An Upper Room

Tonight we’ll celebrate the washing of the feet and the institution of the Eucharist as we observe the Last Supper. It’s a pretty well-known and well-rehearsed event. The Twelve are hanging out with Jesus for dinner, and then Judas betrays him while he’s in the garden praying.

“Behold, this child is set for the fall and rising of many in Israel.”

I’ve celebrated this moment over and over again, pledging to keep vigil with Jesus by adoring the Blessed Sacrament. Not to mention the traditional hot-crossed buns served in the hall after the service.

Knowing what’s coming, Jesus gives us a Sacrament that can save us and bring us closer to him. About to become a curse himself, being hung on a tree, he gives us a memorial that will become one of the most contested foci of God’s power in all of Christian history.

“and for a sign that is spoken against.”

But today I find myself wondering about all the other disciples who aren’t recorded in the story. There were many more followers than just these twelve; the women who stood at the foot of the Cross come to mind. But only these twelve are in the story when we remember it. Maybe they were the only ones in the room, or maybe there were others there who were simply not part of the inner circle. Either way, what would it have felt like to be on the outside?

I imagine it would have felt pretty painful, this belonging-yet-not-belonging. There’s the jealousy: why them and not me? It’s not like I didn’t want to…why did Jesus choose to leave me out of the loop? There’s the hurt: why doesn’t he love me the way I love him? Why doesn’t he accept me the way I long to be accepted? Will I never really be a part of this group, this family?

“And a sword shall pierce through your own soul also.”

I know exactly what it feels like to be on the outside wanting to be on the inside. I know that sometimes it makes me cry: I cried over it last night, and it woke me up early this morning, actually. I know how longing for something that simply isn’t can be painful. And I wonder if any of Jesus’ followers felt the same way that night, when he was with his friends in an upper room.

Would that have made them weak? Does it make me weak? Or is it just part of what it means to be human?

Obviously, these few people, whether they existed or not, are not the point of the story. They’re not the point by any stretch of the imagination. Jesus chose only a few to be with him in that inner circle, and it had to do with the will of God. God chooses, and in the places we find ourselves we must be content to serve, even if those places leave us on the fringes, on the outside. It simply isn’t possible for everyone to fully belong.

I don’t think being content to serve from the edges where we find ourselves means purging our emotions and disappointment about it and pretending to be a happy-rainbow-butterfly all the time. I think what it means is that we must be willing to risk the hurt of wanting or loving something that isn’t right for us. It means feeling those difficult feelings for what they are, and crying our tears, and wishing that things were different…but still, while holding within us all those things, going to stand at the foot of the Cross anyway.

“that thoughts out of many hearts may be revealed.”