Leaning on Jesus

John 13:21-30

March 2, 2022 (Ash Wednesday) • Mount Pleasant UMC

“And it was night” (13:30). When John describes the scene after Judas departs from the Upper Room, he’s not describing the inky blackness outside. Oh, no doubt it was dark outside, but when John tells us it is “night,” he wants us to remember at least two other things he has said in his Gospel. First of all, he wants us to remember way back to the beginning of his account of Jesus’ life, to that time when he promised us that, no matter how dark the world might get, the light will always shine through. Here’s how he put it: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it” (1:5). I think he also wants us to remember something Jesus said back in chapter 12. At a time the crowd was questioning Jesus’ identity, Jesus responded with this somewhat cryptic statement: “You are going to have the light just a little while longer. Walk while you have the light, before darkness overtakes you. Whoever walks in the dark does not know where they are going” (12:35).

We’re so accustomed to street lights and the bright lights on businesses that we often forget how dark the night can get. Our neighborhood is not in the city, so we have very few street lights, illuminating only the bare minimum around our houses, it seems. I never really paid much attention to how dark it is around our house until we got Barnabas just about a year ago. It became an issue because, as I learned, it’s hard to find a black dog in the back yard at night! So I put up some flood lights on the deck so we could find the one we were looking for. We forget how dark the night can be.

Jesus knew how dark it was going to get. That’s why he tells Judas to do what he’s going to do quickly. He’s not telling Judas to go betray him; rather, he’s telling him to get on with whatever he’s going to do, one way or the other (cf. Whitacre, John [IVP], pg. 337). Get it over with. Jesus was troubled, deeply agitated. The image in the word is of a quiet pond that has been stirred up, muddied. Jesus knows that the storm is brewing, he knows it is all coming to a head on this night, and he knows it all centers on this one disciple, this Judas. John does not tell us about the meal they are sharing this night; the other Gospel writers have already done that. But John, writing near the end of the first century and near the end of his own life, wants us to know things that he, as an eyewitness, knew that the other writers didn’t include. He wants us to know how Jesus went to each of them and washed their feet—because they were all too proud to take on the role of a servant. And he wants us to know about the conversation that took place in the midst of the meal as he, John, was leaning against Jesus.

I wonder—there, in the dusk-like darkness of what we’ve come to call the Upper Room, did Jesus pause at some point and look around the room at these disciples? A little later in the evening, he will call them “friends,” closer than mere students. Did Jesus spend time in silence, savoring these last moments with these twelve men who had spent so much time with him over the last three years? This night, they were gathered in this room, reclining at low tables as you did for Passover. (Da Vinci got it wrong, by the way.) Passover was a celebration of when God rescued the people from slavery back in Exodus, and you reclined to indicate that you were a free person. Only free people could recline; slaves sat or stood (Wright 51). So you would recline on your left arm, leaving your right hand free to eat with, with your feet out behind you. It’s likely that there would have been a U-shaped table, with three people at the head (and Jesus, as host, in the center). Five disciples would have been on each side, then. So there, probably at the end of the right side of the table, was Peter. His given name was Simon, but Jesus saw in him a strength that even Simon didn’t know existed, and so he nicknamed him Peter, “The Rock.” One reason might have been because there were two Simons among the disciples, so calling one “Rocky” would have helped differentiate the two. It’s an interesting nickname for a man who would often fail Jesus, even this very night. It’s interesting because throughout Scripture, the Scriptures these men would have known, God is often called a “rock.” Jesus gave Simon a name he could grow into—a name that summoned him to become strong and steady like the God he wanted to serve (cf. Hamilton, Simon Peter, pgs. 26-27).

Next to Jesus, to the right, in the seat of honor, would have been John, the author of the Gospel and the one who refers to himself as “the disciple whom Jesus loved”. He would have been young, perhaps the youngest of the disciples, maybe not even twenty yet, and he was most likely a cousin of Jesus’ on Mary’s side (cf. Card, The Parable of Joy, pg. 171; Wright, John For Everyone—Part Two, pg. 51). Jesus did indeed love him, but John didn’t call himself that because of pride or in an attempt to be better than the other disciples. He was simply amazed that Jesus loved him just as he was, that Jesus welcomed him when so many others in his life had rejected him. On Jesus’ other side, to his left, in the place of the intimate friend, was Judas. Yes, intimate friend. It is very likely that Jesus and Judas were closer friends than any of the Gospel writers can bring themselves to say, which only heightens the horror of what is about to happen (cf. Card, John: The Gospel of Wisdom, pg. 156).

The Passover meal is underway, and they are probably feasting on the main course. That’s the part of the evening where the liturgy would have allowed for freer conversation, and that’s when Jesus says something that probably brought all the other conversations to a quick end: “Very truly I tell you, one of you is going to betray me” (13:21). One of you is going to surrender me to the authorities. One of you is going to put me in danger. One of you, my friends, is going to betray me. Can you imagine the darkness that descended over their moods at that moment? But I want you to notice one thing in particular. No one turned and looked at Judas. There is not a rush of air as everyone points at the man on Jesus’ left. Every single one of them still had wet feet from Jesus’ earlier action. All of them had spent three years with him. They could not imagine who among them would do such a thing, but it certainly could not have been Judas. He was in the seat of the intimate friend, for heaven’s sake (cf. Whitacre 334).

