Just Before the Last Supper

You turn the corner of a quiet Jerusalem street, then head on straightaway, seeing a flight of outdoor stairs up ahead. You climb the stairs toward the room where, you're almost certain, everyone is. You pause upon the top of the outdoor landing. You catch your breath for a moment; then open the door to the Upper Room.

The light is low: just a few small lamps burning atop the single long table across the way. The air is warm: the smell of the lamb; also, the warmth of the people sitting all around the table. You step inward. Your eyes, adjusting to the light, are taking in the faces of all your familiar friends. They—it would seem—have been waiting for your arrival to make up the group. Off to the right, one of the houseowner’s servants is down on His hands and knees—His back to you—carefully washing the feet of one of the twelve…

You take your place at the table, over toward the opposite end. You look down the length of the table, seeing all the elements of the seder. You are vaguely aware that the room is a little quieter than you might’ve expected—it’s as if no one wants to talk; to break the near-silence.

You are looking down the row of faces, reclined as they are on the dining couches… and that’s the exact moment you realize the strangest thing about the scene. Where is Jesus? Earlier today He’d sent out Peter and John to get this room ready… off they’d gone to do so… so now that you’re all here… where is He?

And you are just about to ask this question to the friend sitting beside you…

Just about to satisfy the evening’s main curiosity…

When, turning over the other way,—away from that friend to your left—you realize it’s your turn to have that household servant wash your dirty feet…

You kick off your sandals… they clunk down to the floor…

You feel the firm heavy grip of the Servant’s hand upon the back of your heel as He carefully begins washing your feet, one after the other, with cool clear water. The silence in the room continues as before. Then, your feet now feeling good as new, you feel the warm comfort of the towel, drying them off, one after the other. The Servant carefully slips your sandals back on…

And as you think to be polite, to incline yourself to thank this nameless unknown servant of the household, you raise yourself on your elbow to do just that…

And there He is. 

Jesus. 

At your feet. Having only just finished washing them…