The Madonna and the Political Prisoner, Chapter 22/2

So I don’t say any more and put my mind, as much as I can, to the practical job of finishing the preparation of the meal. The stew is ready now and can be served any time Joshua and the disciples return. We are just sitting here waiting, wondering. I’m so nervous, I feel sick. The smell of the food is upsetting me. I get up and want to wander out into the street and get some fresh air. I go to the door several times and look. There are many people sauntering by, a few hurry as if they are aiming to meet someone, but I can’t see any sign of Joshua or the disciples. Mary comes to the door with me too, she’s probably as churned up as I feel. Neither of us says anything, but we both know.

I’ve actually just come back in getting more panicky by the minute. The light is fading fast, he should have been here by now. I’m so tense, I can’t stay still and I’m muttering a prayer under my breath, trying to control my breathing and trying not to betray my fears to the others. Then I hear the steps and I get up and rush to the door and see Joshua just mounting the final step. He steps forward and embraces me.

“Mother, don’t fret. I’m here. It’s all in God’s hands now. Leave it to him.”

He holds me for some time, then as he steps back Mary flings herself at his feet.

“Mary, can you help me, I’ve something I want to do. Can you bring me over one of the water jars and a towel?”

“Oh, Master, let me wash your feet, you’ll be filthy treading through the muck of the city in this heat.”

“Not now, Mary. It’s my job this time. I want to give an example to my followers.”

The disciples troop into the room and discard their outer garments and make themselves comfortable. Andrew goes to find water to wash himself, but before he can, Joshua addresses them all.

“There was an argument yesterday about who took precedence in God’s kingdom, which of you was most important.”

James and John look particularly uncomfortable.

“You know it’s the job of the lowliest servant to wash the feet of guests when they arrive for a meal. You also know that the ritual of washing is particularly important before eating the Passover meal. There is no servant in this household, so I am going to carry out this role for you, for although you call me your master, in fact I am your servant too.”

They all look shocked, every single one of them. Mary hurries over with the towel.

“No, Master, please, no. Let me do it, I have the towel.”

“Mary’s right, Master, you should never do this. It’s absurd. It’s just not right. I’ll not have it. Let Mary do it as she asks, or I’ll do it myself. Not you, I won’t let you.”

“Peter, what I’m doing is a demonstration of my love for all of you. If you love another, you serve them. It’s the greatest expression of love there is. I want to show you, in the most memorable way I can, an example of how you should treat each other and all with whom you come in contact. Don’t you want me to express my deep love for you? Are you going to reject me and all I stand for?”

“No, of course not, Master! It is just such a shock to see you doing this deed. I thought it was humiliating for you. But if it really is an outward sign of your love for me, then I accept it – wash all of me if you like for I love you too – as everyone here does.”

“That’s unnecessary, Peter. This little act is symbolic enough. You all know what it means and you’ll remember it long after I’m gone.”

And he takes the water bowl and towel from Mary’s hands and begins to wash our feet, one by one, slowly and with great tenderness. He even washes the women’s feet much to their embarrassment. When he gets to me, he looks straight into my eyes and he knows I cannot hold back my tears. It’s as if this is a farewell, it’s charged with great significance and it’s too much for me. He rises and kisses me softly on both cheeks.

“Mother, don’t cry. I’ll be with you always. Whatever happens, don’t let go of that. Your spirit is strong. My spirit will be with you.” And he squeezes my wrist. I can hardly see him now, my vision is blurred. It’s as if he’s saying goodbye to me and I can’t bear it. But I pull myself together. I can’t break down in front of the others.

“God bless you, my son,” I whisper to him, and he passes on to wash the feet of my sister, his Aunt Salome. I think she senses what I feel for, after he has moved on again, she leans across and gives me a gentle hug as well.

After Joshua has completed the round of everyone, he takes the bowl of dirty water to the window and empties it slowly to the courtyard below, handing the damp towel back to Mary. The men begin to take their places at the table, while James comes over to me, unsure of whether he should be in their number. The women are going to serve the meal and find a space in the corner of the room where we can eat also.

“No, friends, I want everyone round me at this table. Peter, John, Thomas, make room for the women to join us. And you too, brother, I know you don’t agree with much of what I’m doing, but you are part of this Passover meal.”

A couple of disciples move aside and James helps me to the table and I take a position beside him. One or two of the disciples are muttering about the women being given an equal place, but they dare not say much for they know my son has strong views about the right of women to be as involved as men in the worship and service of our God. If any challenge him, he’ll put them in their place at once, for he makes it obvious that he values the opinions of Mary and of me and talks often with Susannah and Salome and his disciples’ wives. If there had been any children here, he’d have had them at the table, just like any family would at Passover. Of course, we lack a child to take the symbolic role of asking about the meaning of the feast. Who will take that part?

“Where’s the roast lamb?” James whispers to me urgently as we stoop to recline.

“It’s in the pot. It’s a stew.”

“That’s not right. It should be roasted.”

“James, be practical! We’ve a large number to feed, only one lamb and limited cooking facilities.”

