“It’s time,” Jesus said, feeling that his arrest was near, going to the room The Believer had found for them to share the Passover meal. A rented room where no one felt at home. Splinters in the skin, makeshift arrangements. He needed discomfort as he began to loosen himself, loosen his body, to break himself as if into pieces to be fed to strangers and dogs. His body that didn’t want to turn from the world, custard on the tongue, the love of his family and followers like fragrant leaves.
Judas lunged for the pitcher of water. O God! Purify!
Watching him Jesus thought, now the wheel is turning. Judas fled the room.
He said to the others, “This meal will be our last.”
Taking some bread he said, “This is what will happen to my body,” and tore it into pieces.
“When you eat it,” he pleaded, “remember me.”
Jaime Serra [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons
