John 13:21-32
If I ask you to picture the Last Supper, what image comes to mind? For me, it’s a lot like Leonardo’s painting: just the twelve disciples and Jesus, arrayed picturesquely on one side of a long table. It’s such an omnipresent image that it’s hard to shake. But was it really like that? John’s Gospel doesn’t tell us how many people were there, so it could have been quite a few more than that; if we’re thinking “just the twelve and Jesus”, then we’re thinking Mark and Matthew, not John. The Jesus presented to us by John is one who seems to relish crowds and big parties: the wedding at Cana, the Samaritan city where he stays and teaches, the festivals and temple visits in Jerusalem—and just a few days before the Last Supper, he and the disciples have a big gathering at Lazarus, Martha, and Mary’s house—the same gathering where Mary anoints and washes Jesus’ feet with perfume.
So there’s no telling how many people are present for the Last Supper according to John, but I’m re-visioning it as looking something like a church dinner or Coffee Hour on Sundays. Lots of people from the same community, maybe some kids running around, several different conversations ebbing and flowing across the room. Jesus is sitting at a table with his closest friends, with his very best friend relaxed and leaning on him. Some food is still left on the tables, and people are picking at it, in that way that people will do when they’re full but can’t seem to help themselves if there’s still something around worth eating.
The chatter from the other tables washes over and around them. Simon Peter and Philip share a quiet joke. Judas arranges breadcrumbs in a line and flicks them idly across the tablecloth, one by one. Into the murmur of other conversations Jesus says “Very truly, I tell you, one of you will betray me.” The disciples all freeze.
The disciples are staring at Jesus now, but he is gazing at the table, at a plate with a chunk of bread on it. Peter meets the eyes of the beloved disciple and inclines his head as if to say: What does he mean? Ask him what he means! The disciple asks, “Lord, who is it?”
There’s a heaviness in the disciple’s voice, and a sudden stunned heaviness in all of their minds. The weight that fills their souls is that unspoken question: “Is it me? Am I the betrayer?” The writer of John’s Gospel knows who it is, and we as the readers know, and Jesus knows as he has known the entire course of things--from the beginning of his ministry. But the disciples can’t
imagine that any one of them would betray their beloved teacher, their Lord, their friend. And if you just can’t believe that it could be anyone … it really could be anyone. It could even be you.
Jesus breaks off a piece of the bread, holds it, says “It is the one to whom I give this piece of bread when I have dipped it in the dish.” He dips the bread into the bitter herbs. Judas’ hand is frozen on the tabletop, palm open. Jesus puts the bread into it and Judas feels a sickly power flow through him; a taste fills his mouth that is more bitter than any herb could ever be, metallic and silvery. Jesus says “Do quickly what you are going to do.” Judas lurches up from the table and goes out. And it is night, outside the doors and inside too, dark and strange and full of secret noises.
You’d think somebody would have stopped him. But nobody makes a move. They’re shocked, confused—the Gospel says that they didn’t even know why Jesus had said what he did. Judas is the purse-holder; did he go to buy some supplies? Give alms to the poor? Whatever it is, it must be okay. It can’t be what we’re all thinking—Judas is one of us.
Judas has left, but he didn’t just leave. He was sent. Just before today’s Gospel begins, Jesus has told all of the disciples: “Very truly, I tell you, whoever receives one whom I send receives me; and whoever receives me receives him who sent me.” Then Jesus sends Judas, and the Pharisees receive him. Jesus sends Judas. The Pharisees receive him. This is not Judas’ plan, nor the Pharisees’ plan, but God’s plan alone. Jesus sends Judas and the Pharisees will receive God in all of God’s power whether they want to or not. What does that mean?
What does it mean for us, when we receive the gifts of God with stubborn hearts? We are the Pharisees and the high priests. We are Simon Peter, stuttering with fear and misery, insisting that it’s not me, it’s not me, I’m not the one you’re looking for. We are Pilate and a Roman soldier and a member of the gathered crowd, gaping at the cross and wondering why this man didn’t save himself if he could. The gift is put into our hands: This is the body of Christ. And sometimes the gift is bitter to us, or frightening, or dangerous. We don’t want it. But it is given to us anyhow. Do quickly what you are going to do, and it is night. Sometimes.
Sometimes, though, we are the beloved disciple. We are surrounded by light and love, the love of God and the love of our friends in a warm place. We are Joseph of Arimathea, the secret disciple, and Nicodemus, the Pharisee who first comes by night but then lets his deeds be seen in the harsh afternoon light of Golgotha, anointing and wrapping the body of Christ. We are Mary Magdalene, saying “I have seen the Lord.” We are Paul, surrounded by a cloud of witnesses and knowing that Jesus endured the cross for our sake, for our love, and that we can run without failing, stretching out our hands for the gift that inexorably offers itself to us: This is the body of Christ.
Christ, who is constantly sending, constantly received. Sometimes we’re not ready to receive him. We feel as though the world isn’t ready to receive him, or to receive those of us who come in his name. But it’s not about us, just as it wasn’t—isn’t—about Judas, or the devil who possessed him, or the Pharisees. It’s not so much about God knowing the plan, but being the plan. “Now the Son of Man has been glorified, and God has been glorified in him.” The gift that is sent and received is Christ, in all of his glory and power and love. It’s not up to us to determine who deserves it. It is up to us to receive it, and to send ourselves into the world with it, as betrayer and betrayed. The bread is in your hand. Do quickly what you are going to do.
Meditation by the Reverend Canon Susanna Cates
Canon for Formation and Vocation
Diocese of New Jersey