“He should have organised it better. He knew how many we were going to be. It’s poor if our so-called Messiah can’t even get the Passover meal right.”

“Shush, James, don’t embarrass yourself. You know Joshua doesn’t put much store in the literalness of outward symbols. It’s a meal with his family and friends and it’s special. The food is not that important.”

“We always manage to do it properly at home.”

“James, we’re not at home. We’re in a crowded city, guest of an unknown supporter, trying to take an important meal with someone who could be discovered and arrested at any moment.”

James stops complaining but he isn’t happy. He mutters to himself and it’s probably just as well that neither I nor anyone else can make out his words. Luckily I don’t think anyone else has been watching him or listening to us, all eyes are on Joshua as he settles at the table. He waits until everyone appears to be comfortable, then stands and recites the traditional blessing and calls for our cups to be filled to drink the first draught of wine. The wineskin is passed round until we’re ready and we drink the sweet sticky dark liquid together. A bowl of water is then passed round and we all wash our hands before each taking a piece of celery and dipping it into a small bowl of salt water that I prepared earlier. Joshua then takes the unleavened bread and breaks it in the familiar way I’ve seen him do so often, opening his hands displaying the broken pieces so all can see. He sets the largest portion aside and breaks the remnant into small bits, which are passed round till all have a share.

“John, I think you’re the youngest here. Will you enact the part of the child?”

He is taken by surprise. He thinks for a moment, but soon recovers for he knows the ritual by heart.

“Why is this night different from all the other nights?”

All turn to Joshua, expecting him to answer but he looks at all of us and indicates that we should all join in. So suggestions are thrown out, ‘it’s the first night of the Passover’; ‘it’s the night we remember our flight from Egypt’; ‘it’s the night we remember how the Lord God rescued our nation’.

Joshua listens.

“It’s significant for me too. I recall my family’s flight to Egypt, in order to survive Herod’s jealousy. But this is the beginning of a second rescue of our nation, a spiritual one, rescue from the sin and evil that men do.”

He doesn’t explain any further and John asks a second question.

“Why do we eat unleavened bread?”

The answers come tumbling. ‘The Israelites had no time to wait for the bread to rise.’ ‘Such bread lasted longer in the desert.’ “It’s our law.’ ‘It’s our tradition.’

“Tonight we have to hurry too. We shall need to eat quickly and gird ourselves to leave before we are interrupted. I have to go on a journey. This will be my last Passover meal with you.”

Several voices are raised in protest and I hear a choking sound, which I realise has come from Mary on my left. But before more can be said, he urges John to continue.

“Why do we eat only bitter herbs tonight?”

Joshua does not wait this time.

“Bitter tears were shed that night many years ago when the Egyptian families awoke to find their firstborn cold in death. And there will be bitter tears again tonight for my time has come and the same fate awaits me, to be sacrificed by the nation’s leaders just as the Israelites were told to sacrifice a lamb that fatal night to save themselves.”

They don’t know what he is talking about. I can see disbelief and puzzlement spread over all their faces. They want to ask what he means, but no-one dares ask the question.

“Continue, John.”

“Why do we dip our food twice on this night?”

Silence. All await Joshua’s words.

“We are celebrating a re-enactment of that bitter night. The second dipping is an immersion into our present travail. And the one who will set it all in motion, who will start the night’s sacrifice shares the dipping with me.”

“What do you mean?” many call in alarm. Are you blaming one of us? Surely not?”

We have already dipped the parsley herb into the bitter juice and no-one noticed who acted at the same time as Joshua. Is that what he meant? That one of us would betray him? I went cold suddenly all over. Surely my own son, Joshua’s brother, would not stoop to such a deed? I look at James. He looks as mystified as the rest. If he is the culprit – if that is what Joshua means – then he’s a good actor for he shows no sign of guilt or embarrassment.

In the flurry of questions and anger as the disciples realise that he is suggesting one of them will be the instrument of his betrayal – intended or not – the last question gets lost until John is prompted.

He remembers.

“Why are we all reclining tonight instead of standing?”

“Because we remember death. The death of the firstborn laid in their graves. My death. But it is temporary, for I shall rise and defeat death. It is not the end. You have seen me raise the dead. So shall it be for me too and you in turn. Let us drink the second cup!” We lift the cups to our lips mechanically, we are not thinking about what we are doing for our minds are elsewhere.

We are stunned into silence. No-one is protesting or arguing. There is a sombre mood. Mary is weeping softly. I hear Judas mutter quietly to his neighbour, ‘Why does he just accept it? Why is he so passive? Why won’t he get up and fight? That’s why we joined him, wasn’t it?’

We wash our hands and Joshua now takes the large loaf of unleavened bread and begins to break it, handing a piece to each of us.

“Remember what I’m doing now. I shall be broken just like this bread but even so, just as this bread is life-sustaining for you, so am I for your soul. Whenever you eat such bread, remember that. I am offering you the bread of life – if you do all that I have taught you, you shall enter my kingdom, the kingdom of God that I have promised. God my father will receive you. So whenever you sit down together to eat this bread, do it in remembrance of me and all I’ve done for you. By eating this with me, you are sharing my life, you are continuing my work.”

