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Chapter Forty

The Last Supper

I don’t care what John, Matthew, and Mark wrote about Mary. She found favor in Jesus’ eyes but so had the other Mary, and he sent her away. Jesus words to Martha yesterday convinced me that she was the best and brightest of Lazarus’ sisters. It would, in fact, be John, who only briefly mentioned the anointing by Mary, but had immortalized Martha by quoting her words to Jesus before he raised Lazarus from the dead: “I believe you’re the Messiah, the Son of God!” Jesus’ discussion with Martha yesterday, in which he reminded her of her insight, and praised her fidelity, reaffirmed his high regard for her. Why none of the apostles, who heard her statement at Lazarus’ resurrection and Jesus’ reply, had not also recorded the words spoken by Martha and Jesus during our last visit to Bethany I shall never know. Jesus had singled her out as he had Mary Magdalene, implying that God had great plans for her. Martha had given one of the best summaries of Jesus’ purpose on earth, and yet it was spoken only to James and me.

Late in the morning, after the breakfast Martha and Ashira prepared for us, I joined the line of disciples passing by Lazarus and his sisters, kissing the women’s cheeks and giving Lazarus a farewell hug. Judas, as was his nature, was excessive in his embrace of Mary. I whispered only for Martha’s ears, “It’s you who took the best part!” Jesus, the last one to bid farewell to the threesome, said something to them that should have unfurled a banner in our minds: “I shall see you in the kingdom!”

“What kingdom is that?” muttered Thomas.

“A good question,” replied Matthew. “I don’t think he means Israel.”

“You know very well what he means,” I looked back at Matthew and Thomas. “He’s talking about heaven!”

Micah, who sat beside Lazarus, had been instructed by both Jesus and myself to stay put. As trifling as this miracle may seem, I’m half certain Jesus used his powers. After several moments prior to our sendoff when I stroked and whispered endearments to him, Micah didn’t bolt after me, as we began our trip. After I patted his head again before joining the others, he barked just once as I stepped away, and then lingered obediently beside our host. After helping Bartholomew onto his mule, I remained beside the beast, holding its reigns, leading him on the narrow trail leading to the road. Looking back one last time I waved at Lazarus, Martha, Mary, and my dog. As the figures of Micah and our friends grew smaller and smaller, each time I glanced back, I carried fond memories from Lazarus house, comforted by Jesus’ promise that I would see Micah again.

******

As always, clustered around Jesus during the early stage of the journey, the fishermen comprised the front of our procession, while Matthew, Simon, Thomas, Jude, James, Bartholomew and I remained in the back. After several Roman miles, however, this formation broke up, as Jesus forged ahead, everyone trailing behind the shepherd in single file. At a likely spot, where a spring bubbled out of rock and a copse of myrtle gave us shade, we stopped to rest, top off our water skins, and eat one of the snacks Martha and Ashira placed in our packs. The bread, cheese, and dates were carefully wrapped in separate napkins, unlike the pell-mell manner Esther and Dinah had stuffed them into our packs. While we rested and finished our lunch, Jesus gave us his third and final prediction of his death. Matthew recorded these grim words. Mark, who heard them from Peter, also wrote them down, and Luke found out from me when I visited him during his discipleship with Paul. At the time, however, it was the last thing we wanted to hear. Perhaps in our mental frameworks we had simply blotted it out. Even while he spoke we squirmed and fidgeted as we sat munching our bread, cheese, and dates. Judas went so far as to stop up his ears.

“Behold,” he rose up dramatically, pointing to the west. “In Jerusalem all things which are written by prophets about the Son of Man will be accomplished.  He will be handed over to the Gentiles, and will be mocked and mistreated and spit upon, and after they have scourged him, they will kill him, but on the third day he’ll rise!”

Upon hearing this clarification of his coming death, we looked at each other like frightened lambs. Our shepherd had most unequivocally prophesized his end. Despite the seriousness of this dire warning, the only response he received at first was a shuddering, “Oh, master!” from Peter. Then, after he walked over to comfort Jesus, John cried out, “It can’t be! You’re the Christ, the Son of God!” and his brother James shook his fist in the direction of the holy city shouting some of Jesus own words, “Jerusalem, Jerusalem, you kill the prophets and stone those sent to you! A curse be upon you!”

Jesus didn’t rebuke James for his curse, but scolded all of us for being faint-hearted. Andrew and Philip joined the other fishermen in an attempt to reason with him. Like the rest of us, who listened quietly, they refused to accept Jesus’ fate, saying the same restated protest over and over: “God’s Son can’t be killed! Why is it necessary for the Christ to be killed?” Jesus called them spiritual cowards for working against his father’s will and stormed away. In the background, as I sat between Bartholomew and James listening the fishermen call to Jesus and Jesus scream back, “Cowards—all of you!”, we could hear Simon reprimanding Judas again.

