Night
When John Mark was much older, he would say this whole night there as a feeling of foreboding. He would say it many times, and then one day a wiser and quieter kinsman would say, “Is that true, or is this a thing you imagined years later? That night, what did you think?” And Mark would think a little harder and, though he could not escape the idea of doom he would add, “It was as if the Kingdom of God was coming immediately, and this was the feast for it.”
After all, back then he was only a boy, only just come into manhood. He loved Jesus from afar, was amazed by him from afar. And there have been many who spoke of that night and put their own touches to it, many who were never there. Some said women had no part in it, and some that they must have and some that they did not know, and ever afterwards, as if there was not enough to argue about, even the meaning of the words Jesus spoke were the cause of wars and divisions.
But on that night, the house of Mariah, sometimes called Mary Salome, was full. It often was, and tonight Magdalene had come with her most precious possessions, and her heart was lonely and scared because she had returned from a three day trip back and forth to Joppa to see her brother and sister off. Marta and Lazaros were missing the Pesach, bound for a ship that would eventually take them to southern Gaul, and Magdalene knew she would join them when this was all over, though what exactly this was and when it would end, she could not say. In the great house was also Mary of Nazareth, who had arrived with her sons and daughters, and so that night there were actually several suppers going on, and some moved back and forth between them, and there was a time when Jesus had to say that, upstairs, he and and his men needed to have words mostly for them, and at the time there should be little interruption.
Mark did not count as interruption. He knew how to be quiet, how to sit in corners, and he had attached himself to Magdalene who came and went as she pleased. He was in love with John, plain and simple. Earnest, handsome John, slender alabaster, black haired with thick eyelashes and a stormy brow, so very close to Jesus he was more than at his right, John son of Zebedee reclined on Jesus’s breast. Mark had brought up the water basin for foot washing and gone down for a servant, only to return and see Jesus on hands and knees, washing each of his men’s feet. Peter had raised some sort of protest, but that was done now, and the one with the moustache, the green eyed one who made Mark shudder with lust or fear—he couldn’t say—was half sobbing in the corner when Jesus, sitting back in his place said, “I have desired to eat the Pesach with you, for I say to you, I will no longer eat of it until it is fulfilled in the Kingdom of God.”
And even as he spoke, Magdalene came forward, and her hair was all unbound, and she placed before him the alabaster cup that had been her birthright, that once upon a time she had poured oil from, onto his head and onto all the others, binding them. Now the jewel in it gleamed red and Jesus, like a priest, lifted the amphora and poured a ribbon of red, glugging wine into the white bowl as he murmured the old prayer:
“Blessed art Thou, Eternal, Maker of the fruit of the vine.
Then he raised the cup, and said, “Take this and drink it, all of you, for I say to you, I will not drink of the fruit of the vine again until the Kingdom of God comes.”
He passed the cup to Magdalene, and she drank, and then she passed it to Peter, and he to Andrew, and they all around until at last it came to John who sat now, serious, and took a great sip before giving the last to Jesus.
When Jesus had consumed the wine, he took one of the great flat breads before him and tore it, the tearing of the bread filling the room as he said, raising the wounded loaf, “Blessed art Thou, Eternal, who has give us bread from the earth.
“This is my body which is given up for you; do this in remembrance of Me.”
And when he shared it out, this time he passed one half to John at his right, and the other to Magdalene so that Judas sat stupid, in the end, holding two pieces in his hand, and none of them looked at each other.
The rest of the meal they ate and sang, like any other Pesach, though the traces of sorrow and heaviness could be seen on faces, and it was when the meal was ending, Jesus took up the cup again, but there were many shared cups on this night. Now as they sat and ate, Jesus said, “Assuredly, I say to you, one of you who eats with me will betray me.”
Judas felt as if he’d been punched in the stomach, and beside him, Thomas said, “Brother… what’s wrong?”
“Why would you say that?” Matthew almost wailed. “Everyone here loves you! Everyone here has followed you to this room. None of us would betray you.”
Jesus looked frightened. His hands went to his mouth.
“I… I cannot understand it,” he said. “It flew from my mouth,” he said, almost in apology.
But as he sat there, perplexed, and Judas tried not to look at him at all, the others around the table were saying, “Not I?” and “Surely not I?”
Or: “Is it I?”
“No… Is it I?”
And almost as if the words were being dragged from him, Jesus said:
“It is one of the Twelve, who dips with me in the dish. The Son of Man indeed goes just as it is written of him, but woe to that man by whom the Son of Man is betrayed! It would have been good for that man if he had never been born.