And we eat, slowly, thoughtfully. We really can’t grasp what it all means. Perhaps we will one day, but not now. I’m just overwhelmed at the thought that Joshua seems resigned to his own death. It seems so unjust. There must be a different way. I resolve I will fight, though I am weak. I don’t know how, I’ll think of something. I’ll not accept it.

Now it’s time for another blessing and the third cup of wine. He’s going to say something else. There is absolute silence.

Joshua takes the cup of wine and tips it slowly so that the wine dribbles out and stains his garment and forms a pool of red on the floor, just like a puddle of congealed blood. We stare at the crimson stain which is spreading slowly as the liquid eats into the rough wooden floor.

“This is my blood which will be shed this night, sacrificed like the blood of the Passover lamb. You will all leave me because it is too hard, it is asking too much of you. But I forgive you, I know the pressure you’ll be under. No matter what you do or say, I’ll always forgive just as God forgives the sins of those that truly repent. So when you drink the Passover wine in future, remember me. Remember that I love you so much that I’ll forgive. I’ll be your sacrifice – don’t worry about doves and lambs. God accepts my love and sacrifice for you and for other misguided and weak people who will regret what they have done and try to start again. With my help you will, they will. Drink then, drink this cup and remember what it symbolises.

Nearly everyone has been stunned into silence. But not Peter, oh no!

“Master, this will never happen to you! We won’t let it. Well, I won’t anyway.”

“Peter, I know what you want, but that’s not God’s way. What is going to happen, has to happen. It’s inevitable. I have to face down evil and if that means that by so doing, I’m sacrificed, then so be it. I would rather it not happen, but I cannot turn away and postpone this moment, not let evil think it’s triumphed.”

“Then if that’s the only way, I’ll join you. I will not let you be taken alone!”

“Brave words, Peter, but easier to make in the stillness and safety of this room. When the crunch comes, you’ll forget those words. You’ll flee like the rest of them.”

“Never, Master, never!”

“Peter, you’ll deny you even know me before this night’s out. Before the cock crows at dawn, before then you’ll have refused to acknowledge that you’re my disciple!”

Simon Peter is shaking his head vigorously. He’s very upset. The others are looking at him in dismay. Joshua’s words are beginning to sink in and all are perhaps now realising that he’s serious. He means it. For the first time the reality of Joshua’s impending fate is occurring to everyone. The mood changes and all look extremely sombre, even melancholy.

We should now sing the psalms that are traditionally sung at this juncture in the Passover meal, but no-one wants to sing. We begin to chant the well-known words but the phrases of victory over Israel’s enemies ring false from our lips and only the voice of Joshua himself holds firm above the mumbles. When we get to the words ‘The Lord is not praised by the dead, by any who go down to the land of silence’, the low chant is broken by the sound of Mary sobbing and later ‘How painful it is to the Lord when one of his people dies!’ brings tears to my eyes. Suddenly the voice of Joshua rings out above all of us as he declaims, ‘I will not die; instead I will live and proclaim what the Lord has done. He has punished me severely, but he has not let me die.’

“Please God,’ I pray silently, ‘please let this be true.’ I’m still praying this, not listening to the next words, when I hear Joshua again chanting, almost as if he is defiant, ‘The stone which the builders rejected as worthless turned out to be the most important of all.’ How often recently have I heard him use those words. Only the other day when his disciples were arguing about who was the most important of them, he quoted that verse from the scriptures. Then further words break into my consciousness. ‘This is the day of the Lord’s victory; let us be happy, let us celebrate!’ and I look around at everyone. No-one is celebrating.

The chanting dies out. No-one is looking Joshua in the eye. I look round the room. Judas is missing, where has he gone? I think no more about it because Joshua raises the cup of wine once more to his lips.

“Drink this all of you. This is the final cup of the Passover, a covenant that I share with all of you who believe my words and act on them. Every time you drink this wine, remember me and the sacrifice I make to confront the evil of this world. Overcome evil with love, all of you, and this remembrance, my Spirit, will live in you and strengthen you. You will be in communion with my Spirit and I will be in you. Do not be afraid, my brothers, my sisters, my mother. We will meet again.”

`We break up slowly. Joshua comes over to me and gives me a big hug.

“Thank you, Mother, for giving me life, for your courage and belief often in the face of adversity. Be strong now. Stay here tonight and go back to the care of Lazarus and Mary tomorrow. James will take you and look after you and see you’re safe, won’t you James?”

“Of course, Joshua. I have no idea what you think you’re doing but rest assured, I’ll see our mother comes to no harm.”

“And you, Salome and Mary and my other sisters, stay here together and pray for me tonight. Pray that I have the courage to fulfil God’s plan without ever faltering.”

Then he turns to his disciples.

“We’ll go quietly into the garden just outside the walls. You can keep me company. I want to spend the night in prayer.

And I watch him go, dread in my heart.