“Who are you to plug up your ears?” he scolded. “You don’t care about Jesus? You want him to change the world, not save it! You’re a serpent in Christ’s garden. You don’t fool me one bit!”

“He summed it up nicely,” James commented.

“Too nicely!” I jumped to my feet.

Fearful that Judas might attack Simon again, Matthew, and Thomas had also risen to their feet. As I looked back, though, Judas was nowhere in sight. Remembering the shepherd’s commission to me to keep Judas in the fold, I began searching for his errant sheep. In this endeavor I was alone.

“Good riddance!” Matthew snarled.

“Why don’t you keep going straight to hell?” Simon screamed.

While the fisherman coaxed Jesus back to our rest area, I called to Judas as he walked forlornly in the direction of Bethany: “Where are you going? You have nowhere else to go!”

“What do you care?” he shouted back.

Let him go, a voice in my head counseled, but, with Jesus expectations in mind, I felt compelled to reply, “Judas, your acting like a stubborn fool! Why do you kick against the goads?”

Once in our childhood Jesus had said that to me. One day Jesus, as the Risen Lord, would say this to Paul of Tarsus, too. Retracing his steps, Judas moved sullenly up to me.

“Why didn’t you just let me go?” He searched my face.

I couldn’t lie to him. “Jesus asked me to watch over you. Why, I don’t know, but the truth is, Judas, you’ve made yourself persona non gratis with the twelve.”

“That’s a Roman phrase.” he frowned at me. “I heard you favor the Gentiles over our people. The Romans are our oppressors, Jude, and yet you rode with and befriended them. In spite of this flaw, none of the other disciples would come after me, only you. You’re the best of that lot!”
“I suppose, coming from you, that’s a compliment,” I managed a smile. “One thing’s for certain, Jude; at least you’re consistent. Take my advice for the rest of our journey and when we enter Jerusalem’s gates, forget about that other Messiah. It’s not happening that way. You should know that by now.”

“We’ll see about that!” he muttered aloud.

I almost fired back a response after hearing that claim. It was outrageous and outlandish, so typical of Judas Iscariot. Instead of losing control, though, I uttered a hysterical laugh, as he followed at a distance behind me, recalling Simon’s recent accusation. He was right: Judas was a serpent in Christ’s garden. By using the word Christ in place of Messiah, even Simon, the onetime spy, knew Jesus was meant for the world and wasn’t intended merely for our people. When we returned to the rest area, Jesus gathered us all together, frowning with disapproval at the headstrong disciple. It was time to get back on the road, he indicated with a toss of his head.

A moody silence gripped us and hung like a shadow over the twelve as we came closer and closer to Jerusalem’s gate. As the city loomed ahead in the distance, I recalled both Jesus’ and James’ rebuke. It was true: many good men had died here for what they believed in. Now it appeared as if it would be Jesus’ turn. Once a pagan city ruled by the Canaanites, then conquered by David, the original deliverer of our people, it had been, because of its history and its temple, our religious center. Now as the final hours approached, far from being a spiritual comfort to us, it once again threatened—this time a righteous man we believed was the Son of God…. How can this be? I kept asking myself. If he so desired, he could change his fate. He could, he once implied, destroy the temple. He could move mountains if he wished. His disciples and countless eyewitnesses have seen him do miracles that boggled the mind, and yet here he was, as John the Baptist prophesized, going like a lamb to slaughter…. How can this be?

******

It was the Feast of Unleavened Bread, our most sacred week, that begins with the Passover meal to celebrate the Israelites liberation from bondage in Egypt. After visiting the Egyptians with plagues in order to soften Pharaoh’s mind, the Lord took more drastic measures. When Pharaoh ignored Moses final threat from God, Moses instructed the Israelites to daub lamb’s blood on the doors of the Israelites with hyssop to protect them from the Angel of Death. Because of this action, the Angel of death passed over their dwellings, and the first-born of all Egyptians, including the Pharaoh’s own son, died. I know it was important for our people to be liberated, but I never liked that story. For that matter, I disliked the stories of Joshua’s army who, on God’s orders, wiped out Canaanites cities—every man, woman, and child. The God of our fathers was a wrathful and unforgiving god, so different than the Lord in Jesus’ sermons. Unlike the universal God he preached about, Joshua’s god was a local deity, who cared not wit for Gentiles, especially those occupying Israel’s future lands. The heresy in my mind those moments—that Jesus had been talking about a totally different god—was grounded in our people’s history. Because of what followed Passover night, I know differently now, but for all its glory and significance I hated Jerusalem that day. For Jesus, I sensed that it would be a one-way trip.