“All of you will be made to stumble because of me this night, for it is written:
‘I will strike the Shepherd, And the sheep will be scattered.’
“But after I have been raised, I will go before you to Galilee.
“Simon, Simon!” he turned to Peter, “Satan has asked for you, that he may sift you as wheat. But I have prayed for you, that your faith should not fail; and when you have returned to me, strengthen your brethren.”
Peter declared, “Lord, I am ready to go with you, both to prison and to death.”
“I tell you, Peter, the rooster shall not crow this day before you will deny three times that you know me.”
But Peter spoke more vehemently, “If I have to die with you, I will not deny you!”
And they all said likewise.
John Mark, shrunk back in the corner, saw Peter motion to John, who blinked.
“Ask him,” Peter hissed amongst the hubbub.
John nodded, and leaning back against Jesus, asked, “Lord, who is it?”
Notably, not once had John or Magdalene ever assumed it could be one of them.
“It is,” Jesus said,” still not quite himself, still speaking like those strange oracles in other countries through whom the prophecies of the gods arrived, “it is the one to whom I give this morsel after I have dipped it.”
And then he dipped his bread in the gravy at the same time Judas reached for the bowl and their eyes met and Jesus’s eyes opened in… horror? Realization.
He gave the bread to Judas, who ate it quickly as if to hide the evidence, and then Jesus said, “What you are about to do, do quickly.”
And trembling, eyes still wide open, Judas got up, and he left the room, heading downstairs into the night. No one but Peter, John and Magdalene knew why that since Judas kept the money bag, Jesus was telling him to buy what was needed for the feast, or to give something to the poor. Jesus had said this to Judas. They simply assumed
Magdalene sat back, winded, and John leaned into Jesus’s breast, and while Jesus stroked his hair, the others, perhaps to let it be known how much they would never betray Jesus, launched into a discussion which began almost playfully, but ended in anger about how devoted each of them was, how much more some had done than others. Matthew quietly pointed out that he and Alphaeus had given up their livelihood and their whole house and Jesus, silent and tired, realized that, in some manner this commotion was his fault.
“The kings of the Gentiles exercise lordship over them, and those who exercise authority over them are called ‘benefactors,’” his voice cut through theirs.
“But not so among you; on the contrary, he who is greatest among you, let him be as the younger, and he who governs as he who serves. Who is greater, he who sits at the table, or he who serves? Is it not he who sits at the table? Yet I am among you as the One who serves.
“But you are those who have continued with ne in my trials. And I bestow upon you a kingdom, just as my Father bestowed one upon me that you may eat and drink at my table in my kingdom, and sit on thrones judging the twelve tribes of Israel.”
It seemed impossible now not to pretend that something wasn’t coming to an end. Nathanael wanted to shout: “You’re leaving! You’re about to do something. What are you doing?”
Jesus said, “When I sent you without money bag, knapsack, and sandals, did you lack anything?”
Alphaeus dully said, “Nothing.”
“But now,”Jesus’s voice grew urgent, “he who has a money bag, let him take it, and likewise a knapsack; and he who has no sword, let him sell his garment and buy one. For I say to you that this which is written must still be accomplished in me: ‘And he was numbered with the transgressors.’ For the things concerning Me have an end.”
“I have a my dagger!” Andrew growled.
With a sharp sound, Peter brandished his own short blade.
“Look, Lord,”Thomas cried, “here are two swords.”
Then Jesus said, “That’s enough. For now, that’s enough.”
Jesus filled the alabaster cup full of wine, that white cup with its perfectly winking jewel and they settled into silence.
Thrumming with holy unsound, words came to John.
“Let all mortal flesh keep silence, and with fear and trembling stand…”
Jesus said, “This is my blood of the new covenant, which is shed for many. Amen, amen, I say to you, I will no longer drink of the fruit of the vine until that day when I drink it new in the Kingdom of God.”
“Little children, I shall be with you a little while longer.”
At this time the others began to enter the room, Mariah and Mary, Cleophas and Rachel, and as the room filled, Jesus continued speaking.
“You will seek me; and as I said to the people of Judeans, ‘Where I am going, you cannot come,’ so now I say to you. I give you a new commandment: love one another; as I have loved you, that you also love one another. By this all will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”
John Mark made a space for Rhoda to sit beside him. He felt, nearly, as if Jesus was talking to him. But, yes, surely, he was.
