Walking down the city streets that evening was exhilarating. I loved the city. There was the smell of fresh unleavened breads, herbs, and roasted lamb coming from the open windows of the houses.
You could hear the sounds of wine being poured into cups and the hymns of the Passover meal being sung in each home.
Last Supper in stained glass window: Melbourne, Australia, St. Patrick Cathedral. (Photo by Ken Kozy)
All this reminded me of wonderful memories of family, friends, history, and faith – celebrating the history of my people’s exodus from Egypt.
Lost in thought, I did not see the door burst open at my side and the man who knocked me over as he rushed out of the building. He was a large man, un-phased by the collision, who just turned and looked at me and scowled. I looked at his face and could tell he was angry, but his eyes – they seemed to pierce my soul. They were evil, as if the devil himself was peering through them at me.
I was frightened. As I stood back up, I fearfully stepped back quickly.
He then threw something to the ground by my feet, turned, and walked quickly, determinedly, up the hilly street towards the center of Jerusalem.
Shaken, I gathered my senses back together. Out of curiosity I picked up the object he had thrown down. It was a piece of bread that had been dipped in something dark red.
Questions run through my head: Could that be blood on the bread? Had he killed someone in that home and ran away? Did the victim inside need help? I turned to the opened door and saw a set of steps up to a second floor. At the top of the steps there was a warm glow of light. Instinctively, I quietly ascended the stairs to peer inside.
My fears subsided as I heard men calmly singing the psalms of my childhood. From the darkness of the stairway, I could look into the room without being seen. There were a dozen men celebrating the Passover at a table in the candlelight. Relieved that no one seemed to be injured, I was about to descend the stairs when it occurred to me that I had seen some of these men before. So, I looked back again.
Yes! The man at the center of the table was the one whom I had seen by the lake in Galilee. It was Jesus of Nazareth – the miracle worker who had healed so many blind, deaf, paralyzed, and sick people with his disciples whom I had met there.
Yes, here too was Levi, the former tax collector sitting at the table. I knew him from my youth. After he met Jesus he became known as Matthew. I looked at the 10 others gathered around the table and in the candlelight recognized each one by name. Then it occurred to me! One of Jesus’ disciples was missing – the same man who left the building in such a hurry and knocked me down. That had been Judas Iscariot! Why was he so angry? Why was he in such a rush? Where was he going?
From the darkened doorway I could see now that Jesus took bread in his hands and said the blessing, broke it, and gave morsels to the others at the table. I was too far away to hear everything, but I think he said: “Eat this. This is my body.” Next he poured a cup of dark red wine and likewise said the blessing and gave it to the eleven others to share, saying: “Drink from this cup. This is my blood.”
What? How can he say these things? It was just bread and wine – like the morsel I picked up from the street. Well, this was getting too deep for me. I was ready to leave.
Then I noticed that while the men were focused on drinking from the cup of wine, Jesus turned and stared at the doorway. Did he see me? I hoped not. I was not invited nor was I properly dressed for this event. I certainly did not want to disturb anyone’s Passover celebration. So I silently crept down the stairs and quietly closed the outside door.
No one was in the street now, except me. I looked at the bread I had picked up and held in my hands all this time. Instinctively, I ate it. After all, it had probably come from Jesus’ hands originally, so it should not be thrown away for wild dogs to eat – it seemed the right thing to do.
As I continued down the city streets, I had a deep feeling that my life had been changed by what I had experienced that night. Since I was only visiting Jerusalem and had no family there, I had no one with which to celebrate the Passover. So, I began looking forward to Sabbath at sundown on Friday; maybe it would be a good Friday. Little did I realize that the course of history and the lives of everyone in the future would be affected because of that day.