I recalled that shining hour when the crowd chanted ‘Hosanna’ and waved palms branches as we followed Jesus through the gate. It had been a parody of the theme implied in Zechariah’s prophecy, which combined both of Isaiah’s Messiahs: the conquering king and the man of peace. Over half the population of Bethany and hundreds of citizens from the city had hailed him king and shouted out his praise. This time, as we entered, however, there was no fanfare. Alongside of pilgrims wishing to celebrate the Passover in the holy city, we almost blended in. Except for the specter of Bartholomew on his mule and Jesus, himself, we appeared ordinary enough. There were, in fact, a few people who recognized Jesus, but their reaction was subdued: a complete contrast to the glorious time before. As they glanced over, not one person greeted him. Though pointing him out to their traveling companions and occasionally smiling and waving, not one person spoke to him. The vast majority of the crowd didn’t appear to recognize him at all. The sheen had worn off. The man of sorrows had replaced the king of kings.

Turning down one narrow street, Jesus led us, as he had so many times before, to the exact destination he had in mind. On this occasion it was the house of Marcus, an early convert made at the River Jordan, along with Barnabas, Deborah, and Anna. When Jesus introduced him to us, the young man insisted on being called the Greek version of his name: Mark, the name he would be called when he wrote his version of Jesus’ life. In certain cases, such as Simon (who became Peter), Levi (who became Matthew), and Saul (who became Paul) the change of name had spiritual significance—a rebirth into the Way. I’m not certain why Luke preferred his Greek name over Lucas, its Roman equivalent, but I had always used the Greek sounding ‘Jude,’ over Judah (its Hebrew version) or Judas (the Roman equivalent). Mark had apparently made the name change on his own. Adding to the list of important Mary’s in our lives, for that matter, was Mark’s mother, also called Mary, who owned the house in which Jesus planned to have the Passover feast. During the amenities, in which Mark’s mother gave our travel worn band a look of dismay, Jesus requested a room for our meal. He offered what little money we had in our purse, but Mark, overjoyed at Jesus’ presence, wouldn’t think of it. Ignoring his mother’s glare, he shook his head. “Our house it at your disposal!” he exclaimed. “The largest room, where my father once lived, would be just perfect for your feast.”

“The upper room?” his mother cried. “Just who’s going to fix this feast?”

“Please, we don’t wish to be a bother.” Jesus held up a hand. “Really, I’ll find a butcher. We’ll hire someone to prepare our meal.”

“On the Feast of Unleavened Bread’s most sacred night, I don’t think so!” Mark grinned. “Mother and I, with the servant’s help, will prepare your meal. During the meantime, why don’t you men freshen up? I’ll have the servant bring towels and basins up to your room.”

“You’re most gracious,” Jesus praised him. “A blessing upon this house.”

Mark waved off his praise with another grin, not knowing that Jesus was serious. This place, like Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem, his baptism in the River Jordan, the towns and cities where his miracles were made, and Lazarus’ tomb, would forever be remembered as holy sites in the road map of his life. In spite of his mother’s original reluctance, she would, in fact, offer us a fine supper and one day be numbered among the Way. That, however, remained to be seen. Right now they were simply two more Good Samaritans on our journey, offering us food and rest. I was greatly impressed with this young man. In fact, along with Luke, Paul, and Barnabas, he would become a close friend. Right now, he offered us a contrast to the youths encountered during Jesus’ ministry, who were often insincere or listed among his critics. What was most different about Mark was the innocence of this youth. By his glowing eyes and warm words, he presented himself, in Peter’s words, as an open scroll.

Despite Mark’s generosity, Jesus insisted on paying for the Passover lamb, money Mark would later give to the poor. While Mark and his mother and their servant prepared our meal, we were provided heated water to wash ourselves. At this point, something extraordinary took place before our meal. After we had rinsed off our faces and hands, Jesus poured fresh water into a spare basin, removed his robe, rolled up his sleeves, and set about washing all of our feet. Though embarrassed by this gesture, most of us tolerated this ritual, strangely moved by this humble act. During this event, as our dinner was being prepared and our attention was drawn to

Jesus, Judas disappeared from the room. As Jesus moved down the line, reaching Matthew’s feet, he said nothing and seemed not to notice, though I know that’s not true.

“Where’s Judas?” I whispered to James.

“I heard him tell Thomas he was ill,” he murmured. “He looked rather pale on the road. He might be having a breakdown. The signs were all there.”

