Remaining in the Room

I like to try and put myself in the shoes of these people in the Bible. Or at least put myself in the room, where I can’t be seen or impact anything, but I get to watch and witness all that is going on around me.

Sometimes that can be really rewarding; Paul and Silas sitting in a jail cell, singing while the walls collapse around them, has all the hallmarks of a great movie.

I worked through this recently in the account of the Passover…

Just like any other meal with friends, I’m sure this Passover feast was a good experience, filled with stories and laughter, joy and chatter. Catching up on each other’s weeks, sharing something we have seen or learned.

And as this meal goes on, I can only imagine the stories they could tell. The stories of miracles, of watching disease and death leave so many people. Lazarus walking from a tomb — there’s no end to the stories that could be shared… some of the apostles, I’m sure, are good storytellers, able to draw the others in, able to truly sell the suspense of the moment…

And in my mind, Jesus is sitting at this table and is quiet. Just sitting back to enjoy the moment of his apostles being united, sharing a meal, and enjoying their time together. He watches as Peter tries to explain what it felt like to walk on water, James and John trying to explain how 5 little pieces of bread and two small fish were able to miraculously keep showing up as they handed them out; and so many other stories that are being told here.

And while he watches this happening, his face is smiling, but his eyes are sorrowful. I imagine that even as he scans each of the faces of these men, his eyes get watery, and he wipes away these small tears.

Peter, because it’s always Peter, notices that Jesus isn’t talking and that He has this look on his face. The apostles slowly stop talking amongst themselves. As the last words die at the table, I imagine a long pause, and Jesus makes eye contact with each of them… then he leans forward, tears in his eyes, and begins to share one of his last quiet moments with these men.

Jesus picks up one of the unscathed loaves of bread at the table and looks at it before speaking. And I can hear his voice break as he begins trying to get through to these men one more time.

Jesus blesses the bread. He takes it in his hands, and as he begins to tear it apart, I see pain. I see Jesus wincing as the bread starts to rip, watching as each strand finally gives way, tearing after being stretched just too far. As this bread is finally torn, Jesus, through what appears to be pain, starts talking. “This… this is my Body. This is given FOR YOU. Please, take this, and eat this, to remember me.”

The apostles aren’t sure what to make of it; they each hesitantly take the torn bread that Jesus is holding out to them, and slowly eat it, with looks of confusion on their faces.

Jesus isn’t finished, though, and as he hands the last piece of bread out, he finds a glass that still has some wine in it. Jesus takes the cup and looks at the dark red liquid in it, seeing his reflection in the drink, and looks into his own eyes.

Even as the disciples are, confusedly, eating their torn bread, Jesus looks up from the cup with quiet tears rolling down his face. He looks at each of them, stopping only after he has examined each of them closely.

With the cup in his hand, he holds it just a little bit higher, almost like a toast, and before the others can find their own glasses, Jesus talks again.

”This cup, this cup that is poured out FOR YOU; for the FORGIVENESS of sins, is the new covenant, and it is found in my Blood. Please. Take this, and drink it.”

Jesus watches as the cup is passed around, knowing full well that this isn’t quite hitting home yet. There are so many questions in the eyes of the men around the table, so many uncertainties…

The apostles had every excuse. When Jesus is laid into the tomb, they have to believe that this incredible story they’ve seen is over.

But me? I sit under the weight of time, of hindsight, of all those that have gone before me. How can I struggle to recognize what’s happening?

Is that what I am going to say at the end of my life, that I just didn’t get it?

I can’t let that be my answer.