Jerusalem is alive with the sounds of the Festival of Unleavened Bread. The streets are teeming with crowds of people present to celebrate the Passover. The sounds are not all pleasant—the closer to the temple one is, the louder the sound of the sacrifices and all that they entail—but there is a sense of momentary reprieve among the Jews. It's a tense reprieve, for sure, it's impossible to ignore Roman oppression entirely, but a reprieve nonetheless.
As Peter and John approach the City, they pass a family. A little boy asks his father, "What does this ceremony mean?"
Peter continues walking with singleminded intent, but John lingers behind to hear the man's answer.
"We're going to sacrifice to the Lord," the man says. "He passed over our people and spared our homes to strike down the Egyptians, freeing us from slavery."
"When?"
The man's expression, for a moment, turns wistful. "Long ago."
"So why do we still celebrate it?"
"Because it is good to remember what the Lord has done."
There's a tug on his sleeve. Peter's expression is completely serious, with no room for a smile. No room for laughter. "John, come on. We don't have time to delay."
"He's not timing us, Peter."
"I don't care. This is serious."
John bites back a reply that Peter wouldn't appreciate. Their brisk pace quickly leaves the family behind. They reach the gate quickly, and just inside waits a man holding a jar of water, just as Jesus had said there would be. John has learned that, whenever Jesus has said something will happen, it will come to pass.
We are going up to Jerusalem, Jesus had said, and the Son of Man will be delivered over to the chief priests and the teachers of the law. They will condemn him to death and will hand him over to the Gentiles, who will mock him and spit on him, flog him and kill him. Three days later he will rise.
John shakes his head of the memory as Peter greets the man waiting for them. He walks behind the two of them as they weave their way through the streets, content to linger and take in the spectacle. Sometimes, John wonders what it would've been like to be present at the exodus from Israel. What it must've been like to see the Lord work through Moses and Aaron, what the dry ground of the Red Sea must've felt under his feet.
But John has seen Moses. Sometimes, he wonders if it was a dream. Peter and James had been there, too, but they've never spoken about it. They've seen Jesus walk on water and bring the dead to life and heal the sick and lame, but seeing him on that mountain—seeing him talk to Moses and Elijah as if they were old friends—
They're outside the house. The man goes inside, and out comes the master of the house. They met him the first time they travelled through Jerusalem, barely familiar with each other, and they visited the last time that they were through. This time, though, they're looking to stop for something much more significant. "What can I do for you, my friends?" he asks, smiling widely even though they've surely interrupted his own preparations for the celebration.
Peter, coming awfully close to puffing his chest out but not quite, says, "The Teacher says, 'Where is my guest room, where I may eat the Passover with my disciples?'"
The man's eyes shine at the prospect at having Jesus near again. He leads the two of them upstairs where a furnished room waits, ready for them, as if the man was expecting them. Furnished, just like Jesus said it would be.
John's no longer surprised.
-
The stage is set when everyone arrives. The sacrifice has been made, the food has been prepared, the table has been set. They walk through the door of the upper room with smiles on their faces, exhilarated by the festival, by the celebration. The disciples show their youth in moments like these, almost intoxicated with the size of the crowd and the atmosphere and the purpose of why they're gathered.
Everything is ready, but there's not a servant by the door waiting to wash their feet.
John is among the first to walk through the door, and he does a stutter step but doesn't stop. The others, also, are confused by this change in events—everything is here, except for a servant to clean their feet?—but they don't say anything. They look to Jesus, wait for his cue, but he reclines at the table and the rest cautiously do as well.
Peter's forehead is creased, like he's trying to figure it out. Like there's something Jesus is going to teach them. John thinks that Peter is going to give himself a headache.
They begin to share the meal, talking about the day and individual conversations they had and what excited them. There's something about Passover, about celebrating a tangible remembrance of what God had done for their people, even so far removed from that time, that sends a shiver racing up John's spine. He wasn't present at the time of the Exodus, sure, but he is here now. He is here with Jesus. Jesus, who—
Is standing up.
Peter says, "Teacher?"
Jesus doesn't reply. He takes off his outer layer and wraps it around his waist, then pours water into a basin and takes the basin into his hands.
Conversation stutters to a halt when Jesus kneels at John's feet. John's heart leaps into his throat.
Jesus' hands are rough, calloused, but so gentle as he takes John's right foot into his hands and begins to wash.