There it was, though not found in the other apostles’ scrolls, the excuse Judas had for slipping away. The very notion of what he was up to hadn’t occurred to us. Who could imagine such a monstrous deed? We were too distracted by the washing of our feet, which John recorded reverently in his scroll. When Jesus finally came to Peter, ironically the last to be cleansed, the disciple shrank from the action.

“No, Lord,” he wrung his hands, “you’re the shepherd. I’m the lamb. It is I who should wash your feet.”

Jesus answered patiently at first, “What I do now, you’ll one day understand.”

“Never, Lord,” Peter shuddered, “I’m unworthy. You can’t wash my feet!”

“Really?” Jesus studied the fisherman. “If I don’t wash your feet, Peter, you can have no

part of me!”

Taken back, Peter ran his hand through his hair and replied in a shaken voice, “Then so be it: wash not only my feet, but also my hands and my head.”

Jesus uttered a sad laugh, then, looking up and down the table, spoke to the entire group: “He who has bathed, need only to wash his feet, and yet he is completely clean, but this is not true for all of you!” As he completed the sentence, he caught sight of Judas entering the room. Judas, appropriately enough, was the only one of the twelve not cleansed. Not long after Judas’ reappearance, Mark, his mother, and their servant arrived with our meal. Jesus and the twelve stood up and backed away to give them space. After the servant placed the roasted lamb in the center of the long table, Mark and his mother added lentils, bitter herbs, and a tray of freshly baked unleavened bread on each side of the main course. When we sat back down, Peter took a seat on the left of Jesus and John sat on his right side. I managed to get a place between Peter and my brother James, followed by Matthew, then Bartholomew, with Simon sitting at the end. Judas, of all people, scooted in between John and his brother. Because John’s brother James considered himself to be in Jesus’ innermost circle, this irritated him very much. On the right side of John, also miffed, were Andrew and then Philip, who, had been Jesus’ first two disciples, with Thomas sitting at the right end of at the table.

As he did for all our meals, Jesus recited the Shema and then blessed our food.

“Wait,” he said afterwards, raising a hand, “do you men understand why I washed your feet. You call me Lord, which is right and correct, for so I am. If then, your lord and teacher washes your feet, you also must wash one another’s feet. I gave you an example to follow: you must do as I did to you. For a slave is not greater than his master, nor is one who is sent greater than the one who sent him.  If you know these things, you are blessed only if you do them.  I do not speak for all of you. I know the ones I have chosen, and yet scripture must be fulfilled. It is written: ‘He who eats my bread has lifted up his heel against me. I tell you before it happens, so that when it occurs you’ll believe that I am he.”

In the words ‘He who eats my bread has lifted up his heel against me’ Jesus told us that one of us would betray him, and yet, because of the wording, it seemed to pass over the other disciples’ heads. Everyone was mainly concerned with devouring their meal and drinking wine. The truth sank into my head slowly as I ate my meal and emptied my goblet.

“Moses beard!” I finally groaned.

“What’s wrong?” whispered James.

“I think I know what he meant,” I replied.

“What?” James murmured. “You scaring me, Jude.”

I stared at him mutely. Even though it was blatantly obvious what he meant and whom he singled out as the traitor, I didn’t want to believe it. I felt light-headed, partially because of the wine. Finally, after I listened to slurping and gulping for several more moments, in a clear, calm voice, Jesus clarified and simplified the charge: “Truly I say to you that one of you will betray me!”

Stunned by his words, everyone stopped eating, all goblets banged down on the table, and, after bending our heads forward, all eyes looked down the table at Jesus. Just that moment, Judas, the greatest glut of us all, was dipping his leavened bread into the sauce, as several disciples, including even John, replied, “Is it I?” “No, John,” Jesus answered, reaching down with a piece of bread. “It’s he who dipped his hand in the sauce the same time as me.”

John’s breath left him, he gripped his forehead, and stared at Judas in horror. Contrary to what John would later write, this incident wasn’t subtle. Jesus had called out his betrayer three times now, this time straightforwardly. Everyone at the table, even Simon and Thomas, who sat on each end, now clearly understood. The third accusation brought all of us to our feet.

“Sit down!” Jesus said in a shrill whisper. “All of you. Let my Father’s work be done!” “What you do, do quickly!” he said to Judas.

Without a word or backward glance, Judas slipped out of the room.

