An Ominous Silence
John 13: 107, 31b-38
This night is a night of great
transition. For the disciples the
milieu in Jerusalem shifts from a Passover celebration to the seriousness of an
impending doom where Jesus hands himself over to the authorities who put him on
trial, mock him and carry out his crucifixion.
This is a night of darkness. Shadows elongate and reveal a dirt
pathway over ancient stones that lead to the upper room where Jesus gathered at
table for what was to be his last meal with his disciples. They carefully climb the stairs one or
two stumble for the oil lamps had not yet been lit. Across in the valley the donkey’s have stopped their grazing
and are still, their eyes getting closer to sleep with each lengthening
blink. In the garden at Gethsemane
only the full Paschal moon filters through the branches of the olive
trees. Otherwise it was dark.
This is a night of great confusion.
Jesus seems to know what lies ahead but no one else does. The betrayal, the denial, the final
supper in which he shares are yet to come, but none of the disciples seem to
know or understand the magnitude of the hour. They are confused; how could any of them be disloyal to
their Lord or renounce their relationship to him? Only God and Jesus know that his hour has come. This moment, this time, this place was
the zenith of the meaning of his life.
This is a night of selfless love. As they were eating their meal Jesus
quietly gets up from the table and wraps a soft towel around his waist. An anxious hush falls over the room and
the disciples begin to eat a little slower. You can hear the wrestling of their robes as they turn
towards Jesus when he comes to them and kneels at their feet. The water splashes against the sides of
the basin and he dips in the wash rag and wrings it out. All of them, Simon Peter, even Judas
Iscariot are cleansed. Jesus leaves
no one out. And when he was
finished he gave them a cup of wine and some bread and asks that they remember
him.
This is a night about Christ, what he
has done for us, and what he has yet to accomplish. He comes to us in a lowly manger and then ministers to us
through the leper, the blind man, and the prostitute. He mounts a humble donkey and rides closer to his death. He hands us a towel so that we might be
cleansed. He hands us some bread
and wine in order for us to be refreshed.
He gives to us his life, freely and willingly for he could have gotten
away. How will you receive him?
This night is a night of ominous
silence. For in this hush is every
person’s story. Your story, my
story and the story of Jesus’ miraculous love. It is in the silence and between the lines that resides the
acts of human misery and the reality of our lives, the questioning, the doubt,
the fear. In this silence we
wrestle between good intentions and indifference, our yesterdays and
today’s. Yet, this quiet begets
the fullest potential of who we can be and reveals to us the power of God’s
love and forgiveness.
On this night, the night in which Jesus
was betrayed he gives yet again, a new commandment, to love. Simply love.
Deeply love. Honestly love just as
he loves us. Unselfishly, with
generous intent, and forever. It
is the very least that we can do for our Lord.
Amen. Let it be so.
Photograph taken from St. Peter Galicantu in Jerusalem. The crowd is descending the Kidron Valley from the Mount of Olives.
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