They dare not break the silence. Jesus finishes washing John's feet, wiping them dry with a towel, before moving to James, and then Judas Iscariot, and then Thomas, and all of the rest of them. Only when he gets to Peter does Peter object, the words bubbling up in his mind too much for him. "Lord, are you going to wash my feet?"
Jesus says, voice calm, "You don't realize what I'm doing right now, but later you'll understand."
"No, Lord," Peter says, edge to his voice bordering on panic, and John understands it—the Lord shouldn't be washing their feet. It's not his place. His place is above them, not below. Never below. "You shall never wash my feet."
Jesus leans back on his heels and looks Peter in the eye. "Unless I wash you, you have no part with me."
Peter visibly reels as he pales. The thoughts whirr across his expression as he tries to figure out a way to repair the situation, even if he might not know exactly what caused it. "Please, Lord," he says, "don't just wash my feet, but my hands and my head as well."
Anything, to stay with Jesus. Anything.
Jesus washes Peter's feet carefully, but says as he does, "Those who have had a bath need only to wash their feet; their whole body is clean. And you are clean, though not every one of you."
Jesus says the words evenly, but ice strikes John's heart. They're clean, but not every one of them is clean? What does that mean? Who could that refer to?
We are going up to Jerusalem, Jesus had said, and the Son of Man will be delivered over to the chief priests and the teachers of the law.
Something unpleasant stirs in John's heart, but he holds it back. He holds it back.
Jesus finishes his task and washes his hand, and he sits down to finish the meal. There's something on Jesus' face, now, though, and John doesn't need the elbow he gets in the side form Peter to know what his friend is thinking. Peter had told him that there had been something on Jesus' face as they'd come into Jerusalem, as he rode on the colt of a donkey, but John hadn't believed him. Now, though, he sees the shadow.
There's something wrong.
Towards the end of the meal, Jesus takes some of the bread and thanks the Lord for it. He breaks it, crumbs falling to the table, and he passes it out to them. They take it but don't eat, not yet, not until Jesus says quietly, "This is my body, given for you; do this in remembrance of me."
John's thoughts swirl, but he can't calm them down. Why would they need to remember Jesus? He's right here. He's with them. Where is he going that they would need to remember him by—by his body?
They will condemn him to death and will hand him over to the Gentiles, who will mock him and spit on him, flog him and kill him.
Jesus eats the bread, and they mirror the action without speaking. He takes the cup of wine next, murmuring another prayer of thanks over it, and then he passes it around. "Drink from it, all of you," he says. "This is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins. I tell you, I will not drink from this fruit of the vine from now on until that day when I drink it new with you in my Father's kingdom."
John drinks when the cup gets to him, but his mind isn't present. It's too busy working, trying to fit all of the pieces together, because it sounds like Jesus is talking about—talking about dying—but he...he can't, can he? How can he know he will die? Well, everybody dies, of course, but why does it feel like Jesus thinks he's going to die...soon?
James catches John's eye, not bothering to hide his frown. John wonders if he looks as afraid as he feels.
Jesus barely gives them time to recover. "Very truly I tell you," he says, "one of you is going to betray me."
John thinks he might be sick. This—this is so different than what it was like when they walked in, and he can't figure out when it changed. Well, on second thought, he knows when it changed—Jesus on his knees before him is a sight John never needs to see again—but he doesn't know why it changed. He leans forward when Peter motions him closer, though, even as the others stare at each other. "Ask him who he means," Peter whispers, and John leans carefully back against Jesus, careful to keep the others from being able to read his lips.
"Lord," he asks quietly. "Who?"
Jesus takes another piece of bread. His hand is shaking. "It is the one to whom I will give this piece of bread when I have dipped it in the dish."
John can't help but watch as Jesus dips the bread into the dish, and he feels the blood rush from his face as he passes the bread to Judas Iscariot. Judas takes it with a smile—not an evil one, but a kind one. He loves Jesus, doesn't he? They all do, right? Judas would never—he'd never hand Jesus over.
"What you are about to do," Jesus says to Judas, "do quickly."
Judas' smile flickers.
Whenever Jesus has said something will happen, it comes to pass.
Peter looks at John quizzically, and motions him forward again, but then Jesus starts singing. His voice is low, and rough, but it is filled with devotion. He's chosen one of his favourite hymns, but there's something different about the way he sings it. It's tainted with sorrow.