In Matthew’s scroll, which Luke let me read, Judas offered to betray Jesus for thirty pieces of silver. That might be true, but it’s unproven. Who told Matthew about this payment? Were there witnesses to this exchange? Matthew, like most of the disciples, didn’t stay around very long after Jesus arrest, fleeing the scene for his dear life. As most of the disciples, he hated Judas. He once suggested that Judas was mad. On another occasion, he agreed with Thomas that Judas was possessed by a demon. He never suggested that Judas was greedy. It was John who made that claim, and yet John never recorded that Jude was actually paid for his betrayal. It was Luke who captured the emotion, if not the facts, of this episode when he wrote that Satan entered Judas Iscariot, who conspired to betray Jesus to the chief priest. Luke, even though he hadn’t been with the twelve, also claimed Judas was paid for his services, yet implied that Satan had been in control. Considering Jude’s quirky behavior in those last several months, Luke might be closest to the truth.

But this is hindsight. At this dark hour, like my companions, I was in shock. After we sat back down, Jesus said solemnly, “The Son of Man will go just as it is written about him, but woe to that man by whom he is betrayed! It would have been good for him if he hadn’t been born.”

With that said, he took a large roll of unleavened bread, blessed it, gave thanks, broke it in half, and handed it to Peter and John on each side of him, who likewise tore their pieces in half, passing them down the table, until all eleven of us had a piece of bread.

“Take this, and eat it,” he instructed us, “for this is my body. Do this in remembrance of me. Obediently, though stuffed with victuals, we took a bite from our piece of bread. Then, after filling his mug with wine, he handed it to Peter, saying, “Also in remembrance of me, drink from this cup, each of you. For this is my blood of the new covenant, which is shed for many for the remission of sins.” “I say unto you,” he added, raising two fingers and thumb, “ I won’t drink the fruit of the vine from now on until that day when I drink it with you in my Father’s Kingdom.”

Standing up slowly, he looked at each of us, as we took our turns drinking from the cup, then when Simon, the last to drink, was finished, retrieved the cup and sat it on the table.

“My hour draws near,” he announced solemnly. “We’ve had a long journey together. The seed has been planted. After I’m gone, the harvest awaits you. But tonight, because of me, you’ll fall away, for it is written, ‘I will strike down the shepherd, and the sheep of his flock shall be scattered.”

“No Lord,” Peter shook his head fervently. “No matter how many fall because of you, I’ll never fall away!”

“Peter, my Rock,” Jesus looked at him sadly. “Before the rooster crows twice, you will deny me three times.”

“No-o-o!” Peter’s voice broke. “Even if I have to die with you, I will never deny you!”

“Nor I!” John’s eyes filled with tears.

All of us, in fact, echoed the words of John, who would be the only one not to abandon Jesus tonight.

“Little children,” he said with great tenderness, “I am with you a little while longer.  You’ll seek me, but where I’m going you can’t come. A new commandment I give to you, that you love one another, as I’ve loved you.  By this all men will know that you are my disciples, if you have love for one another.”

Peter, still shaken from Jesus’ prophecy, gave him a troubled look. “Lord, where are you going? Why can’t we come, too?”

“Do not let your hearts be troubled?” He looked around the table. “If you believe in God, believe also in me. My Father’s house has many rooms; if that were not so, would I not have told you? I’m going there to prepare a place for you, and if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you with me to be where I am.”

“Lord!” Thomas gave him a dumbfounded look. “We don’t know where you’re going. How can we know the way?”

“I am the way and the truth and the life,” Jesus explained. “No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really know me, you will know my Father as well.  From now on, you know him and you’ve seen him.”

“Show us the Father, Lord,” Philip replied. “That will be enough for us.”

“Philip,” Jesus chided, “don’t you know me, even after I’ve been among you for such a long time? Anyone who’s seen me has seen the Father.  So how is it, Philip, that you say, ‘Show us the Father’?  Don’t you believe that I am in the Father, and that He’s in me?  The words I say to you I don’t speak on my own authority.  Rather, it is the Father, living in me, who is doing his work.  Believe me when I say that I am in the Father and the Father’s in me; or at least believe on the evidence of the works themselves.” 

Despite everything I had seen and heard, my first thought about these words were that they were purest heresy. This didn’t bother me, of course; most of the things Jesus had said were viewed as heresy by Pharisees, scribes, priests, and more conservative-minded Jews. I could imagine how this shook the other disciple’s minds. Not only was he the Son of God, he was God! James was beside himself after hearing Jesus’ claim. And yet none of us, even James, said a word, as Jesus continued his speech.

“Whoever believes in me will do my work and, when I’m gone to the Father, do greater things than these. Then, when I’m gone, whatever you ask in my name shall be done by the Father, who shall be glorified in the Son. If you love me, keep my commands, and I will ask the Father to give you another advocate, the Holy Spirit, to help you and be with you forever.  Now, this hour, the world can’t accept him because it doesn’t know him. But you know him; he has lived amongst you and will, after this hour, be with you always. I am he. I won’t leave you as orphans. I will come back.  Before long, the world will see me no more, but you’ll see me.  Because I live, you shall also live.”

