“One of the Twelve”
A meditation for Maundy Thursday
by the Rev. Dr. Hilary J. Barrett|
April 9, 2009
John 13:1-5, 12-17

The first serious piece of furniture that my husband and I bought after he got “a real job” was our dining room table.  With all the leaves in it, it seats 12.  We bought it at the old Strawbridge and Clothier department store -- when there still was one.  And I remember wondering what people thought of us when we crawled underneath it to examine the two sturdy wooden pedestals upon which it sat.  Sitting under the huge table in the middle of the furniture department, we discussed the joys of rainy childhood days building forts out of tables with sheets and blankets draped over them.  Though Samuel was not yet even a glimmer in his parents’ eyes, from that vantage point under the table it was clear that the fort-building potential of this piece of furniture was very good indeed.

A table that seats twelve is no small thing.  We owned nothing else to speak of.  We were still using cardboard boxes with attractive pieces of fabric thrown over them for end tables in the living room.  But a place to have a dinner party, that was always important to us.  We loved to gather people around a common table.  To hear their laughter, to see them enjoy one another’s company, to pour the wine and arrange the flowers and see their fine faces aglow by candlelight.

A table that seats twelve is no small thing, but when you’ve got twelve around it you’re sitting mighty close to one another.  It’s easy to pass the bread.  It’s easy to re-fill the water glasses.  It’s easy to bump elbows with your neighbor, or to lean in towards the one you love.  It’s easy to share a good story and a good laugh.  Twelve around a table is, still, a pretty intimate gathering.

It was Thursday night in the city of Jerusalem and Jesus was gathered at a table with twelve of his friends.  It was a pretty intimate gathering.  They were eating supper together, dipping their bread into the same bowl.  Sharing wine and conversation, their faces alight with the glow of candles and oil lamps.  Their were sitting close together, elbows bumping up against one another, leaning in close to share stories and hear the Master speak.

And then he did something he had never done before; something that surprised even them, they who had become accustomed to having Jesus surprise them every day.  He got up from the table, wrapped a towel around his waist, and began to wash their feet.  This was something that only servants did; not the host of the meal; not the Head of the table; not the Lord of all Creation.  This was more intimate than they were ready for.  They didn’t want Jesus to see their ugly calloused feet and smell the odor of the day upon them, and they didn’t want Jesus to hold their naked feet in his hands and wash them because then there really was no hiding from him.  He said he did this to remind them to love and serve one another, as he had loved and served them.

And then he told them that one of them would betray him.

          The story we remember this night is the story of an intimate dinner party among friends that ends in betrayal.  Judas usually gets the rap, but the story really involves all of the disciples -- for when Jesus asks them to watch and pray with him in the garden, they fall asleep.  And when they all dip their hands into the same bowl and pledge their loyalty to their Lord, it is only hours later that each denies him in their own way.  It is a tough story to hear; a painful story to witness; a familiar story to all of us.

          For which one of us does not know how it feels to be betrayed?  And which of us has never, ourselves, betrayed another? 

Have we never broken a promise? 

Have we never hurt a dear friend? 

Have we never changed our mind and left another hurting and alone? 

As hard as it is to remember those times when we have been betrayed, it is harder still to remember the times when we have betrayed another.  Those kinds of memories often remain locked in silence -- where only conscience and God abide.  When we are able to face our betrayals we know, we, too are one of the twelve.

Jesus knew that one of the twelve would betray him.  He knew that he would be betrayed with the intimacy of a kiss.  But the truth is: how else are we betrayed?  Isn’t it true that we can only be betrayed by those who are closest to us?  The same hurtful behavior on the part of a stranger or mere acquaintance is only cruel or undermining.  But it takes real intimacy to betray.

          “On the night he was betrayed, Jesus took bread...” 

          Have you ever noticed how every time we share in the sacrament of communion, we rehearse the story of Jesus’ betrayal?  The story does not begin, “On the night when Jesus gathered with his disciples for one really swell party.”  And it does not begin,” On the night when Jesus surprised his disciples by washing their feet.”  The story of this holy night and the institution of the Lord’s Supper begin with the words, “On the night he was betrayed…”

The word, “communion” means literally “with oneness.”  In the sacrament of communion we seek and achieve the “with oneness” that we long for in our relationship with God.  How awesome and mysterious it is, that – even in the context of our betrayals – God meets us at the Table of His Mercy.

There’s a church not far from here that has an interesting entrance into their sanctuary.  It’s a wall of etched glass, with 13 panels -- each bearing the name and symbol of one of the disciples.  Thirteen panels, not twelve.  There’s one for Judas, and one for the disciple that was chosen to take his place when he betrayed Jesus.  As you enter the actual Sanctuary, you enter through two doors – the one etched with the name and the shield of Peter (who is known, despite his failings, as the rock of the church), and the one etched with the name and the shield of Judas.

We enter through two doors.  One etched with our good intentions, one etched with our betrayals.  The question is: will we – like Peter – throw ourselves upon the mercy of Jesus, despite our failings?  Or will we – like Judas – succumb to despair and lose all hope?

“On the night he was betrayed, …”

At the table of our Lord we come to know the “with oneness” that God desires for us.  We come to know the “with oneness” that the holy feast of communion can bring. 

At the table of our Lord, we are known with a oneness that we experience nowhere else. 

This is the good news.  This is the Great Mystery of our God.  That known as we are, with all of our faults and all of our betrayals, and all of the ways that we have failed to be the people we so desperately long to be – that even now, we are invited to the Welcome Table as God’s own beloved.

Come to the table of mercy.

Come to the feast of God’s love.

Come to where you will be forgiven and set free.

Come, even as you are – through the door of what we hope to be, and the door of what we sometimes are.  Come!  Come!  Come!