Traditionally, Shabbat HaGadol is a time to reflect on the night before the Exodus, on the experience of the Israelites at this very first Seder before there were any Seders at all. On this night, they offered a lamb, placed its blood on the doorpost to protect them, and prepared for a dangerous walk to freedom. They stood at a frightening edge. Sometimes, in real life, our own Seders hover at a frightening edge – not unlike the Seder in the Gospel According to John.
John is quite attuned to animals. Whereas Jesus as described by the Gospel writer Matthew tells us that God values human beings more highly than sheep, John’s Jesus lovingly refers to his followers as his “sheep.” When John describes Jesus’ meltdown in the Temple courtyard, he tells us that Jesus drives out the sheep and cattle along with the moneychangers. And John is the only Gospel writer to refer to Jesus as the “lamb of God.”
So when John writes about the “night before” – that is, the Last Supper before Jesus’ arrest and execution — you might think he would focus on the impending offering of the blood of the Lamb of God, and the freedom it will bring people to participate in God’s presence. But that is not what he writes about. He is actually much more interested in the interpersonal dynamics.
John is writing in the year 90 or so, just 100 years before the outline of the modern Seder appears in the Mishnah. Many of our contemporary Seder customs already exist. People recline around a table, wash their hands, discuss the meaning of matzah, dip foods into other foods, agree not to leave to attend another party, ask four questions, and make a formal declaration at the end of the ritual.
As John tells it: The meal is served. Jesus strips down to his underwear and wraps a towel around his waist. He fills a basin with water, and begins washing his disciples’ feet, drying them with the towel he is wearing. Simon Peter is aghast at how inappropriate this is and he says, “You will never wash my feet.” But Jesus insists.
Soon everyone is reclining at the table again. Jesus picks up the matzah and dips it into the maror. He quotes from Psalm 41, “Even my own close friend, in whom I trusted, who ate of my bread, has lifted up his heel against me.” Then he gives the bread of affliction coated in bitter herb to Judas. Judas gets up and leaves to attend another gathering, so to speak, where he will gather police to arrest Jesus. Meanwhile, the Seder continues. Jesus answers questions from four disciples. Then he launches into a long theological lecture, sixty-one verses long. When he is done, the disciples say, “We get it.”
This Seder is a painful interpersonal experience. It reminds me of the Seders one of my relatives used to lead. Perhaps twenty family members and friends would sit around a huge table. The leader would read the entire Maxwell House Haggadah out loud in English – by himself – as everyone sat in silence. Once the meal was served, some of the bored, frustrated youth would take the opportunity to say bitter things to one another. Sometimes they would leave after dessert to go to a movie or a party. Never would any two leave together; they preferred to avoid the bitterness they had just shared.
The Last Supper described by John is not just painful inter-personally, it’s also painful intra-personally, that is, within each character’s inner experience. The disciples know something terrible is about to happen. They beg for answers to their four questions. “Where are you going and why can’t I follow you?” “We don’t know where you are going, so how can we find the way?” “Show us God and satisfy our longing.” “Why don’t you reveal the truth to everyone?”
I am reminded of an afternoon, years ago, just before our family Seder. My nine year-old brother rode his bicycle around the block with his friend sitting on the handlebars. They swerved and crashed and my brother’s head was severely injured. We spent the Seder praying in the emergency room. I know that I, his ten year-old sister and best friend, wondered, “Brother, where are you going, and why can’t I follow you?” “Mother, why don’t you tell me the truth?” About midnight, we learned for sure that my brother was in a stable condition. We went home, ate some cold matzo ball soup, and laughed about the meaning of our Seder. Honestly, that Seder probably brought us closer to the “night-before” experience of the Israelites than any other Seder.
Image: jewdas.com