Though we didn’t fully understand it yet, the full identity of Jesus had just been presented: God the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit. This would be a matter of great controversy even among members of the Way, but Jesus newest revelations would become central to what we believed. As I listened to him that day, I was mystified, as the other disciples, over this third figure, the Holy Spirit. It seems so plain to me now that the Holy Spirit was the spirit of Christ on earth and the third person of the godhead, but at that stage of our spiritual development, this notion was beyond our grasp. Without the consequences of the next few days, which would further clarify Jesus identity and give meaning to his third nature, the Holy Spirit was too abstract even for James and me.

What came after this, were mostly comforting words. He reassured us that when it happened, we would still believe, implying once again that we would temporarily lose heart. By saying ‘when it happens’ he also left little doubt that something dreadful was about to occur. When the time came, for that matter, he implied that the Holy Spirit would teach us what we needed to know. His last words at the table were, “Remember this my children, ‘what I must do was foretold my the prophets and ordained by the Father.” After this, he motioned for us to rise from our seats with uplifted palms. “Come,” he said solemnly, “let us walk.”

******

After Jesus’ last supper, we followed the shepherd silently, each of us wrapped in his own cloud of misgivings and doubts. It occurred to me that all of us, not merely Jesus, were in danger. I could see the fear even in Peter the Rock’s eyes, which made me that much more afraid. I recall Jesus once telling us that we would have to suffer for his name. Would our suffering begin tonight? I wondered. I wanted to convey my concern to James, but the quiet surrounding Jesus was too deep. Everyone, in fact, seemed afraid to utter his own thoughts, until spoken to by Jesus, so, out of respect for his frame of mind and concern that I would show my cowardice, I kept my fears to myself.

Walking through town, looking this way and that, wondering if an assassin sent by Caiaphas would emerge from the shadows or a gang of temple thugs might appear, we arrived finally at a place I had never been before. Jesus asked us to wait for him while he prayed in the nearby woods. James, who had lived in Jerusalem for a while, told us it was known as the Mount of Olives and the place Jesus had selected on it was called the Garden of Gethsemane. Despite these idyllic names, there was nothing peaceful or reassuring about this spot. Our fears, now heightened by the behavior of Judas Iscariot during our supper and his subsequent absence, were now concrete and real. There was no way we could escape the road Jesus had taken. Where it led we didn’t know. The moon, half hidden behind dark clouds, and the shadows of the trees made this place seem ominous. As I looked around at the other disciples, their faces mirrored my own dread and disbelief. In spite of our fears and doubts, however, most of the disciples, who drank too much wine, grew drowsy as Jesus prayed, and one-by-one they fell asleep.

James and I, Jesus’ brothers, were the exception. Bartholomew, who was unable to ride the beast to our destination, had been forced to leave it at Mark’s house in the care of Mark’s servant. Needless to say, after his strenuous walk, he was the first to tumble into slumber. Vowing to protect Jesus with the sword hidden in his pack, Peter sat with James and I holding vigil, trying desperately to stay awake, but, like many of the disciples who slept poorly the last few days and drank heavily, he also fell sound asleep.

“Do you believe it?” James snarled. “They couldn’t stay awake—for just one hour!”

“I dunno.” I groaned. “I’m pretty tipsy, James. I’m dozing off, myself!”

“Come on,” he said, giving me a nudge. “Stand up and walk it off. You should never have drunk all that wine!”

After walking a ways into the woods, we heard Jesus’ voice. For a moment, we froze in our tracks, not wanting to intrude on this sacred time, but it was too late. Already, we were within earshot of him. Out of nowhere it seemed, Mark, our host, appeared, wide-eyed with expectation and fear.

“What are you doing here, Mark?” whispered James. “You’re in danger here. Go home before it’s too late!”

“There coming for him,” his voice trembled, “I’m certain of this. I followed Judas to the temple. He’s out of his head. I heard him say to himself, “I must force his hand. Surely, God will intervene for the Messiah. Our Deliverer is here—all he needs is a nudge!” He mumbled a bunch of words, as if he was rehearsing what he was going to say, and then he disappeared into the temple. That bastard is selling Jesus out!”

James and I were speechless. James had clamped a hand over Mark’s mouth after his outburst, fearful Jesus might have heard. Fortunately for us, however, Jesus was too engrossed in prayer to notice our presence. We had heard snatches of his talk with God but weren’t close enough to make out of the gist of what he said. Peering through the bushes now, we could see him kneeling beside of slab of stone, staring up at the moon, which had broken through the clouds, casting shafts of light upon his upturned face. This eerie effect made us gasp. There could be no doubt in our minds who he was. It was, I reflect in hindsight, as if the sky opened up and God was listening to his son. That very moment we heard him cry out, “Father! Father! Everything is possible for you. Is it possible that you might take this cup of suffering from me?” Then, after a pause, as if God had silently answered, Jesus replied. “Very well, Father. Your will, not mine, will be done!”

