The arched windows revealed a view of a setting sun over a lush garden. As the sun disappeared its light danced and washed the walls surrounding a man who sat in the middle of a long table. Rubbing his temples he thought 'God please give me the strength.' Eleven other men were arguing around the room. One named Judas remained silent.
"I'm his favorite!"
"Yeah right, and the Egyptians weren't anti-Semitic. Plus it's obvious; he likes me best."
"Who's sitting by him then, eh?"
"Who walked on water with him?"
"Oh yes, let's hear that story again Peter. Please! I don't think we've heard it enough."
"Oh shut up Thomas, you doubter. You weren't the first to be picked to follow Jesus like me."
"Whatever Phillip, I was…"
As they continued to bicker Jesus removed his robe and began to untie the towel around his waist (for every traveling man must carry a towel). He then prepared a basin of water and kneeled down next to Peter.
"Well he once told me—hey that tickles!" Jesus had begun to wash his feet. "Jesus? What are you doing?"
"I'm resurrecting Lazarus. What does it look like I'm doing?"
"You shouldn't be washing my feet. If anything I should be washing your feet, my Lord," said Peter reaching down to stop him. Jesus slapped his hand and glared at him.
"Unless I wash your feet, you have no part with me," said Jesus as he rung out the towel. Judas glanced over his shoulder, contemplating his exit.
"In that case, I'll take the full body bath! Do you have the little dissolvable bath oils per chance?" Peter exclaimed, jocularly. Jesus had to resist the urge to reply 'It was a metaphor, stupid.'
"Those who have had a bath only need to wash their feet. You are clean; though not all of you are," he replayed instead before proceeding to wash all their feet. When he got to Judas, he showed not even a flicker of emotion, but Judas's heart thumped wildly in his chest.
"Do you understand what I just did?" Jesus asked them when he was finished.
"You mean just then? You washed our feet, didn't you?" said Andrew looking around, befuddled. Jesus rolled his eyes.
"Rhetorical. The question was rhetorical," he mumbled under his breath. "You call me 'Teacher' and 'Lord' because that is exactly what I am. And I have washed your feet so, logically; you should follow my example and wash each others feet. Honestly, no servant is greater than his master, nor is a messenger greater than the one who sent him. Do you get it? I mean it's not even a complicated metaphor." The disciples looked at one another and murmured in agreement that they understood.
"Good; because I have something to tell you. Now this doesn't apply to all of you, but the prophecy says that: "He who has shared my bread has lifted his heel against me." I bring this up because, dear friends, one of you will betray me."
His disciples all sat in an uncomfortable silence, each absorbed with their own failings. After a few seconds of this, Peter couldn't take it anymore. He leaned over to the disciple next to Jesus and whispered into his ear.
"Ask him which one he meant, will you?"
The disciple leaned back over to Jesus and repeated the question.
"It is the one to whom I give this bread after I have dipped it into the dish." Jesus answered quietly as he did so and handed it to the disciple on his left—Judas. Judas' eyes widened with realization.
"Whatever you are going to do, do it quickly," he whispered to Judas somberly, but no one else at the table quite understood his geture. Jesus was always so confusing with his bread metaphors. 'I bet Judas's just getting something for the festivities tomorrow or maybe he's helping the poor or something. He's the one with all the money. Anyhow, I wonder who's going to betray Jesus,' Peter and probably all the disciples thought as Judas had taken the bread and left.
As Judas stepped outside he noticed darkness had claimed the land. And it was night.