That’s why Peter gets John’s attention. Literally, the text says he “nods” at John and asks him to ask Jesus who it is. “Ask him which one he means,” Peter says (13:24). (So Peter is at least sure it’s not him or John.) Because of how they were seated, John would have leaned back against Jesus and whispered to him, probably in a voice only Jesus could hear, “Lord, who is it?” (13:25). Sort of has that “I’m your best friend, you can tell me” kind of vibe, doesn't it? Jesus doesn’t answer directly—he never did—but instead he says, “It is the one I share my bread with.” Then he dips the bread in the sop and hands it to Judas. The text tells us Judas takes the bread, but we’re not told if he ate it or not. And yet, I read that and think, “How much clearer could Jesus have been?” If I tell you I’m going to identify someone by giving them some bread, and then I give them some bread, I think you’d clue in, wouldn’t you? But here’s the thing: it was a normal custom for the host to hand food directly to the person or persons he wanted to honor. Judas is sitting in a seat of honor, so giving him bread could have just been part of the ritual (cf. Whitacre 335). No real answer there. What do you think John relayed back to Peter? A confused look? A shrug of the shoulders? Was it only much later that John realized what had actually happened in this moment? Did he see the darkness descend in that moment or did he realize it only later? John tells us two things happened “as soon as Judas took the bread.” First, Satan entered into him (13:27). And second, he went out (13:29).

“And it was night.”

Some of us know how dark life can get. Some of us know what it’s like to be betrayed. Maybe by a friend, or a spouse, or a boss, or someone you once trusted. They took your secrets and spread them around. They took those vows and threw them away. They took your talents and dismissed you. They lied about you. They took an innocence you weren’t aware of and used it for their own purposes. And you’ve been betrayed, and every moment since then has felt dark, like the night. Or maybe you’ve been betrayed by your body. The report came back positive, the cancer returned, that strange lump really was something to be concerned about, the hereditary disease ended up in your DNA. As a student at Ball State, I had to take a course in genetics, and as I learned about all the ways the human body can betray you, all the ways genetics can go wrong, it was almost enough for me not to want to have any children! I’ve stood with people who have received such news, and we are never ready for that. No matter how strong our faith is, when it seems there are no answers and no avenue for healing on this side of eternity, it can be devastating. We are betrayed, and we can’t do anything about it—and it is night. Some of you may be in that position right now, tonight, right here. I want you to hear something out of this story of the final meal: Jesus knows what it’s like to be betrayed. And while we might wish he would override human free will to prevent the circumstances you find yourself in, he’s most likely not going to do that. Sometimes he does, but my experience is that most of the time instead he will walk through it with you. He’s been down that road. He knows what the night is like.

But there’s something else I want you to see in this passage. As I said, it’s amazing to me that John didn’t pick up on Jesus’ not-so-subtle description of the betrayer. He was right there, leaning on Jesus, and yet he wasn’t paying attention to what was going on. Judas wasn’t paying attention, either. In some ways, it seems like he hadn’t been paying attention for three years. He had no clue what Jesus was about. There is no motive given in the Gospels for why Judas did what he did, other than money (though the money wasn’t enough in the end, and he gave it back after Jesus was arrested). Some have suggested that Judas was trying to force Jesus’ hand, that by having him arrested, Jesus would have to stop all this nonsense talk about loving your enemies and he would have to start fighting back against his enemies. Maybe Judas was trying to shape Jesus into the sort of savior, the kind of Messiah, that Judas wanted. And when Jesus didn’t fight back, some suggest, that’s when Judas gave into despair and ended his life. Whatever his motive, there’s a clear picture given to us at the moment when Jesus hands the bread to Judas. There’s a choice at that moment. John leans against Jesus. Judas turns against Jesus. And while I’m reluctant to get too allegorical with the Scriptures, it seems to me this is a picture for us to meditate on, to ponder, as we enter yet another Lenten season.

Lent is a season of reflection, and it’s meant to be a season where we draw closer to Jesus by focusing on his passion, his death and his resurrection. This Lent, we are going to be looking at Jesus’ final teaching in the Gospel of John, all the last, important things he wanted to share with his disciples on this final night with them. But we’ll only get to hear those things, learn those things, depending on what we choose here at the table. Judas chose to turn away, to stop listening, to betray Jesus, to walk away. Judas, the intimate friend, one of the ones Jesus chose, turned his back and walked away. The betrayal wasn’t really at the moment when he accepted the money. It wasn’t in the garden when he identified Jesus was a kiss. It wasn’t when he shook hands with the religious leaders and told them where to find Jesus. His betrayal was here, at the table, when he looked Jesus in the eye and walked away from him. Maybe some of you are there tonight. Maybe you’ve not been as close to Jesus in recent times as you once were. The pandemic and all that surrounds that has done a number on most of us, and our priorities have been reordered, not always for the better. Maybe some of us have looked Jesus in the eye and walked away. Maybe Lent, for you, is a time to turn around, to come back to Jesus before you get too far away. You can do that tonight.

But even those of us who stay close to Jesus don’t always listen to him. John, for instance, was in the seat of honor. He could literally lean back and listen to the heartbeat of his teacher, rabbi and friend. He was, to steal the title of a book I haven’t read, “close enough to hear God breathe.” But he was distracted. Maybe he thought he had heard it all before. Maybe like the elder son in Jesus’ parable of the prodigal (cf. Luke 15:11-32), he thought he was in a safe, privileged position because he had stayed home, stayed in the Upper Room when Judas left. Maybe after three years he had gotten complacent. But he needs to listen. He needs to tune in. He needs to genuinely listen to and lean on Jesus because the next few hours, the next three days, are going to change everything. For us, even for those of us who have “stayed” close to Jesus, we need to wake up and listen to what Jesus has to say during these hours, even if the things he says to us are hard. It’s night, and we need his light if we’re going to make it through.

As we enter this Lenten season surrounded by ashes, which will it be? Will you lean on Jesus or walk away from him? Will you be John or Judas?

And it was night…but the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. Thanks be to God!