“Oh my goodness!” Mark whispered excitedly. “Did you hear that? Judas was wrong. God’s not going to protect him!”

“Shut up, Mark!” James shrilled into his ears.

As Jesus arose, radiated by the light, he stood a moment longer listening to his father and then turned suddenly toward us. I don’t see how he couldn’t have noticed us and, in fact, he probably knew we were there all along, but he walked forward as if in a daze. One day Mark would write about these precious moments in his scroll, a work which Matthew and Luke borrowed heavily from in constructing their own accounts, but for now Mark was a terrified youth, who understood more than any of us what was afoot. To avoid being seen by Jesus, we ducked down behind our bush, as Jesus awakened from his daze and took the disciples to task. Since Peter was the Rock, he looked squarely at the fisherman as he upbraided his men:

“What is this?” he said accusingly. “You were asleep. You couldn’t stand watch for one hour. You must keep watch and pray, so that you won’t give in to temptation. For the spirit is willing but the body is weak!”

“I-I’m sorry, Lord,” Peter said contritely. “I just nodded off. It won’t happen again.”

“I’m sorry too!” exclaimed John.

Rubbing their eyes and blinking, the other disciples mumbled apologies too. Looking around at his groggy disciples and glancing at James, Mark, and me as we approached, Jesus laughed sadly. “Go ahead and sleep, men. These have been trying times.”

I wanted to reassure him that James, Mark, and I, unlike the others, had kept vigil, but just that moment there was a commotion in the woods: the sound of marching feet and clanking armor and swords.

“Alas! What is that I hear?” Jesus perked up his ear. “Is that my enemies?” “Yes,” his breath left him momentarily, “…they’re here at last. The Son of Man is betrayed into the hands of sinners.” “Look!” He pointed toward the men appearing in the clearing. “My betrayer is here!”

At the forefront of the contingent of guards strode Judas Iscariot, beaming as though he just done a fine deed. I recognized the uniforms of the temple guards: sixteen burly, bearded men, glaring fiercely with purpose. Judas turned to one member of the contingent, obviously the leader of the guards, and said matter-of-factly, “Malchus, these are his disciples. Whomever I kiss is the one. Seize him!” Under normal circumstances I could imagine Peter or Simon rushing up furiously to attack the traitor, but everyone was fearful at this point.

“Greetings, rabbi!” Judas called out cheerily.

I noticed even in my shock that he didn’t call Jesus Lord. He had never believed that Jesus was anything more than Israel’s promised deliverer. I know now that he was merely trying to force Jesus hand, but during those dark moments his actions appeared unconscionable—the actions of a mad or demon-possessed man.

Jesus recoiled from him, replying with a snarl, “So this is how it is friend. Betrayed by a kiss!”

“No, rabbi.” Judas shook his head. “This is your hour!”

Judas might have elaborated on his words to at least make sense out of what he was doing. We would have understood his intention of making Jesus do what he felt was the right thing to do. This oversight left the gospel writers to conclude that he had simply sold Jesus out. He did, in fact, by his grin and wide-eyed stare, seem quite deranged. That moment, as Judas stepped away, Malchus, the chief guard, lurched forward to grab Jesus, an action that finally triggered Peter’s rage. Reaching into his pack, he pulled out a sword, so quickly no one, except James, Mark, and I, who stood behind Peter, noticed the action. We all knew that Simon owned a sword, but we had never seen Peter with such a weapon. Raising up his sword swiftly, he slashed at Malchus left side while Malchus restrained Jesus, slicing off one of his ears.

Shocked and frightened by this provocative action, we expected Malchus’ men to turn their wrath upon us. At this point, Mark fled the scene. I was tempted to follow, myself, until Jesus took matters upon himself. Squatting down quickly, he scooped up the bloody ear and clapped it to the side of Malchus’ face. Without uttering a word, he simply held it there a few seconds, withdrew his hand, and lo and behold, Malchus’ ear was perfectly restored.

“It’s true what the priests say.” Malchus gasped. “You are a sorcerer!”

“Take him, you have your orders!” Judas barked.

