out of the synagogue. The perversity of this type of unbelief may be worse than outright angry rejection. Religion keeps people from Jesus. A private faith in Jesus is like no faith at all.
There are two groups outside the upper room. One group pretty much despises Jesus and the other group is drawn to Jesus, but both groups are on the outside. Unbelief comes in two forms: public denial and private faith. Sadly, the pursuit of human glory, even when it is framed religiously, keeps well-meaning and sincere people from experiencing upper room discipleship.
John’s sharp distinction between human glory and God’s glory may be jarring. We’d prefer a diplomatic middle way that comforts the undecided and timid, but John is having none of it. My sense is that we should read his description of “outsiders” with our own ears, and not judge how others might react to this verdict: “John is preaching to me.” The message is clear: private faith without public confession is really no faith at all. The joyful truth of the gospel is sobering.
Jesus gives the one and only ground for resolving unbelief and he gives it with a shout! To paraphrase, he says, “Look at me and you’ll see not only me but the one who sent me.” Jesus has said and done everything to substantiate this claim. All that is left for him to do is to declare it. Insider access to the upper room begins and ends with Jesus only. In his light we come to the end of our darkness; the end of our secular cynicism, the end of our religious pride. Change of heart comes from seeing Jesus and ourselves in his true light.
In Daniel Defoe’s novel Robinson Crusoe, the plot pivots on the gift of repentance. In the providence of God, Crusoe was marooned on a South Pacific island. His solitary life eventually led to deep self-examination. Suffering opened his heart and mind to God. It has a way of doing that. Stripped of everything worldly, he saw himself as he really was, “without desire of good or conscience of evil.” He began to lament his “stupidity of soul” and his ingratitude to God. Illness led him to pray for the first time in years, “Lord be my help, for I am in great distress.” He began to ask, “Why has God done this to me? What have I done to deserve this?” His conscience checked him, “Wretch! Ask what you have done! Look back upon a dreadful misspent life and ask what you have done. Ask, why you have not been destroyed long before this!”1
Like the prodigal son, who ran off to the far country, Crusoe became deeply convinced and convicted of his wickedness. In his anguish, he read this in the Bible: “God exalted him to his own right hand as Prince and Savior that he might give repentance and forgiveness of sins to Israel” (Acts 5:31). His reaction was immediate: “I threw down the book, and with all my heart as well as my hands lifted up to Heaven, in a kind of ecstasy of joy, I cried out aloud, ‘Jesus, Son of David, Jesus, exalted Prince and Savior, give me repentance!’”2
Deliverance from his sin and peace with God meant more to him than being rescued. His redemption was “a much greater blessing than deliverance from affliction. . . . I began to conclude in my mind that it was possible for me to be happier in this forsaken, solitary condition than it was probable I should ever have been in any other particular state in the world; and with this thought I was going to give thanks to God for bringing me to this place.”3
The story of Robinson Crusoe captures the beauty of upper room access. In a state of utter desolation and abandonment, but without any change in location or circumstances, Crusoe becomes a disciple with upper room access. His soul, no longer marooned and doomed to reside in itself, is at home with God. Jesus is the host. He is seated at the table along with Jesus and the disciples.
Unbelievers, whether resentful or respectful of Jesus, remain on the outside. But upper room access is no secret. The gift of repentance is only a prayer away. God’s gracious, nonjudgmental invitation is offered to all. In the clash of glories, God’s glory prevails.
Upper Room Reflection
Has either public denial or private faith been a struggle for you?
Does the form of unbelief make it easier or harder to gain upper room access?
How would you describe the “outsider” experience?
Have you ever prayed for the gift of repentance?
1. Defoe, Robinson Crusoe, 97, 100, 102.
2. Ibid., 106.
3. Ibid., 106, 126.
Day 2
Jesus is the Host
“It was just before the Passover.” John 13:1
The Church has always found Thursday night of Holy Week significant. The name, Maundy Thursday, is derived from the Latin mandatum, meaning “commandment.” The English words “mandate” and “mandatory” are derived from this Latin origin. The evening was named after Jesus’ proclamation: “A new command I give you: Love one another” (John 13:34). What transpired that night between Jesus and his disciples in the upper room continues to guide the church, shape its leadership, and inspire its mission. Maundy Thursday is on the church calendar for a reason. It belongs right there with Good Friday and Easter Sunday. In the upper room, Jesus lays out the meaning of the atonement and true character of discipleship.
On Thursday night, Jesus gave his followers two simple object lessons during the evening meal. He washed their feet and he broke bread. These two enduring acts go a long way in defining the mission of God and the body of Christ. They merge real hospitality and deep sacrament. The towel, the basin, and the bread and the cup signify the essence of Jesus’ kingdom strategy. The Apostle John focuses our attention on the humility of Christ. We read that Jesus “got up from the meal, took off his outer clothing, and wrapped a towel around his waist. After that, he poured water into a basin and began to wash his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel that was wrapped around him” (John 13:4–5).
The familiarity of the scene is like an old picture on the wall hiding in plain view. Too many sermons on this text dull our senses. We’ve heard the punch line so many times before: “Humble service.” Our cynical selves think that Jesus got an awful lot of mileage out of fifteen minutes of ordinary servitude. When the famous do something humble, everyone praises them, but our routine acts of humility and kindness go unnoticed, much less praised. It is with thoughts like this that some of us enter the upper room.
The preparation that has gone into Christ’s family meal is almost unfathomable. Nothing less than the grand sweep of salvation history stands behind this meal. At the Last Supper, Jesus is host to three meals in one.
First, this meal is the ultimate family meal. Its meaning is rooted in the Passover and celebrates the exodus, that pivotal redemptive turn in salvation history. Moses and the people of God were given specific instructions: “Each man is to take a lamb for his family, one for each household. If any household is too small for a whole lamb, they must share one with their nearest neighbor, having taken into account the number of people there” (Exod 12:3–4).
Second, this meal is the ultimate sacrificial meal. Jesus celebrated the Last Supper with his disciples on the night that he was betrayed. He also looked ahead to all future believers who would participate in this meal. “For whenever you eat this bread and drink this cup, you proclaim the Lord’s death until he comes” (1 Cor 11:26).
Finally,
