Chapter Notes
John gives us the only insight from the Gospel writers as to what motivated Judas Iscariot to seek out the chief priests and elders with his offer to betray Jesus into their hands. He records that it was Judas who was offended when Mary anointed Jesus’ feet with the precious ointment, then adds this: “This he said, not that he cared for the poor; but because he was a thief, and had the bag, and bare what was put therein” (John 12:6). The implication seems to be that Judas, still smarting under what he saw as profligate waste and the resulting rebuke from the Master for his criticism, decided to take action of another sort.
The record is clear, however, that Judas initiated the contact, going to the rulers and not the other way around. Matthew tells us that after the agreement was struck, “from that time he sought opportunity to betray him” (Matthew 26:16). Thirty pieces of silver was the price specified in the Law of Moses to be paid in reparation should one’s ox gore another man’s manservant or maidservant to death (see Exodus 21:32).
Chapter 27
The stone which the builders refused is become the head stone of the corner.
—Psalm 118:22
I
Bethlehem 3 April, a.d. 33
The unfolding of the Passover meal followed a very specific and defined ritual, repeated not only in every household in Jerusalem but throughout the province, and indeed, wherever observant Jews were to be found.
The person appointed to lead the service for the family was generally the head of the house. In Bethlehem, in the house of Benjamin the Shepherd, that was not so easily determined as one might think. Technically, five heads of households were present: Benjamin himself; Benjamin’s son, Joab; David ben Joseph; Ephraim; and Simeon, as a newly married husband. Benjamin was the logical choice since it was his house, but he reminded them that he had led the service the last three times they had been there. It took only a moment to convince David that since he was the next oldest male present, it should fall to him.
Deborah had hoped that Aaron and Hava and their family would return to have Passover with them, but they had not seen him since he had left them on the Temple Mount, dispirited, dejected, and hurt. She had sent word to Jericho inviting them to join them in Bethlehem but had heard nothing.
The Passover service consisted of four major divisions, each carried out with precise and solemn attention to detail. In the first portion, the person in charge of the service opened the meal with a blessing and prayer. This was followed by the drinking of the first of four cups of wine. Then the family partook of the celery sticks dipped in salt water. This was to remind them of the tears shed by the Israelites while slaves in Egypt.
Next came the retelling of the Exodus story. This always began with the youngest male present who was capable of understanding asking this question: “Why is this night different from all other nights?” In previous years, that part had been taken by Ephraim’s son, Boaz. But since he and his sister and baby brother had remained in Capernaum with Lilly and Ezra, this year the task fell to Seth, Benjamin’s nine-year-old grandson. Once the story was finished, the group sang the psalm of David that began with the words, “Praise ye the Lord. Praise, O ye servants of the Lord, praise the name of Jehovah.” Then the second cup of wine was poured and drunk.
Next came the formal meal. Here the Paschal lamb, the bitter herbs, and the unleavened bread, or matzah, were consumed. Generally parsley, watercress, or horseradish was used. Even the tiniest portion of any of these herbs left the mouth stinging and the stomach twisting a little. What better way to signify the bitterness of their bondage in Egypt than to partake of these bitter herbs each year? Another brief prayer and the third cup of wine followed.
Finally, the person leading the services sang some additional psalms. The meal concluded when the participants drank the last of the ritual cups of wine. It was as David was chanting the last of the psalms that something very unusual happened. David had a deep, sonorous voice, and he sang the measured words with great solemnity. Then suddenly, right in the midst of the singing, he stopped, staring at the scroll with the texts of the psalms that was in his hand.
Every eye turned to him, shocked that he would stop during the ceremony. Deborah started to rise, thinking that something was wrong, but he waved her back down. Looking very strange, he went on, speaking now instead of continuing with the traditional singing. The stone which the builders refused is become the head stone of the corner.
All around the table, faces showed surprise. Those were the words Jesus had used in reference to himself in his confrontation with the Pharisees a few days before. That was partly what had offended Aaron so deeply.
David’s head lifted. “Do you remember what comes next?” he asked quietly.
The adults looked at each other, then finally shook their heads. The songs used in the last part of the Passover service were songs of praise and adoration and remembrance, but they could not specifically remember what came immediately following the passage David had just read.
David lifted the scroll again. Save now, I beseech thee, O Lord. Blessed be he that cometh in the name of the Lord.
Deborah drew in a sharp breath. Miriam reached out instinctively and gripped Simeon’s hand. Livia and Leah, who were sitting together, turned to each other in surprise. Memories of a few days before flooded back with perfect clarity. They had been with Jesus, traveling on the road from Bethany to Jerusalem. The Master had stopped and sent two of his disciples into Bethphage to find a donkey. What had followed would never be forgotten. Suddenly a spirit had swept over the crowd. The people had cut down palm branches. They had laid their outer clothing at the feet of the donkey. They had strewn flowers and greenery in its path. As Jesus started forward again, now mounted, a mighty shout went up, as if torn from a single throat. Hosanna! Hosanna! Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord. Hallelujah! Hosanna in the highest! Then, just moments later, it was followed by one of the most sacred of all shouts in Judaism. Hosanna! Hallelujah! Praise be to Jehovah. May Jehovah save us.
David stopped, his eyes swimming. He started to say something, then looked away. Slowly he lowered the scroll back to the table. Every aspect of the Passover feast was always carried out with great solemnity, but now, David’s gravity had deepened even more. He took the pitcher of wine and refilled each cup. He lifted his cup high, and the rest followed suit. What came next was not part of the usual text for the service, but no one cared.
“For over twelve hundred years,” David said, his voice low and filled with awe, “our people have celebrated this night of deliverance. But we have never truly been free. First it was Assyria that conquered us, then Babylon and Persia. Next came Greece, and now, finally, Rome. We have not been free for many centuries.”
He paused. “I don’t know who first added the singing of the psalms to the Passover service. But somewhere back in time, some wise man decided to include a psalm that David wrote under the inspiration of heaven. It is a Messianic psalm.”
He had to stop, swallowing hard. Deborah’s eyes had filled. Miriam and Rachel and Leah were crying with quiet joy. Livia and Aunt Esther were close to tears as well.
“On this night of nights, after more than a millennia of waiting, we no longer pray for the Messiah to come and deliver us. On this night, we sing, not a prayer for deliverance, but a hymn of praise. The Lord God has come down from heaven. The Son of God has come to earth to save us all.” He brought the cup to his lips and took a sip. The others did the same.
“Hallelujah!” David said softly. “Hosanna and hosanna! Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord.”
“Amen!” exclaimed the family with equal softness. “Amen and amen!”
II
Jerusalem, Upper City, an Upper Room
The first intimation Peter had that this was not going to be a completely traditional Passover supper came in the third portion of the feast. The inaugural blessing and prayer had been followed by the first cup of wine and then the eating o
f the celery stalks dipped in salt water. So far there had been nothing out of the ordinary.
In the second part of the supper, the retelling of the Exodus story, John, the youngest of the Twelve, led out with the age-old question, “Why is this night different from all other nights?” Jesus was serving as the leader of the service, and for a moment, Peter thought he wasn’t going to answer. The question seemed to have struck him with a deep melancholy. But after a moment, he looked up, smiled wanly, and answered with the words that had been recited for hundreds upon hundreds of years. “On all other nights, we eat leavened bread and matzah; on this night, we eat only matzah. On all other nights, we eat all kinds of herbs; on this night, we eat only bitter herbs.”
It was in the third phase of the meal that things changed. Normally, at the appropriate point in the meal, the leader of the service uncovered the loaf of unleavened bread, broke off a piece for himself, then passed the loaf down the table for each individual to do the same. Then everyone would dip their pieces of bread in the bowls of sauce made from the bitter herbs and eat them at the same moment.
Things did not proceed normally at that point. Jesus reached over and took the loaf from the center of the table, laying aside the white cloth that had covered it. He took it in both hands, paused for a moment, looking up into heaven. His lips moved silently for a moment as he offered thanks to God. Then, to Peter’s surprise, Jesus got to his feet. He broke off a piece of the flat, hard bread and handed it to John, who was sitting at his right. Surprised, John took it, looking at Peter, not sure what to do with it. Before John could decide, Jesus took another step, broke off a second piece and handed it to Peter. One by one, he went around the entire table, handing each apostle a piece of the bread. When he returned to his place, Jesus broke off one final piece, then set the remainder of the loaf back on the plate. The apostles looked at him expectantly, holding the pieces of bread in their hands.
Jesus straightened again, holding his piece of bread in front of him. Finally, he lifted it to his lips and put it into his mouth. “Take,” he said, motioning to the circle of disciples. “Eat.”
As they did so, he said, very seriously, “This is a representation of my body, which is given for you. This do in remembrance of me.”
John turned to Peter. “What is he doing?” he mouthed.
Peter could only shrug. He was as perplexed by the change in tradition as the rest.
To their further surprise, Jesus then leaned forward and took the pitcher of wine and his cup. He filled the cup, but instead of filling all of the other cups, as was the tradition, he set the pitcher down. Again his eyes lifted, and he offered a brief prayer. Then, once again, he looked down on the twelve men seated around him. He lifted the cup to his lips, sipped briefly, then held it out to John. The young fisherman took it, again not sure what was expected of him. Jesus nodded his encouragement. “Drink,” he said gently. “All of you drink from it. This cup is representative of my blood, even the blood of the new testament, or the new covenant, which is shed for you and for many. This, too, do in remembrance of me.”
John took a sip and handed the cup to Peter. One by one, it went around the circle, finally returning to Jesus, nearly empty. His shoulders lifted and fell, and once again there was a sense of great sorrow in his face. “Verily, I say unto you, I will drink no more of the fruit of the vine until that day that I drink it new with you in the kingdom of God.”
And with that, he returned his cup to the table and sat down again.
No one spoke or made a sound. Every eye was on Jesus. The Passover meal had just undergone a dramatic change, and they weren’t sure exactly why or what it meant. Jesus’ head was down. He seemed to be staring at nothing, his thoughts apparently far away from them.
Normally, the meal would have closed with the singing of psalms and partaking of the final cup of wine. But normal was no longer the order of the evening.
