, Upper City, an Upper Room 3 April, a.d. 33
Peter had been in turmoil many times in his twenty-six years. A fisherman’s life—especially when it was spent on the Sea of Galilee where
violent storms could arise in a matter of minutes—was not one for the faint of heart. He knew full well that by nature he was impetuous and prone to action before he had thought things through, and that had brought him trouble numerous times. In the last three years, turmoil had become a regular experience for him, and it had nothing to do with fishing. He was forever asking what he thought was a profoundly important question, only to realize when Jesus answered it that he was still very much a little child. He would take action in a way that he thought would please Jesus, only to be corrected, and occasionally, openly rebuked. He alternated regularly between deep joy, great satisfaction, feeling like a fool, and utter melancholy.
But he had never felt quite like he was feeling right now. His head was down; he stared at the table, not daring to lift his eyes to see if his companions were looking at him. Why shouldn’t they? And he could imagine the look in their eyes. Jesus had just declared that before this night was over, he would deny even knowing Jesus!
I am ready to die for you! The thought was so powerful it was like a piercing pain. I am. I will!
And that was part of the turmoil, too. For the past several months, Jesus had talked of his coming death, much to his disciples’ dismay. In the past few days, he hinted at it again and again. But tonight it seemed to lace every part of the conversation. And now it was more than just words. Jesus acted like a man who was about to die. Peter could never remember seeing him so morose, so filled with sorrow, so . . . He searched for the right word. So fatalistic. Before the cock crowed. That’s what he had said. Sunrise was less than twelve hours away; then every rooster in Jerusalem would begin their morning wake-up call. What did it all mean? What was he to do?
Suddenly, Peter was aware that no one was speaking, that the room was utterly quiet. He looked up, startled a little. Jesus was looking at him. His eyes were soft, his expression filled with compassion. In that instant, Peter knew that Jesus understood the pain he was feeling, the embarrassment, the humiliation at being told he would lose his courage.
“Let not your heart be troubled,” Jesus said, a smile pushing back the sorrow a little. “You believe in God. Believe also in me.”
“I do believe in you, Master,” Peter said.
Jesus nodded but went right on. “In my Father’s house are many mansions. If it were not so, I would have told you.” He looked around at the others. “I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you unto myself. I will do this, that where I am, there you may be also.”
Several apostles stirred at that statement, but Jesus continued in the same calm, peaceful voice. “And whither I go you know, and the way ye know.”
That seemed confusing. Across the table, sitting next to where Judas had been, Thomas leaned forward. “Lord, we know not whither you go. And how can we know the way?”
Jesus let the question hang in silence for several moments; then with slow and precise words, he answered: “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No man cometh unto the Father but by me. If you had known me, you should have known my Father also. But from henceforth, you know him and have seen him.”
Philip, who was seated beside Thomas, raised his hand. “Master, show us the Father, and it will suffice for us.”
Jesus turned to face him fully. “Have I been so long time with you, Philip, and you have not known me? He that has seen me has seen the Father. How do you say then, show us the Father?”
Philip looked only the more perplexed by that answer.
Jesus leaned forward, even more earnest than before. “Don’t you believe that I am in the Father, and the Father in me?”
Several men, including Philip, nodded quickly.
“The words which I speak unto you I speak not of myself. The Father dwells within me, and it is he that does the works that I do.”
He sat back, again letting his gaze sweep around the circle of eleven men. “Verily, verily, I say unto you, he that believeth on me, the works that I do shall he do also. Yea, and greater works than these shall he do, because I go unto my Father. And whatsoever you shall ask in my name, that will I do, that the Father may be glorified in the Son.”
That brought an instant reaction. It was an incredible promise. They would have the power to do even greater works than they had seen the Master do? They looked at each other in amazement.
Jesus seemed pleased, and sat back, letting them digest what he had just taught them.
II
Bethlehem
With the Passover feast completed, the tables cleared, and the dishes washed and dried, the family of David ben Joseph moved outside into the courtyard to visit. The heat of the past few days had dissipated, and the evening air was cool and pleasant. It would likely be cold by morning, with the promise of rain later in the day. It was full dark, but Benjamin had lit oil lamps and hung them around the walls of the courtyard.
They were still settling in when Miriam, instead of taking a stool along with everyone else, moved over to the small fountain. There she stood, silently watching the others. After a moment, Simeon went over to join her.