John joins in, trying to bolster Jesus back up, but the shadow keeps growing. Soon they are all singing, though John can't tell if the others can see the shadow or not.
They sing a few more, and Jesus offers a prayer before he says, "Come, let us leave." They start to file out of the room, eager to enjoy a walk during a cool night under the stars, but Jesus stays behind a bit and Peter stays with him. John lingers, and hopes it's not too obvious.
Peter says, voice low, "Lord, where are you going?"
He knows something is up. They all do by now, though the others are better at hiding it. John makes no secret of how he's listening in as he waits. Jesus says, "Where I am going, you cannot follow now, but you will follow later."
"But Lord, why can't I follow you now?" Peter asks. And then brave Peter, brash Peter, prone to eat his words Peter, says, "I will lay down my life for you."
Jesus takes a deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut for the briefest of moments, and then says, "Will you really lay down your life for me? Very truly I tell you, before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times!"
He leaves then, giving Peter a firm shoulder squeeze before walking out the door. Peter tries to say, "No, I'd never," but Jesus is already outside waiting for the others. The look on Peter's face is so stricken, so frightened, that John's feet are taking him across the room before he realizes it and he's gripping Peter in a tight hug.
"John," Peter chokes out. "John, there's something wrong."
"I know, Peter," John says. "I know."
He doesn't know what, but he knows.
-
Jesus weaves them through the streets of Jerusalem, encouraging them, knowing that their hearts are troubled as he talks more and more and more about how he is going away. How he will send the Paraclete—the Helper, the Advocate—to be with them in his stead.
The more he speaks, the more it sounds like he is leaving, for good, without the intent of ever coming back.
He brings them to Gethsemane. Peter, James, and John are the only ones he leads deeper into the garden. He brings them to a clearing and says, voice thick, "I—I need you to pray."
James says, "Of course."
Peter says, "Why?"
John sees the tears in Jesus' eyes, the sweat on his brow, and keeps his mouth shut.
Jesus says, "For you, so that you will not fall into temptation. And for me. I—I'm filled with sorrow. My heart is aching, and I can't—" He steadies his breath, clenches his hands into fists. "The act of living, it—it hurts, right now. In my head, in my heart. It's—it's overwhelming. Please stay, and keep watch, and pray."
Peter opens his mouth to say something ridiculous, probably like, Why?, but James elbows him in the side before he can do it. John says, "Of course," and Jesus nods once in thanks before he wanders away.
And he does mean to pray, really. They all do. Jesus has never been like this before, like there's a tangible weight holding him down, a burden too much for him to carry. He prays earnestly for his Lord, for his Teacher, for his friend, but the wine is heavy in his blood and it's late and he doesn't know what's going on and he's so, so tired.
He doesn't realize he's fallen asleep until Jesus is shaking him awake. His eyes are almost—frenzied, and it frightens John. "Why are you sleeping?" Jesus asks. His voice cracks. There's—there's dried blood on his face. His eyes are wide and unblinking and—and—
Jesus looks terrified.
"We—" Peter starts, but it's not enough. Jesus says over top of him, "Get up. You need to pray. You need to pray, so that you won't fall into temptation."
Peter says, "Yes, of course," and John knows he's thinking about what Jesus had told him, how Jesus said Peter would deny him. This gives Peter more resolve, possibly, but it doesn't stop the three of them from falling asleep again, and again after Jesus wakes them up a second time.
The third time he wakes them, the frenzy is gone. It's been replaced by something despondent, but also ready. Ready to face whatever is coming. Ready to stare it in the face.
Determined, like his worst nightmare is being realized but he will come out the other side.
"Wake up," he says, though they're all already awake. "The time has come. My betrayer is here."
John sits up and stretches. Light is starting to flicker in the trees, and he stands and turns to see a large group of people approaching them. This is one of Jesus' favourite places around Jerusalem, but only the disciples know that, and there's only one of them who could be leading that crowd.
"Betrayer?" Peter mutters under his breath, looking at the crowd, still trying to make everything fit together. His eyes catch on a familiar figure at the front, and Peter says louder, more cautiously, "Judas?"
Judas ignores him. Judas ignores John and James, too. He has eyes for only one, and he marches right past the three of them to Jesus.
Jesus stands up straight, and does not back down.
Judas presses a gentle kiss to Jesus' cheek, and everything falls apart.