After several long moments, Jesus straightened, turned, and moved across the room to the table in the corner where the basin of water and the towels had been placed. As they had entered the home a little before sundown, the master of the house had, as custom required, stationed one of his servants at the door to help the arriving guests remove their sandals and wash and dry their feet in preparation for entering the home. But this pitcher, basin, and towels were in this inner room and had been left untouched. Peter had assumed this chamber was often used as an eating hall for guests, and the washing facilities were left there for that purpose. Now, as Jesus moved to those items, Peter wondered if they had been specifically requested.
When he reached the table, Jesus slipped off his outer tunic and set it on a stool. This left him dressed in the shorter inner tunic, which came to his knees. He picked up a folded towel, stuffed one end of it into the belt around his waist, then, using both hands, picked up the heavy basin and carried it back to the table.
Peter and John exchanged puzzled looks. Now what? This was certainly not part of the Passover tradition.
Jesus stopped at John’s place at the table and carefully set the basin on the floor. Then he returned to the table and retrieved the pitcher of water. With the movement of Jesus away from the table, John and the others on his side of the table had sat up, turning their backs to the table so they could watch what Jesus was doing. Now that he no longer was reclining, John’s feet hung over the outer edge of the low couch on which he was seated, almost touching the basin.
To the young apostle’s utter astonishment, Jesus knelt before him, reached out, gently took him by both ankles, and swung his feet up and over the lip of the empty basin. He removed the towel from his belt, laid it across his knee, and lifted the pitcher of water. With great soberness, Jesus poured a small amount of water over John’s feet. He set the pitcher down, and, using both hands, began to gently wash John’s feet.
The others began to stir. If they had been surprised at what Jesus had done before, now they were shocked. What was the Master doing? This was servant’s work, and it had already been performed. Jesus was no servant. He was the Messiah. This was the Son of God. The sight of him at John’s feet was so disturbing that murmuring could be heard around the table.
Jesus never looked up. He again lifted John’s feet and placed them on the towel. With that same infinite care, he dried them. Only then did he look up into John’s eyes. His expression was grave, his demeanor filled with reverence.
Simon Peter, sitting next to John, was staring with a mixture of amazement and horror. When the Master slid the basin over and then knelt in front of his chief apostle, Peter recoiled. He drew his feet up, tucking them under his legs. “No, Lord!” he cried.
Jesus’ head came up slowly as he looked at Peter.
A little embarrassed at his vehemence, Peter backed down a little. “Lord, you would wash my feet?”
Jesus spoke quietly, as if only the two of them were in the room. “What I do, you know not now, but you shall know hereafter.”
Peter’s feet were still drawn up beneath him, and he wasn’t about to move them. “You shall never wash my feet,” he began. He was about to suggest that he and the others should be washing Jesus’ feet, not the other way around.
Jesus sat back on his heels. He took a quick breath and released it, and his voice became firm and resolute. “Peter, if I wash you not, you have no part with me.”
Peter looked as if he had been slapped. He had been sharply rebuked once before for not accepting what Jesus was saying. His face went red, and his chin dropped. Slowly he straightened his legs again, letting his feet come down to the floor. “If that is the case, Lord, then wash not my feet only, but also my hands and my head.”
Jesus gave a momentary smile, filled with great love for this big, rough man whom he had called as first among the apostles. “Peter,” he said softly, “he that is washed needs not but to wash his feet.” He placed Peter’s feet in the basin and poured water over them. As Jesus began to wash them with his hands, he looked up again. “If that is d
one, he is clean every whit.”
He began wiping Peter’s feet with the towel. When he was finished, he looked around at the others, his eyes stopping on the man who had been sitting directly across from him at supper. “And ye are clean,” he said, looking at Judas Iscariot, “but not all.”
No one said anything more as Jesus proceeded around the table, stopping in front of each apostle, always on his knees, always working quietly and with great reverence. When he finished, Jesus returned the basin, the pitcher, and the towel to the side table. He took up his outer robe again and slipped it on. Only then did he return and take his place at the table again, sitting down with the others.
Every head was turned toward him as these closest of his disciples waited to see what was to happen next. Jesus let his eyes move from face to face. “Know you what I have done to you?” he finally asked. “You call me Master and Lord, and in this, you say well, for so I am. If I then, your Lord and Master, have washed your feet, you also ought to wash one another’s feet. For I have given you an example, that you should do as I have done to you.
“Verily, verily, I say unto you, the servant is not greater than his lord. Neither is he that is sent greater than he that sent him.” He paused for a moment before adding. “If you know these things, happy are you if you do them.”
He stopped, looking down at his hands. Once again a deep sorrow seemed to have swept over him. “I speak not of you all,” he said in a low voice. “I know whom I have chosen. But the scripture must be fulfilled: ‘He that eateth bread with me hath lifted up his heel against me.’”
That evoked yet another reaction from his listeners. They looked at each other in dismay. Jesus’ next words answered their unspoken questions. “I tell you this before it comes,” Jesus went on in that same low voice, “so that when it is come to pass, you may believe that I am he. Verily, verily, I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me.”
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