Deborah noticed them first and assumed there were not enough seats for them. When she looked around and saw that there were more than enough places, she gave her son an odd look. He just smiled at her with an expression that looked suddenly suspicious. Then she looked at Miriam, who colored slightly under her gaze and dropped her eyes. Deborah puzzled about it for a moment, then suddenly sat straight up, her eyes widening. “Really?” she mouthed to Miriam.
Miriam’s face went even brighter, but she nodded.
“Quiet, everyone,” Deborah called. “Quiet! Miriam has something to say to us.”
They all turned as one.
Miriam laughed softly. “We didn’t mean that you all had to stop talking.”
“What is it?” Leah asked.
“Well, first of all,” Miriam began, turning to Esther and Benjamin, “from all of our family, a hearty and sincere thanks to Uncle Benjamin and Aunt Esther for once again letting us spend Passover with them.”
“Hear, hear!” Ephraim called out, slapping his leg with one hand to show his enthusiasm. The others clapped their hands as well.
“It is our pleasure,” Esther said. “We love having you all here.”
Miriam hesitated a moment, then went on, her blush rising quickly again. “We—Simeon and I—decided that perhaps it might be well to let you know that next year . . .” She smiled softly and turned to her husband.
Simeon stepped forward. “Next year, Uncle Benjamin, you may have to make room for at least one more at the table.”
Leah leaped to her feet. “Really?” she shrieked.
Miriam laughed at her excitement. “Yes, really. We are going to have a baby.”
“Oh, Miriam,” Livia cried. She awkwardly got to her feet, following close behind Leah. As they threw their arms around each other, Miriam drew Livia to her, feeling the swelling in Livia’s belly. “We think it will come in mid-September,” she whispered, “so your little one and my little one should be only three or four months apart.”
“How absolutely wonderful.”
As the women swarmed in around Miriam, Simeon stepped back. He motioned to his father, then walked to a place behind the rest of the family. When David reached him, he extended his arms for an embrace. “This is great news, Son,” he said. “Congratulations.”
“Thank you, Father.” He took a quick breath. “There’s something else.”
The look on Simeon’s face caused David to draw back. “Is something wrong with Miriam?”
“No. Miriam feels a little sick at times, but she is really doing quite well.”
“What, then?”
“I’m going to take Miriam into Jerusalem.”
David’s head cocked to one side. “Now?”
“Yes.” Simeon’s voice lowered even more. “I’m going to tell the others that we’re going for a walk. You can tell Mother after we’re gone, if you’d like,
but I think it’s better if the rest don’t know. At least for now. They’ll just worry.”
“Looking for Jesus?” David said, not hiding his own concern.
“No.” Simeon’s shoulders lifted and fell. “We’re going to Mordechai’s house.”
For a long moment, David just looked at his son.
“It will probably do no good, but this will be his first grandchild. Miriam wants to tell him herself, not have him hear the news from someone else, or even try to tell him in a letter.”
“Do you think that’s wise?” David said, guessing what the answer would be.
“No,” Simeon said flatly. “And I told Miriam that, but . . .” He shrugged again. “If that’s what she wants, then I’ll be there with her.”
There was another long pause; then David put his hand on his son’s shoulder. “Perhaps it will be enough to soften him a little. Perhaps I should come with you.”
Simeon immediately shook his head. “No. It will hurt her terribly if he refuses to listen to her, but that’s the only real danger.” He reached up and gripped his father’s arm. “But thank you. We’ll slip out in a few minutes. I’ve hired a light cart and horse so we don’t have to walk. It may be midnight before we get back.” Then he grimaced. “Of course, that’s being optimistic. If he refuses to talk to us, we’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
“May the Lord go with you, Simeon. And may your good news touch the heart of a bitter old man. I can’t think of anyone who so much needs someone to love and cherish.”
III
Jerusalem, House of Mordechai ben Uzziel
Levi made no effort to hide his distaste as he held the courtyard door only partially open. “My master is not here.”
The man at the door frowned deeply. “Where is he?”
Levi shot him a withering look. The man acted like he was his servant.
“Speak, man!” Judas barked. “This matter is of the utmost importance, and it cannot wait. Your master told me to seek him out be it day or night.”
The chief steward of the house of Mordechai ben Uzziel would have given much to be able to slam the gate in the man’s face. Levi cared not one whit for the rabble rouser from Nazareth called Jesus, but this man—supposedly a close friend and trusted associate—was willing to sell his loyalty for money. Loyalty had always been something very important to Levi.
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