What was it like, there in that crowded room,
windows and doors barred, and all ears alert
for tramp of feet in unison, sword-clack,
shuffling mobs with stones in ready pouches?
A nervous song, a blessing over bread,
the bitter herbs of skull-place and of Egypt,
and then, a stranger: how did he get in?
a gut-clutch: fear, suspicion, and mistrust
Until he took the cup and said Baruch
Atah Adonai Elohenu, Melech Haolam,
borei p’ri hagafen — the windrush of the voice?
How strange they had not known him until then:
was it the breath of heaven changed his features
or
that from now on each unknown is he?
RK
A note on the artwork: the above is a Roman meal listed as "Priscilla's banquet" (thanks to James Tabor's blog); I chose it because any version of Jesus among the disciples in the upper room has given rise to a quantity of art so appalling that it fully justifies Jewish and Muslim strictures on representation (if not for the same reasons).
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