A meditation for Maundy Thursday inspired by the missing mention of the women who were, more than likely, in the background at The Last Supper. Suitable for use in a service alongside Passover: Peter.

Most of them will probably forget I was even there – you know, a woman, invisible until they want something. Forgotten once they’ve got it.

But not him.

With him, it was like – well it was as if you were the most important person ever. Except that you weren’t of course, but he made you feel like that. Like when he took the water from me, to wash their feet – he just poured a handful of water over my hands as they held the bowl. I almost dropped it, I was looking at him and his eyes were fixed on mine as he did it, his back to the others. It was as if the whole of the Sea of Galilee had washed over me and I’d just come up for breath on a spring morning.

How can a man make you feel like that? Well I’ll tell you, no man can, and I should know, I’d been with enough of them and I’m not proud of it. But he was no man. Well he was, but more than that. I’d sort of felt it before, when I’d given myself up to my heart rather than my head. When I’d just let all reason and practicality go to one side and just listened to his words, watched him, followed him with my heart. In those times I knew who he was, what he was, and he knew I knew. Like when I used that perfume for him – nobody else understood, but he did.

But that night – I’ll never forget. There were times when he looked worried, troubled, really hurting. When all the others were busy eating and chatting, I’d just catch him silently watching them, a distant look in his eyes. Then he’d notice me and catch my eye as I poured more wine and he joined in the conversation again. And all that talk of betrayal and death – he knew what was coming, yet all he could think of were the others there. And all they seemed to think about was themselves. I mean, Peter, objecting to Jesus washing his feet, and Judas rushing out – the arguments about who would sit next to Jesus  – at that table or in heaven. Typical men. Sure they listened to what he was saying about Passover, but they couldn’t resist debating it and discussing it, instead of just listening to him.

It wasn’t until he broke the bread that they all stopped.

They say the way to a man’s heart is through his stomach, well he got that right. Broke the bread and opened their hearts. Poured the wine and it was as if his love was flowing right into their hearts. I’ve never seen men react quite like that, change with a few words and simple actions, realise the magnitude of the evening, getting a glimpse of just who he was, realise what he had to do. For some of them I think it was the first time they realised who he was.

And me. I don’t mind if they forget I was there, even if the world never notices me. All that matters is him really … and he noticed me.

David Stolton