The Master's Last Supper

4/8/14 by Carol M. Hansen (with input from Carlo Furlan)

The room was musty with the smell of body sweat 

  and stale smoke

         as we prepared for the Passover.

I recalled the reckless splendor 

    of the alabaster vial poured over the Master’s feet

        just the day before –

how the sweet, heavy scent 

       burst through the dank air 

               like a joyous reunion.

What was it He’d told us?

           She was preparing His body for burial?

      What were we supposed to make of that?

Was this another one of His parables?

When evening softened the heat of day,

we jostled into the small upstairs room – 

         more like a closet, really -

                our voices muted but cheerful.

Stretching tired legs, we reclined on elbows

          with grunts and sighs

but then the Master came with water 

to wipe our feet –

         our stinking, dust-coated feet!

Shocked into silence,

           only Peter protested, but Jesus persisted,

          patiently washing

                and drying each filthy foot,

                       head bent humbly to the servants’ task.

When He spoke it was to tell us 

we should do as He did:

“Love one another, as I have loved you,” He said,

 with that same confidence he always had when

presenting some audacious idea.

Everything in me rose up in protest

            at the idea of debasing myself like that,

and yet … 

did I think I was better than the Master?

As He settled in among us about the table,

     His face saddened as He ominously predicted:

                    “One of you will betray me.”

We glanced at one another in disbelief –

                  Who could it be?

                          Was this another riddle?

He nodded to Judas and instructed him

          to act quickly so

                      Judas rose stiffly and

swiftly blended with night’s shadows.

                      What could this mean?

The room was abuzz with

         speculation until Jesus began speaking,

saying that the shepherd would be struck 

         and the sheep would be scattered;

where He was going, we could not go.

His voice ragged with sorrow,

He continued to give us many warnings 

and predictions 

and reminders.

They swirled through my mind 

and I tried to grab

as much as I could 

to tuck away for later contemplation:

“In my Father’s house are many dwelling places…”

“I am the way, the truth and the life; 

          no one comes to the Father

but through Me.”

“Greater love has no one than this, 

            that one lay down his life for his friends.”

“Heaven and earth will pass away, 

                 but my words will not pass away.”

At one point during the meal, 

            He reached for the bread, saying,

“Take, eat; this is My body, broken for you.”

By this point, my mind was numb – 

                something wasn’t right,

but I couldn’t grasp what it was.

I watched the bread crumble in His fingers as He broke it,

heard the dull snap – His body?

The Master could be so baffling sometimes.

When we had each broken off a portion,

He lifted the wine and spoke again, 

               looking at each of us in turn:

“This is my blood of the covenant,

               which is poured out for many.

Drink from it, all of you.”

           His hand trembled as he passed the goblet,

And we in turn passed it from hand 

to rough hand in silence.

It was a somber moment, tinged with sorrow

and puzzlement,

             for our hearts were darkened

                and we could not grasp what we had heard.

We let the sweet wine slip down our throats

            knowing somehow that this moment –

                this meal –

          was much more than it seemed,

more even than the Passover 

it traditionally celebrated.

In awed silence, 

we waited

and wondered.