Remembering That Night

The room was electric with the energy of a celebration,
the reliving of an important part of our history.
It was to be a great feast—
at least four cups of wine for each of us,
enough to make our faces shine
and our hearts glad.

Everything had been properly prepared,
And the table set with the finest we had to offer.
Bowls of karpas and salt water were scattered about,
along with bitter herbs to dip in a paste
of fruit, nuts, wine and spices, the charose.
And, of course, there was plenty of unleavened bread.

The men were reclining at table, as freed men do,
talking and laughing loudly,
while children’s and women’s voices
were muted in the background.
But we were all there,
for this was a family celebration,
a reliving of whole households and a nation being set free.
It wasn’t just the men who were there,
as many would have us believe.

Women were bustling about serving at table,
and I was watching, observing,
my eyes fully focused on the Master’s face
looking for signs of approval,

but instead, in the middle of all the noise and festivity,
he opened his mouth and spoke,
“Truly I tell you, this very night, one of you will betray me.”

My stomach still sinks as my heart repeats his words.
It was as if a death had been announced.
We all were frozen in our places,
not a finger moved, not a breath was breathed.

Then, as the news sank in, we all began asking, “Is it I Lord?”
Surely not me! I would never betray you.
You have taught us so faithfully,
loved us so well.
It couldn’t be me, could it Lord?

He answered, “The one who has dipped his hand into the bowl with me will betray me.”

We all looked around at each other, stunned, for all of us—
each one of us—
had dipped our hand in the bowl with him.
Is it possible that each of us would betray the Master, our friend?
Is it possible that fear might hold that much power over me?

Surely Lord, surely it can’t be me.