Betrayed

 

Peter replies, “Even if all fall away on account of you, I never will.”

“I tell you the truth,” Jesus answered, “this very night before the rooster crows, you will disown me three times.” Matthew 26: 33-34

But the hand of him who is going to betray me is with mine on the table. Luke 22:21

For I received from the Lord what I also passed on to you: The Lord Jesus on the night he was betrayed, took bread and when he had given, thanks he broke it and said, “This is my body, which if for you, do this in remembrance of me. 1 Corinthians 11:23-24 (emphasis mine)

“On the night he was betrayed.” In his letter to the Corinthians Paul refers to the events of the Last Supper, labeling them by those words, “on the night he was betrayed.”

Today is Holy Thursday. In liturgical churches there is often a reenactment of the events at the table, the foot washing and the first celebration of the Eucharist or Lord’s Supper. It is the beginning of the end of the beginning. Jesus is showing his apostles what true love looks like. It’s beautiful and it’s sad. Right here, I have to admit that this is the point in all four Gospels where I feel a sense of dread, a desire to change the next few scenes or if not, to skip over them. I’d like to hop from Thursday to Sunday morning and bypass the horror of Friday and the emptiness of Saturday.  Depictions of the torture and crucifixion of Jesus just break my heart. They also turn my stomach and bring up myriad emotions. That’s easily understandable, isn’t it? They’re horrific. The events at the Last Supper and throughout the rest of Thursday evening, however, are just as disturbing and almost as visceral.

It’s Thursday and Jesus, precious, kind, loyal, giving Jesus, is with his friends. During that supper he has to admit that while they’re pretty much all going to run, two are going to do worse than that. One is going to turn him over to the people set to destroy him and the other, one much closer to him, one of his three nearest and dearest, is going to deny him.

The supper ends and Jesus takes James, John and Peter with him to the garden where he is going to pray. They fall asleep and so begins the lonely road. From there it just gets worse. If you can put aside all the torture that is happening, though I doubt anyone can, focus for a moment on Jesus and Peter. Movies made of the events often have a moment of eye contact between Peter and Jesus just after Peter has made his denials. That eye contact is heart wrenching but unnecessary. Jesus knew exactly what Peter would do and when he would do it. This is Peter, the Rock, his trusted ally, his friend.

I have a friend, Mary, who has been in my life for forty-six years. I have another friend, Bella, who I’ve known about ten years and I have my sweet husband. They would be my Peter, John and James. When I read this passage I see those three with me, then it narrows down to Mary and me. She’s been around the longest. We know each other inside out and upside down. There is love and loyalty in all three of those prime relationships but with Mary, there’s just that little extra something so poor Mary gets cast as Peter.

I cannot relate to the physical pain of the crucifixion. It turns my stomach. It breaks my heart and at turns it makes me more faithful or more penitent. The betrayal, the denials, that’s where I can relate. I’ve experienced far too much betrayal in my life from people I thought I could count on, people I love, who I believed loved me but Mary has never been one of them. The idea that in my darkest, neediest, loneliest hour she would say, “Uh, no, I have no idea who that woman is” is simply too much to bear. I count on her based on the experiences of those forty-six years and she comes through. What if she didn’t? What if she publicly denied me? The thought of it is unbearable, which is why the idea that Peter denied my sweet Jesus when Jesus was scared, in misery and well in possession of the fact that it was only the beginning of his nightmare, just breaks my heart. It hits so close to home.

The sacrifice of Jesus in its entirety is beyond my comprehension. I appreciate it, all the while knowing that I don’t, not nearly as much as I should. The elements of the Eucharist remind me of the Cross and I’m drawn to be a better follower, to love him more but even that pales in comparison to the response of my heart to the image of Jesus seeing and hearing Peter say, “I don’t know him” that takes me to my knees. That I understand. It makes me grateful in ways that I cannot adequately express to a God who gives me not only Jesus and the gift of salvation but a friend that has never said, “I don’t know her.”