“Let not your heart be troubled; you believe in God, believe also in me. 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. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you to myself; that where I am, there you may be also. And where I go you know, and the way you know.”
Thomas, who was wondering where his brother was, said to Jesus, “Lord, we do not know where you are going, and how can we know the way?”
“I am making the way,” Jesus said. “Right here. Right now. The whole time you have been with me. I am Christ of the Roads. I am the Road. I am every road. I am the way, the truth, and the life. You cannot travel to God without traveling into your own souls. Every path, every road by which one came to the knees of the Mother is me, and no one comes to the Father who does not come through Me. If you had known Me, you would have known My Father also; and from now on you know Him and have seen Him.”
Philip said to Him, “Lord, show us the Father, and that is more than enough for us.”
They all shook their heads. No prophet, no lawgiver had ever called the unnamable Father, had ever called him Abba. No God they had ever read of in the scriptures was God exactly, but the veiling of God. Abraham never called him Father. God was, on a good day, on the best day, the Father of Israel, but not one’s personal father, not as he was to this Jesus, not as Jesus had told him he was to them.
Jesus said to him, “Have I been with you so long, and yet you have not known Me, Philip? He who has seen Me has seen the Father; so how can you say, ‘Show us the Father’?
And John was struck with the memory of that day in their childhood when clay birds tossed from a roof had sprung to life, by when Seth from Nain had leapt from a death bier or Malthace shook her head and woke from death as if she had only slept. And the days and the days and the many days. He remember that time on Mount Hermon when this very Jesus, his cousin, his lover, the one who had his same blood and flesh, whose heart beat under his hand, had burned with fire, and his eyes had flashed.
“Do you not believe that I am in the Father, and the Father in Me? The words that I speak to you I do not speak on My own authority; but the Father who dwells in Me does the works. Believe Me that I am in the Father and the Father in Me, or else believe Me for the sake of the works themselves.”
There it was. Not Jesus, the child of someone in heaven, but Jesus, the eternity of heaven. Not Jesus, as Hercules or Perseus or one of those half divine children of the Zeus in heaven, but Jesus as the lords of the ancient cults, the Horus who was Osiris, the Dionysus who was Zeus, the Persephone who was Demeter, the Son who was the Father, the God who was God. And John longed to back away from him a little, longed to be away from this burning incandescence, but he could not pull himself from the beat of his heart, the warmth of his flesh, the trembling in his skin which told John even Jesus was in awe of this own revelation..
“A little while longer and the world will see Me no more, but you will see Me. Because I live, you will live also. At that day you will know that I am in My Father, and you in Me, and I in you. He who has My commandments and keeps them, it is he who loves Me. And he who loves Me will be loved by My Father, and I will love him and [f]manifest Myself to him.”
Jude, who wished to never be serious, who longed for travel and romance and surely had known his fill of both in these last three years said, seriously, “Lord,” for cousin, or something less formal would not fit in his mouth, “how? How… How?”
“If anyone loves Me, he will keep My word; and My Father will love him, and We will come to him and make Our home with him. He who does not love Me does not keep My words; and the word which you hear is not Mine but the Father’s who sent Me.
“This is My commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends.”
And then Jesus rose, and he began to sing, keeping the rhythm on his thigh.
Answer Amen unto me.
Glory be to thee, Father.
And we, going about in a ring, answered him:
Amen.
Glory be to thee, Word:
Glory be to thee, Grace.
Amen.
As they sang, Amen, Amen, they all kept up the rhythm, slapping their thighs or slapping the ground, and the rhythm was earnest, and the singing was earnest, and even the joy was earnest, and a great swelling rose in Mary’s heart as she looked at her son and looked all around the room.
“Where is Judas?” she wondered, and they sang on.
Glory be to thee, Spirit:
Glory be to thee, Holy One:
Glory be to thy glory.
Amen.
We praise thee, O Father;
we give thanks to thee, O Light,
wherein darkness dwelleth not.
Amen.
And as Jesus sang his prayer, Jude found the rhythm of it on his lyre.
I would be washed, and I would wash.
Amen.
Grace danceth. I would pipe; dance ye all.
Amen.
I would mourn: lament ye all.
Amen.
At last, Jesus stood there, sweat running down his face and staining his red robe, chest heaving, his closed eyes lifted to the ceiling as he twirled in a slow circle.
“Enough!” he said, almost laughing.
He looked at the Twelve, pointing to them one by one, not, Magdalene observed, pointing to her. And she was relieved. She was exhausted.
“Come away with me,” he said to them. “Come away.”
