MidReal Story
Betrayal and Redemption: The Last Supper Chronicles
Scenario: Jesus stands up, gazing at the disciples seated around the table, his face adorned with a gentle smile. The disciples exchange glances, their expressions revealing a mixture of confusion and anxiety. Peter asks a question, and Jesus responds that one among them will betray him. Jesus picks up the bread and cup from the table, reverently contemplating them, then lifts them up, declaring that they represent his body and blood, given for the disciples. He then takes a basin and towel, indicating his intention to wash the disciples' feet, symbolizing the spirit of loving and serving one another. Jesus proceeds to wash the disciples' feet one by one, each action filled with tenderness and humility. As the supper draws to a close, Jesus sits back down at the table, quietly looking at the disciples, blessing them, and leaving them with peace. The disciples feel deeply cared for and comforted by Jesus' words and actions. They sit silently together, savoring this final moment.
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“Lord, who is it?”
Peter asked, leaning in.
I had just told the disciples that one of them would soon betray me.
It was a heavy thing to say, and I could see the weight of my words resting on them.
Judas Iscariot was sitting close to me, and I could feel the tension in his body.
I knew Judas would be the one to betray me.
I knew this when I first chose him as one of my disciples.
I could see it in his eyes even then—the greed, the desire for power.
But I also saw something else in him—a longing for something more.
A longing for a love that would never die.
So I chose him, even though I knew what he would do.
I have always known what he would do.
But the others don’t know that, and my words have filled them with confusion and fear.
They are looking at me now, their eyes wide and filled with reverence and curiosity.
I stand up from the table and walk to the head where a pitcher and basin of water are waiting for me.
My gaze sweeps over the room, taking in the flickering light of the oil lamps and the expectant faces of my disciples.
The room is large, with high ceilings and stone floors covered by thick woven rugs.
The table we are seated around is long and low to the ground, with cushions set out where we are reclining.
Judas is sitting on a cushion just a few feet from me, his red hair shining in the dim light of the room.
He meets my gaze, and I can see the turmoil in his eyes.
He is still trying to make sense of what he will do, still trying to come to terms with the choice he has made.
I cannot help but feel a pang of sadness for him as I look at him now.
But it is something I will not dwell on.
There are greater things at stake tonight.
“Lord, you will never wash my feet,” Peter says, staring up at me with wide, earnest eyes.
He is always eager to please me, always eager to show his loyalty.
And yet, he does not understand what I am about to do or why I must do it.
But he will understand soon enough.
They all will.
And so without answering Peter’s question, I begin to pour water into the basin and unfasten my sandals.
The others watch me intently as I lower my feet into the water and begin to wash them.
I wonder what they are thinking as they watch me now.
Perhaps they still do not understand why I chose Judas, why I knew all along how this night would end.
Perhaps they do not understand that I have come here tonight to fulfill God’s plan for the salvation of mankind—that this is something that has been set in motion since before time began.
Or perhaps they do understand all of this.
Perhaps they understand it all too well.
As I stand before my disciples, my face is adorned with a gentle smile that barely betrays the love and the sadness that fill my heart for these men who have been my companions and students these many months.
They are more than disciples—they are friends.
They are my brothers.
And even in this moment of betrayal and tragedy, their love and loyalty is a comfort to me.
The disciples watch me as I smile at them, exchanging puzzled glances among themselves.
Anxiety and confusion flicker across their faces, and their eyes flick back and forth between each other and me as if searching for some sign of what they should do next.
“What do you mean?”
Peter asks after a moment of tense silence.
His voice is filled with reverence and love as he looks up at me from where he is reclining on his cushion.
Peter is sitting closest to me at the table, and I can see the question burning in his eyes—the question that every man in this room wants to ask but does not dare to utter.
Who is it?
I hold Peter’s gaze for a long moment as the answer hangs unspoken in the air between us.
I can see the love and loyalty in his eyes, and I know that he would do anything for me to protect me.
Even if that means laying down his life.
He is a good man—full of passion and devotion.
But like all men, he is also flawed.
And yet my heart overflows with affection for him now as I answer his unspoken question with a gentle smile and say, “It is the one to whom I will give this piece of bread when I have dipped it in the dish.”
I look down at the bread and wine before me on the table—the bread and wine that we have shared together on this last night we will spend together on earth.
The bread and wine that we will share together again and again in the centuries to come as we reenact this moment and this meal in memory of me.
I know what will happen after Judas leaves this room and goes out into the darkness of the night to betray me with a kiss.
I know how the disciples will scatter and flee in terror after they see what has become of me—their Lord and Teacher.
But I also know that this is not the end of the story—that this is only the beginning of a plan that was set in motion before the world began for the salvation and redemption of all mankind.
The disciples are staring at me in disbelief, and I can see the tears glistening in their eyes as they try to make sense of what I have just said.
“But Lord, who could it be?”
John asks, looking around at the others.
The other disciples are looking at each other now, their faces filled with fear and doubt as they try to understand how one of them could do such a thing.
As they try to understand how they could ever be parted from me, even though I have told them many times that this day would come when I would finally return to my Father in heaven.
But they still do not understand, and so they are looking at each other now and asking each other one by one, “Is it I?”
Even Judas himself asks me this question, and I know that he wants me to say no and tell him that I have changed my mind and that he can go back to his life as it was before.
But I do not change my mind, and so I look at Judas and say to him, “You have said it yourself.”
As I look around at the others sitting in front of me, I can see the traces of tears on many of their faces, and I am filled with love for them as I say, “Take and eat; this is my body broken for you.
Do this in remembrance of me.”
I know that they do not understand what I am saying to them.
I know that they are still too young and innocent to understand the full meaning of what I am telling them.
I know that they do not understand that I am giving my life freely and willingly for them and that I will soon be dead and buried in a tomb.
But I also know that after I rise from the dead three days later, they will finally understand.
They will understand that I have done all these things for them out of duty and love for my Father in heaven.
They will understand that I have done all these things for them so that they may be saved from death and sin and live with me forever.
And so I tell them to take and eat of this bread that represents my body—which is given for them—so that they will always remember me.
I tell them to take and drink from this cup that represents my blood—which is shed for them—so that they will always remember me.
So that even after I am gone from this world, they will always be bound to me and to each other by this simple act of eating bread and drinking wine together in remembrance of me.
The disciples are sitting on their cushions at the table staring at me in disbelief as I finish speaking to them, and I can see the traces of tears on many of their faces as my eyes sweep over them one by one.
They are so young and pure, and my heart overflows with love for them as I look at them now in their youth and innocence.
And yet I know that they are not yet ready to share in my full mission—that they are not yet ready to lay down their lives and take up their crosses as I have done.
And so I look down at my hands on the table before me, and then I look up at the pitcher of water sitting near me on the table.
And then I look up at Peter sitting next to me with a gentle smile and say to him, “Will you let me wash your feet?”
Peter is looking at me in confusion now as the other disciples watch us in silence from their cushions at the table, and then he shakes his head and says to me in disbelief, “Lord, you must not wash my feet!”
Peter is a good man—one of the best men I have ever known.
But like all men, he is also full of pride and self-doubt, and I can see this in his eyes as I look at him now and say to him gently but firmly, “If you do not let me wash your feet, you cannot share in what is to come.”
Peter is looking at me in confusion now as I pick up the basin and towel from the table and motion for him to extend his feet out toward me.
He is looking at me in confusion as I pour water over his feet and rub them gently with the towel so that he will be clean and ready when the time comes to leave this place and follow me to the garden where I will be betrayed and taken away to be crucified.