That moment, Peter raised his sword again, this time to strike the traitor, but Jesus held up his hand. “Put your sword away, Peter,” he commanded sternly. “You still don’t understand. All who use the sword will perish by the sword! Do you think that I can’t now pray to my Father, and He’ll provide me with more than twelve legions of angels? How could the scriptures be fulfilled if you stop these men?” Turning to the guards, Jesus rebuked his captors. “I sat daily teaching in the temple and yet Caiaphas, your leader and paymaster, didn’t have me seized. Yet you come in the dead of night, with swords, to take me.”

Though impressed with Jesus magic, Malchus regained his composure enough to mutter orders to his men. “Well, don’t stand there like frightened lambs. Let’s bind this prisoner and take him back to the priests.”

“What about them?” asked one of his men. “I heard Caiaphas say he wanted their heads.”

“Caiaphas says a lot of things,” grumbled Malchus. “I think he’s scared of this man. Jesus is right: we could have taken him at any time,” “but it’s true,” he conceded, turning to the disciples, “the high priest wants your heads. All I was told to do was bring him in.” “Get out of here!” He motioned impatiently. “Forget you’ve ever known this man!”

Though Matthew and Mark would have you believe we took to our heels, our flight was much slower than that. Judas, who must have realized by now that he couldn’t force Jesus hand, seemed bewildered and lost as the guards surrounded Jesus, now bound tightly with a rope.

Jesus’ insistence on letting himself be taken because of scripture, despite all the warnings he gave us, seemed insane. Despite the fact that Judas was, in fact, facilitating prophecy, himself, his treachery was devastating. Following Peter’s example, Simon, Judas’ chief nemesis in our group, now stepped forward, with doubled fist and gritting teeth.

“You filthy traitor!” he shouted. “You just don’t understand. You never did. Why couldn’t you accept Jesus for who he is? After everything he’s done, you still want him to smite the Romans. You’ve never listened. You’ll burn in hell for this, Judas.” He wrung his fist. “So help me,” he shrieked, lunging forward, “I’ll tear out your lying tongue!”

“Stop it, Simon!” cried Philip, grabbing his waste. “Don’t anger them. There’s nothing you can do!”

“Stand back, you fool!” Malchus drew his sword. “Don’t make me run you through.”

“I knew he was a traitor,” Simon persisted, as Philip pulled him away. “All the signs were there. All along it was right in front of my face!”

“It’s my fault!” Peter lamented. “Jesus called me the Rock. Look at me. Some rock I turned out to be!”

“It’s all our faults!” John shook his head. “I saw Judas leave the table. We all did. It was obvious he was up to no good! We should have stopped him—all of us. While we sat there in Mark’s house, he was betraying Jesus to the priests!”

“Simon, Peter, John—everyone,” Jesus called back, as he was led away, “this isn’t your fault. This is done so that the words of the prophet will be fulfilled. Listen to Philip. Don’t anger the guards. Go! Leave the garden. There’s nothing you can do here. The deed is done!”

“Jesus, my brother,” I cried out, as they led him away, “use your powers. This is madness. What purpose does this serve?”

I had, as the traitor Judas, expected Jesus to change his course and free himself from captivity, but I knew in my heart that it was too late. His fate was sealed. James, Mark, and I had heard him say as much to God. Turning toward us one last time, Malchus made scooting motions. “One more time, men,” he barked, “get out of here. Caiaphas will go after his followers too. Are you listening to me, you fools, flee!”

We could hear him say to Jesus, as they led him away, “I’m sorry. If I had my way, you’d be free, but I’d lose my head. My men would be punished too. Forgive, me rabbi. If it wasn’t me, it would be someone else. Caiaphas fears you powers!” His voice fading in the distance, Jesus consoled his chief captor, “This isn’t your fault, Malchus… It’s them—the priests, Pharisees, and rabbis, who’re finally having their way. You’re but an instrument of the Lord!”

As the disciples began to drop away from sight, walking forlornly through the woods, Peter stood there a moment, numb with shock and anguish. James placed his hand on my shoulder.

“This is dreadful… just awful,” his voice constricted, “but I’m not surprised. We knew it was coming. Jesus could have stopped them, but he let them take him. He’s following prophecy.” “Come, my brother,” he said, giving me a nudge, “we’ll try to help him. We’ll go to the temple and find out what’s happening. Afterwards, I’ll try to find Nicodemus, my teacher. He’ll surely help. He was Jesus’ friend. ”

“Yes, yes,” I nodded numbly, “…He’ll help us…. Let’s find Nicodemus.”

I was torn with grief. James was the strong one now. Turning to back to Peter, as he guided my steps, he called to the Rock: “Come with us, Peter. We’ll try to save him. Don’t worry about what Malchus said. It’s quite dark. When we’re in town, pull your hood over your head. Don’t lose your temper again; you’ll just get yourself arrested, maybe killed!”

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