Mark 14:13-52

My mother sees boredom
As the great evil that leads to mischief.
That’s why she sent me
To fetch water with our servant.
I guess I don’t mind,
I’m outside the house anyway.
I see some boys at the well,
I wish I could go play.

Zeba is in such a hurry,
I really don’t know why.
Maybe he is embarrassed
To be sent to do women’s work.
Zeba and I fill our pitchers at the well,
Adjust them on our shoulders,
And begin trekking to the house.
I pretend my load’s not heavy.

As we move along
The packed city streets,
Two young men begin
To follow us along.
They don’t say a word,
I wonder who they are.
When we get to my house,
They ask to see the master.

My mother comes out
With flour on her hands,
She wipes them on her apron
And stares down the men. She is new to being master,
Since my father passed away.
They look a little nervous,
But one finally says,
“The teacher says,
Where is the guest room
That I may eat Passover
With my disciples?”

With the whole city packed,
It’s strange they would come here.
How could they know
We have an upper room to spare?
“Who is your master?”
My mother says.
“Jesus of Nazareth,”
Answer the two men.

My mother’s eyes light up,
There’s a smile on her face.
“Come on in, I will show you,
We have the perfect place.”
They follow her up the stairs
To our grand upper room,
Although we have not used it
Since my father passed away.

They pass my mother some coins,
I see emotion in her eyes.
Things have been tight
Since my father died.
Normally we rent out
The upper room,
But my mother has been hesitant
As a woman on her own.

The men ask some questions
About where to get provisions.
I say, “I’ll take them, Mother,
I know all the best places.”
And so I tag along
With them to the shops,
We find everything they need
And it doesn’t take long.

It turns out the men I’m with
Are named Peter and James.
I ask them about Jesus
As I help carry the loot.
Instead of telling me who he is,
They tell me what he’s done,
Stories of healing and miracles
All make my eyes go wide.

I help them prepare their meal
Until mother calls me down.
“Why don’t you stop your pestering?
You can help me now.”
I tell her all the stories
I just heard of Jesus.
My mother shares my joy,
We can’t wait to meet Him.

It seemed an eternity
Before Jesus came.
With ten more of his disciples,
He entered into our home.
He greeted me kindly
And spoke with my mother,
Then walked upstairs
To His Passover supper.

We share Passover downstairs
With servants and a few neighbors.
My mother tells the story
Of when we were slaves in Egypt.
I try to pay attention
But I can hear upstairs,
Thirteen men enjoying
A great time and good cheer.

As time passes on
And the evening wanes,
Our guests head home
And we get ready for bed.
The upstairs is quiet now,
A man Judas runs out the door.
I wonder at his hurry,
What could that be for?

My mother is preoccupied,
So I creep up the stairs.
I find the door ajar
From when Judas left.
I see Jesus not in a grand position
But stooped over a bowl,
Washing his disciples’ feet,
What could that mean?

My mother calls me down,
And we head off to bed.
The day plays on,
Repeating through my head.
Why would a master
Wash his disciples’ feet?
These are my last thoughts
As I drift off to sleep.

A noise wakes me,
Someone’s banging our front door.
I hurry out of my room,
Wrapped only in my sheet.
Judas and many soldiers
Are standing in the street.
They run by my mother
And search the house.

But Jesus and the eleven
Had already gone their way.
Judas calls the soldiers back
And walks into the night.
They’re off to Gethsemane,
We hear a soldier say.
My mother’s hands tremble
As we begin to cry.

She sends me back to bed,
I walk into my room,
But I know exactly
What I must now do.
I slip out of my window,
Still wrapped in just my sheet,
And run off through the dark
To warn Jesus of betrayal.

My feet are bare,
And I barely know the way,
But I run through the dark,
Through the city gates.
Tents cover the hillside,
Along with sleeping rolls.
Where could Jesus be
Among these great crowds?

I search, distressed,
Wondering where could they be,
Then I see the lights
Coming through the trees.
I run towards them,
Hoping to get there first,
But I get there just in time
To see Peter draw his sword.

He strikes out at a temple guard,
I see the spray of blood,
I hear the cry of pain,
I see Jesus step forward,
Pushing Peter out of the way.
He picks up something
Off of the ground
And heals the temple guard.

Jesus speaks,
And the throng falls back.
He says, “Let my disciples go,”
And holds out his hands.
They tie him like livestock
And lead him away.
I follow close behind,
Hoping I can set him free.

The young men see me,
And grab at me,
But I run into the night,
And leave my sheet behind.
It was nearly sunrise
When I found my way home.
I wept with my mother
At the good man’s doom.