desired to eat this Passover with you before I suffer. For I tell you, I will not eat it again until it finds fulfillment in the kingdom of God” (Luke 22:15). This ultimate sacrificial family meal is eaten in anticipation of the glorious reunion of the marriage supper of the Lamb. “Blessed are those who are invited to the wedding supper of the Lamb!” (Rev 19:9). This eucharistic family meal has a past, present, and future in salvation history.
At the Last Supper Jesus looks after everything. He gives directions to Peter and John to prepare for the Passover in a large room that he has arranged to be used. He washes the disciples’ feet, serves the meal, sets the tone, carries the conversation, and concludes the meal with a blessing. Jesus is still doing what only he can do—“You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies” (Ps 23:5). What the psalmist imagined figuratively, Jesus performed literally; Jesus gives us his body and blood. From start to finish Jesus looks after the meal. The setting, the preparations, the conversation, are all under his supervision. He is the host who arranges everything. He is the servant who washes the disciples’ feet. He is both high priest and Passover lamb. He is the bread and the cup. The Last Supper is the family meal of all family meals and Jesus is the true host.
The Gospel writers make sure that we feel the suspense and stress that existed outside and inside the upper room. The night was filled with anxiety and fear. The religious leaders were looking “for some way to get rid of Jesus” and the disciples were arguing among themselves “as to which of them was considered to be the greatest” (Luke 22:24). There was outside opposition from the religious authorities, insider betrayal, negative group dynamics, and a sorry state of ugly one-upmanship. This was a tension-filled family meal.
John 13 is the apostle’s invitation to attend the Last Supper. He opens the door to the upper room and invites us in. He writes us into the scene, negative thoughts and all, in order to draw out the significance of what Jesus did—not only for the original band of disciples, but for all who follow him. The twelve were there, but they missed the message the first time around. Along with them we need to revisit the upper room to grasp its real hospitality. Our souls are restless and distracted. Sin raises its ugly head. But John’s narrative invites us in, regardless of our restless egos, devious ways, and negative thoughts. We are there in the company of the disciples, only half aware and not knowing what to expect. Jesus is the host and he gives us a seat at the table.
Upper Room Reflection
What makes the meal in the upper room meaningful?
How have you accepted Jesus’ hospitality?
What do you think about when you celebrate this family meal?
How does the Lord’s table fulfill the promise, “You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies”?
Day 3
On Bended Knee
“. . . at the name of Jesus every knee will bow.” Philippians 2:10
Heaven and hell meet in the upper room and we have been invited to take a seat. The image of Jesus on bended knee washing his disciples’ feet calls for deep reflection. John slows the narrative down and fills out the details frame by frame. He makes us aware of the devil’s role behind the scenes. The dialogue is crafted poetically to reveal the meaning of Jesus’ actions and teaching. This powerful scene is best painted in the Spirit, not as a picture on a canvas, but as a vivid experience that shapes our souls and changes our lives. John describes the events of the upper room in a way that invites our reflection and inspires our praying imagination. We intuitively know that Jesus’ act of humility and hospitality is something we must pay close attention to and seek to understand.
The Passion Narrative begins with Jesus fulfilling the most basic etiquette of Near Eastern hospitality. He washes the disciples’ feet. This act was normally performed by servants, never by the host. If there were no servants to wash the guests’ feet, children did the task. Handwashing is personal, it is done by the individual. But foot-washing is communal, a delegated responsibility, provided by the host and performed by servants.
The scene takes us back to Genesis, when Abraham was visited by the triune God at Moriah, some two thousand years earlier in this very same region, Abraham entertained the living God over lunch. One small connecting detail focuses our attention. Abraham bows low and invites his guests to stay, saying, “Let a little water be brought, and then you may all wash your feet and rest under this tree” (Gen 18:4). In Genesis, the hospitality is remarkable but the foot-washing is menial. The work of the servant is simply assumed. Foot-washing etiquette needs no further description and those who perform it receive no recognition. These two foot-washing scenes—that in Genesis and that in the Gospel of John—are significant. They span centuries of divine providence and fulfilled prophecy. Salvation history has run its course from the Abrahamic promise to Christ’s passion; from theophany to incarnation; from washing the feet of God before lunch to God washing the feet of the disciples before the Last Supper. Jesus on bended knee washes the disciples’ feet.
We are not told explicitly that Jesus is on his knees, but he could not do what he did standing or sitting or even stooping: he had to be kneeling. He had to get down low, hold dirty feet in one hand and a washcloth in the other. Unlike servants who diverted their eyes from their master when they washed their feet, we imagine Jesus looking each disciple in the eye as he washed their feet and then dried them with a towel. They awkwardly looked down on him as he looked up at them. John’s vision of the one like a son of man, in the book of Revelation, describes eyes like blazing fire (Rev 1:14). On Patmos, did John recall that penetrating gaze that he saw when Jesus washed his feet? The next day, as Jesus hung on the cross, they looked up at him, and he looked down on them. God himself on bended knee, sees the soul and handles feet, before breaking bread and pouring wine, and before being lifted up on the cross.
Up until now, Jesus was the one before whom people knelt. The Gospels describe these vivid scenes. The shepherds on bended knee bow low before the infant bundled in strips of cloth and laid in a manger. The magi fall to their knees in the presence of the king. They pay homage to the Christ child. On bended knee they offer their expensive gifts. Kneeling implies more than respect. There is a sense of subservience or worship associated with falling to our knees. In Greek and Roman culture kneeling was discouraged. It was thought to be unworthy of free men and beneath Roman citizens. Aristotle claimed it was a barbaric form of behavior. I imagine most independently minded Americans agree.
At the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry, Peter fell to his knees. He pled with Jesus, “Depart from me for I am a sinful man” (Luke 5:8). It appears that plenty of people fall to their knees before Jesus. The rich young ruler came running up to Jesus and fell to his knees. But giving his wealth to the poor and following Jesus was not what he had in mind. He got up off his knees and walked away sad. The woman who snuck into Simon the Pharisees’s home to meet Jesus never got off her knees. During dinner she knelt before Jesus and washed his feet with her tears, wiped them with her hair, kissed them and poured expensive perfume on them. Kneeling before Jesus captures the body language of the soul. His presence invokes repentance and reverence. Most Christians know that getting on their knees in prayer is a good place to be. Jesus continues to bring us to our knees.
Even Pilate’s soldiers got down on their knees. Within hours of the upper room experience, Jesus was manhandled, beaten, spit upon, and stripped. The Roman soldiers mockingly robed him in scarlet, crowned him with a thorny crown, and forced him to hold a staff in his hand. Jesus meant nothing to them. He became their occasion for expressing contempt for their hated deployment and venting their thinly concealed rage against a people they despised. They knelt down in feigned reverence, laughingly exclaiming, “Hail, king of the Jews!” (Matt 27:29). Their cruelty played out on bended knee in mocking derision. The soldiers made it all a big joke.
Unwittingly,
