No matter how hard you look. It’s a crushingly lonely and disorienting feeling. One minute he is there, and then—poof!—the next minute he is gone.

This happened literally to the disciples. One night dinner; the next night death. He warned them of this, of course. His imminent absence. He also gave them a heads up that it would only be temporary, that he would not leave them alone forever. But that either didn’t quite sink in, or else just wasn’t enough to dull the shock of losing him so quickly and with so much violence.

What an odd thing to say as your betrayer walks out of the building to go do his betraying: “Here comes the glory!”

This is more than a positive spin on a bad situation. Lest his point be missed, Jesus repeats “glory” words five times in two brief sentences. Here’s the math: Now I am glorified, and my Father is glorified with me. When Father is glorified, he shares that glory with me. And all this shared glory is happening now. Immediately. It’s automatic.

People will come to their own conclusions. Heck, sometimes even with a decent amount of clarity, people will still often think whatever they fancy.

Sometimes people will assume the best, even when the worst is the truth. When I really reflect, I think most people fall into this category most of the time. As humans, something in us really does want to believe the best of other people. There’s got to be something divine in that.

One of the most painful realities of leadership, (yes, even Christian leadership), is that betrayal will happen. At some time. On some scale. At the hands of someone we trusted. At the hands of someone with whom we shared life and love and ministry.

John 6 records Jesus’ lengthy and rich “I am the Bread of Life” discourse. After which many of his followers, on the basis of being offended by what sounded like cannibalism, left him in the dust.

Bread and betrayal.

You can certainly just ask it. Sometimes some of us could benefit from a little more boldness.

Or, sometimes it could also be a good idea to ask someone else to ask. Someone else with a little more

Take Peter, sitting around the table at the last Passover they would spend with Jesus. I don’t know whether to be annoyed at his timidity, or impressed with his cleverness. Why couldn’t he just ask Jesus himself for the identity of the betrayer? On the other hand, since betrayal is such a touchy subject that’s already got Jesus a little distraught, why not punt it to his closest disciple?

It’s one of the darker moments in any story in the Bible.

Jesus, having dropped a few hints, is visibly troubled. His insides are showing on the outside. He finally says it plainly: “One of you is going to betray me.”

One in twelve. Not exactly good odds when the stakes are this high. Of course the disciples were dismayed and shaken, at a loss for words.

Will turn against you. This is just a fact of life. It’s only a matter of who and when.

David wrote a song about it. Jesus quoted a line from that song while sitting around the Passover table with his disciples—what would prove to be their last together. The gears of betrayal, as he was trying to explain, were already in motion.

But in the doing.

To be blessed is to be deeply happy. Fulfilled. Content. Living the eternal life that Jesus promised—not merely a life that lasts for eternity, but a life that is fueled by eternity.

If there’s one lingering handicap Modernism has left us with in our attempts to follow the way of Jesus, it is that we still believe that it is sufficient to know a lot about him. To know his teachings. To know about his miracles. To know some theology about his death and resurrection.

We no longer walk everywhere now that we have motorized vehicles.. But even if you live in a really walkable town, most people there probably wear shoes most of the time, not sandals. And even if people do a lot of walking with sandals, your streets are likely paved, so they’re not going to get caked with dust and dirt. And even if they were a little bit dusty when they showed up at your house, you (or your non-existent servant) would not bend down with a basin of water and a towel and give them a quick foot bath.

So Jesus’ command that “you should do as I have done for you” poses a bit of an interpretive challenge.

“Do you understand what I have done for you?”

Is there some level of mental cognition going on? Can you explain it to me in your own words? Can you see the significance? Are you beginning to think and process what you experience in the world differently? This isn’t an essay question that is going to be on a final exam, but I’m still checking to see what’s gotten through. Let’s at least start here.

Has the symbolic power sunk down into your heart? Are you different in some kind of way? Do you sense a new longing and desire rising up within you to live in a different way? When I say “heart,” I don’t so much mean emotions, although that can be a part of it. What I mean is where your energy for life comes from—it can feel as if you’ve plug in a new kind of battery into your soul.